Errol Morris's documentary isn't still another Bush-bashing fiesta. Like the photos of the Abu Ghraib prisoners being abused, the pictures that form its central subject, the scope of the film is limited to an examination of how the pictures came to be, who participated in the acts, and who held the cameras. It's not even political in nature, so much as psychological and, more generally, philosophical.
Susan Sonntag, author of the influential essay "On Photography", would have had a field day as a talking head, though I'm not sure she could have done better in presenting us with an interpretation of the pics than some of the more level-headed interviewees do. One of them blames the photos for the entire scandal. If the photos had never been taken, they could never have been disclosed, and the whole thing would never have happened. "It would just crawl under a rock." Another authority I'd like to call to the witness stand would be Anna Freud, Siggy's daughter, who was a famous psychologist in her own right. Anna laid out a list of "ego defense mechanisms" -- ways of thinking that protect us from feeling guilt or remorse for things we've done. The same MP who blames the photos claims that he lost it because a female MP had been hit in the face with a brick during a prison riot. That's why he had inmates spread-eagled on the floor and stomped their fingers with his boots.
Most of these low-tier enlisted people, some of whom spent three years in jail, like Lynndie Englund, the face we've all come to know, or like another MP, were sentenced to ten years, have a simpler explanation. The explanation is phrased in different ways but when the broth is reduced it comes down to, "I was just following orders." I'm not sure how Anna Freud would classify that.
One prisoner was to be subject to a medieval torture technique called the strappado, hoisted by his handcuffed wrists off the floor. The MPs lifted him from the floor and hoisted him. An interviewee observes that the jump suit bound his crotch to a point that would have caused an outcry, not to mention that the MPs were waiting for his shoulders to "pop" at any moment. Only then did they discover he was dead. One of the female MPs was charged with mistreatment of prisoners for taking a photo of the corpse. It's such a genuine tragedy that it's completely ridiculous.
According to one of the guards, when the pictures were made public there was a thirty-day amnesty period, during which a frenzy of shredding and other forms of cover-up went on. Too bad. One wonders how high up the chain of command more evidence might have led investigators. Of course, wherever the permission originated it must have been implied. Nobody ever said, "Torture the prisoners and have a ball." But of course no one has to because of the effect of "command pressure." That's when you know what the boss wants done without his or her having to tell you explicitly. ("Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?") When General Ric Sancheze pokes his finger in your chest over and over and exclaims, "I want Saddam Hussein!", you don't have to have second sight to interpret his statement. And in Sanchez's book, he describes Secretary Rumsfeld's response to a report on enhanced interrogation techniques. One of the techniques is standing upright for three straight hours. Rumsfeld objected and asked why only three hours? He himself spends all day on his feet.
One of the more interesting facts to emerge from this film. I suppose we've all seen the photo of the inmate standing on a wooden box. He's facing the camera. He's wearing a kind of poncho with a shredded hem, and there is a black hood over his head. His arms are outstretched and there seem to be metal wires attached to his fingers. The wires seemed to serve no purpose since they were attached to nothing. Here we learn that the prisoner had been told that he must stand on the box for hours on end, that the wires were electrodes, and that if he stepped down to the floor or fell off the box, he would be electrocuted. A casual glance at the photo wouldn't tell us that, and, of course, the prisoner himself was entirely wrong about the wires.
For all that sensationalistic stuff, the film is a bit of a bore. Most of the interviewees, once we've heard them say a few things, are uninterestingly ordinary. None seems evil. Few show remorse. Reenactments are minimal, which is all to the good as far as I'm concerned. Unlike Morris's earlier documentaries on an animal cemetery or a Texas murder case, none of the speakers really holds the camera in thrall. It could have been half an hour shorter and been more effective.
Susan Sonntag, author of the influential essay "On Photography", would have had a field day as a talking head, though I'm not sure she could have done better in presenting us with an interpretation of the pics than some of the more level-headed interviewees do. One of them blames the photos for the entire scandal. If the photos had never been taken, they could never have been disclosed, and the whole thing would never have happened. "It would just crawl under a rock." Another authority I'd like to call to the witness stand would be Anna Freud, Siggy's daughter, who was a famous psychologist in her own right. Anna laid out a list of "ego defense mechanisms" -- ways of thinking that protect us from feeling guilt or remorse for things we've done. The same MP who blames the photos claims that he lost it because a female MP had been hit in the face with a brick during a prison riot. That's why he had inmates spread-eagled on the floor and stomped their fingers with his boots.
Most of these low-tier enlisted people, some of whom spent three years in jail, like Lynndie Englund, the face we've all come to know, or like another MP, were sentenced to ten years, have a simpler explanation. The explanation is phrased in different ways but when the broth is reduced it comes down to, "I was just following orders." I'm not sure how Anna Freud would classify that.
One prisoner was to be subject to a medieval torture technique called the strappado, hoisted by his handcuffed wrists off the floor. The MPs lifted him from the floor and hoisted him. An interviewee observes that the jump suit bound his crotch to a point that would have caused an outcry, not to mention that the MPs were waiting for his shoulders to "pop" at any moment. Only then did they discover he was dead. One of the female MPs was charged with mistreatment of prisoners for taking a photo of the corpse. It's such a genuine tragedy that it's completely ridiculous.
According to one of the guards, when the pictures were made public there was a thirty-day amnesty period, during which a frenzy of shredding and other forms of cover-up went on. Too bad. One wonders how high up the chain of command more evidence might have led investigators. Of course, wherever the permission originated it must have been implied. Nobody ever said, "Torture the prisoners and have a ball." But of course no one has to because of the effect of "command pressure." That's when you know what the boss wants done without his or her having to tell you explicitly. ("Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?") When General Ric Sancheze pokes his finger in your chest over and over and exclaims, "I want Saddam Hussein!", you don't have to have second sight to interpret his statement. And in Sanchez's book, he describes Secretary Rumsfeld's response to a report on enhanced interrogation techniques. One of the techniques is standing upright for three straight hours. Rumsfeld objected and asked why only three hours? He himself spends all day on his feet.
One of the more interesting facts to emerge from this film. I suppose we've all seen the photo of the inmate standing on a wooden box. He's facing the camera. He's wearing a kind of poncho with a shredded hem, and there is a black hood over his head. His arms are outstretched and there seem to be metal wires attached to his fingers. The wires seemed to serve no purpose since they were attached to nothing. Here we learn that the prisoner had been told that he must stand on the box for hours on end, that the wires were electrodes, and that if he stepped down to the floor or fell off the box, he would be electrocuted. A casual glance at the photo wouldn't tell us that, and, of course, the prisoner himself was entirely wrong about the wires.
For all that sensationalistic stuff, the film is a bit of a bore. Most of the interviewees, once we've heard them say a few things, are uninterestingly ordinary. None seems evil. Few show remorse. Reenactments are minimal, which is all to the good as far as I'm concerned. Unlike Morris's earlier documentaries on an animal cemetery or a Texas murder case, none of the speakers really holds the camera in thrall. It could have been half an hour shorter and been more effective.