Richard Jewell

This is not a film about the security guard who saved people at the Atlanta Olympic bombing. This is not a film about him being wrongfully accused. This is not a film about his eventual exoneration. This is a film about us. It’s a film about the media looking for a story and not the truth to feed a hungry public, it’s about overzealousness in the face of terrorism, and it’s about our willingness to dehumanize a person at the first opportunity. Richard Jewell is one of the best and most important films of the year and has been sadly overlooked. This may be one of Eastwood’s greatest films, he maintains taut control over the storytelling allowing real suspense and ambiguity to shine through when we all know the outcome. Paul Walter Hauser is PERFECT as Jewell and deserves Oscar for his nuanced performance, capturing all of Jewell’s unpleasant hubris, awkward yearning, and genuine humanity. Sam Rockwell sparkles as hothead attorney Watson Bryant, his chemistry with both Hauser and Nina Arianda, perfectly cast as his secretary Nadya, is palpable. And Kathy Bates’ performance will break your heart. The opening scene between Hauser and Rockwell is so perfect, you immediately know you’re in for an absolute treat of a character study. You only realize in the end the study was of us. A few tiny criticisms… It’s unclear whether writer Billy Ray didn’t take enough time to humanize antagonists FBI Agent Tom Shaw, who’s the lead on the case, and reporter Kathy Scruggs, who broke the story, or if Jon Hamm and Olivia Wilde (respectively) weren’t up to the task. My guess is the latter and these characters could have been more nuanced. There’s been some feminist blowback on the slut-shaming portrayal of Scruggs, who swapped sex for story, and it may be a fair criticism… Or simply accurate. Still, one would have liked to see all of the characters be more human, but some people really are fairly one-dimensional. It’s a minor criticism. And another two, the sound mixer deserves a Razzie for the distracting mess of syncing during a concert, and a short exchange between Scruggs and her lackey could have been left on the cutting room floor, it’s confusing. Lastly, no mention of the actual victims anywhere was a surprising choice that Eastwood made, nor a mention of what happened to Scruggs or Shaw in the end titles. But to be clear, I’m nitpicking, the errors stand out more when the film is so perfect. Go see it. You must. For ALL the reasons.