When one of cinema's greatest directors unites with its
greatest living actor to make a film about the most iconic figure in American history,
it's fair to say that expectations are high. Steven Spielberg's Lincoln exceeds
these expectations by subverting them; instead of making a fawning biopic of
Abraham Lincoln, Spielberg has delivered a dense, dialogue-driven exploration
of political process. The sentimentality and heavy-handedness that has
sometimes marred the director's previous historical films is pleasingly absent
here, with his restrained directorial approach largely allowing Tony Kushner's
script and his impeccable cast to drive the film. Even the score from John
Williams feels unusually reined in.
Perhaps this pared-down and focused approach was simply
necessitated by the story Kushner and Spielberg have chosen to tell. Although
it opens on the battlefield, Lincoln is a film that largely takes place
indoors, in the buildings of government, where the conflict is verbal rather
than physical. Lincoln takes us through the last few months of the 16th
American President's life and details his fight to force the 13th Amendment
through Congress, therefore ending slavery. The imminent end of the Civil War
gives this action a sense of urgency that imbues the film with its drama and
momentum, but even so, many audience members may be sceptical about the film's
potential for entertainment. With scene after scene of bearded men sitting in
stuffy rooms and discussing the fine details of the American Constitution,
Lincoln sounds unbearably dry, but there's a strange alchemy at work here that
elevates it into a grand, rousing drama. It is history brought to vivid life.
Of course, the manner in which Daniel Day-Lewis has brought
Lincoln to life is a marvel in itself. His embodiment of the man feels utterly
authentic, from his slightly stooped posture to a high-toned accent that seems
a little off at first but ultimately feels like a perfect fit for the
character. This Lincoln has a fondness for folksy anecdotes as a means of
taking a circuitous route to his ultimate point (there's a delicious moment
when he embarks upon such a tale, to the chagrin of Bruce McGill's Stanton) but
behind the calm and humorous manner lies a sharp strategic mind and a fierce determination.
He needs those qualities to procure the two-thirds majority needed in Congress
in order to pass the 13th Amendment, and Lincoln turns this quest
for votes into a riveting caper. A rambunctious trio of lobbyists (led by
an unrecognisable but brilliant James Spader) is enlisted to persuade wavering
Democrats to support the bill, while Thaddeus Stevens (Tommy Lee Jones) trades
angry speeches with Fernando Wood (Lee Pace) on the floor of the House.
Lincoln aside, Thaddeus Stevens is perhaps the most
fascinating character in the film. Played with just the right measure of cranky
gruffness by Jones, the radical abolitionist begins the film by demanding
complete racial equality but is forced by Lincoln to soften his stance in order
to ease this amendment through. Through this character, Lincoln shows the
compromises and manipulations that are required in politics, and the way ideals
must sometimes be yielded in order to find common ground and serve the greater
good. In Lincoln we see Democrats being cajoled, pressured and even bribed into
switching their allegiance in time for the vote. Politics is a dirty business
but Lincoln, Stevens and their cohorts were driven by the knowledge that this
was their moment ("We've stepped out upon the world stage, with the fate
of human dignity in our hands. Blood's been spilled to afford us this moment
now! Now! Now! Now!" Lincoln exclaims), and they had to win this battle by
any means necessary.
The political aspect of Lincoln is more compelling than the
personal one. Scenes between the president and his family are sensitively
played, but these characters don't appear quite as convincingly realised and
there's always the nagging sensation that there is more pressing business to
attend to. Sally Field perhaps needed one more scene to make her performance as
Mary Todd Lincoln feel fully rounded, and Joseph Gordon-Levitt is inserted
awkwardly into the narrative as Lincoln's older son, whose desire to join the
army contradicts his father's wishes. In fact, the most affecting glimpse into
the private lives of these characters comes at the end of Thaddeus Stevens'
story; a touching scene that gives his narrative arc a satisfying climax, and serves
to remind us what was at stake for these men.
Although it is bookended by its weakest scenes (typically, the
director bypasses a perfect note to end on), Lincoln is a considerable triumph
for Steven Spielberg, whose direction may be uncharacteristically free of the
sweeping spectacle and grand flourishes we expect, but whose composition and
judgement of emotion and character remains as sharp as ever. We tend to think
of him primarily as an entertainer, but he has also made his mark as one of
American cinema's foremost historical filmmakers, and the fact that he has
managed to make a serious, verbose, ideas-driven political film on a grand
scale in the current climate is something to be thankful for. This is a great
film about a great man; a film driven by noble ideals and determined to show
what the best of us can achieve in troubled times. Politically, personally and artistically,
Lincoln gives us something to strive for.