The Good Shepherd

by Ari

Robert De Niro has evidently learned quite a bit about cinema throughout his legendary career, fully grasping the complexities and language of serious, artful filmmaking. That he managed to direct an exceptional, brilliant film so late in his career is surprisingly refreshing, exciting, and impressive. The Good Shepherd is the perfect thematic summation of what Robert De Niro’s films have explored, an almost Coppolaesque (Francis produced) exploration into themes of loyalty, honesty, identity, family, and betrayal, only set during the early development of the Central Intelligence Agency. While the setting may be new territory for the director/actor, The Good Shepherd is very much a representation of his interests - a new angle on the ideas that have played a major role in the films he’s been a part of. This is a quietly elegant film that builds to an epic, operatic depth unseen in most contemporary American films. De Niro brings an intense level of cinematic sophistication to his work here, and the results are nothing short of mesmerizing, fascinating, and profound.

It amazes me that this film has received such a mixed reaction thus far. Is there not a place for more thoughtful, character based thrillers in contemporary cinema these days? Steven Spielberg’s Munich faced a similar situation this time last year, but with even more hype and controversy surrounding its release. Like Munich, The Good Shepherd is an extremely realistic, detailed, and mature thriller crafted with classical sensibilities and interested in provoking thought and discussion for its viewers. Serious conversation is the ultimate aim of all great art, and it’s an absolute accomplishment that De Niro’s new film does this with such urgency. Also like Munich, The Good Shepherd easily matches the best of its genre from the late 60’s and 70’s, in this case, a real-life spy drama presented with uncompromising vision. Writer Eric Roth (Munich) has layered his screenplay with delicacy and depth, structuring the enormous, epic story with precision, focus, and an overwhelming amount of information. Most impressive is how that information is carefully revealed without ever being reduced to overly expository speeches and preaching from under-developed characters. This story builds in the most intriguing manner, delving into secrets and history while establishing real, complex characters in a riveting and complete narrative. The film runs almost three hours long, but it’s never tedious or dry, always keeping you invested and compelled by its gripping story. De Niro has absorbed a wealth of cinematic knowledge over his years, and he understands how to visualize and pace his film. What surprised me is that he favors the more subdued, eloquent tone of someone like Coppola to the forceful, visceral intensity of Scorsese. Three hour films are no simple matter, and pacing is a large part of an epic’s success. De Niro never rushes. He establishes the subtle tone from the outset and never breaks from it. This element gives the story an engrossing and suspenseful feel, creating a lurking sense of danger which perfectly fits the secretive nature of the film. Even at almost three hours, The Good Shepherd feels taut - a credit to the expert writing and even better directing. De Niro’s work is fairly incredible here, certainly the best film of its kind in a long, long time.

There’s entirely too much story to properly summarize in The Good Shepherd, a film that spans over three decades in the life of lead character Edward Wilson, brilliantly played by Matt Damon. The film effectively opens by immediately thrusting the viewing into Wilson’s world during the Cold War in the 60’s, where the Bay of Pigs fiasco has everyone looking over their shoulder for traitors and secrets. Wilson is the head of the CIA’s counter intelligence, or as one character puts it, “the heart and soul of the CIA”. Wilson’s business is particularly dirty, with no real friends, only few allies, and an intricate, soulless game of truths, half-truths, and complete fabrications. It’s a dangerous, intimidating world, and De Niro and Roth all too realistically make sure you understand it. As Wilson investigates the botched operation, we flashback to his younger and brighter days in College, where his future was open to possibilities and how an intelligent, aspiring young man eventually fell down a path that destroyed him little by little.

After he joins the Skull and Bones society, Edward is looked upon with great respect and potential, and is influenced to follow in the steps of people like Phillip Allen (William Hurt) and Bill Sullivan (De Niro) - people who believe in America and protect it. Sullivan recruits him for special counter-intelligence operations during World War II in the Office of Strategic Services, where Edward works with his old poetry professor Fredericks (the great Michael Gambon) and conducts business with Arch Cummings (Billy Crudup). Edwards hires soldier Ray Brocco (John Turturro) to be his assistant and security, keeping him by his side as his career progresses from OSS to CIA. Then again, who can you really trust in a world where nothing is as it seems? Everything is eventually compromised as Edward’s life progresses, himself and his family included. He believes in what he does to the point of losing himself completely, the final result of such a dangerous and threatening lifestyle. He hardly loves his wife (Angelina Jolie in a surprisingly good performance) and meets his son for the first time when the boy is six years old. As the Cold War approaches, Edward’s life becomes entangled in more and more complexities. His son grows older and looks to him for affection and approval, something Edward only partially returns. He becomes cold and distant from any real attachment until the darkest of conflicts arise. Damon is perfect for this type of role, an actor who expresses moral ambiguity and internal conflict extremely well in characters who struggle with issues of identity. He does this in his Bourne films, and most recently in The Departed, but nothing can really compare to his excellent work here. Edward is a tragic character, and Damon brings the emotional arc necessary for the fullest dramatic impact. The rest of the cast is extraordinary, with Alec Baldwin and Joe Pesci in great supporting roles.

Robert Richardson’s beautiful photography delivers on De Niro’s visual ambition. The Good Shepherd is fairly enormous in scope, but the visual integrity, along with performances and writing, give it an intimate feel. De Niro builds to a pivotal sequence late in the film where Damon and his Russian counterpart discuss a vital matter while a choir in the background sings “he’s got the whole world in his hands”. In lesser hands it would be obvious and silly, but De Niro uses it to create an eerie intensity that only underlines the operatic quality of the film. This is great material elevated to high art, a stunning achievement for one of the most important figures in the last thirty years of cinema. The Good Shepherd is a great film.