From a rather fatal “never letting go” promise by a door hogging Winslet to an overweight cross-dressing FBI head honcho; Leonardo DiCaprio has had quite a career to date. Now 37, Leo is by no means done and continues to intrigue and excite, topping an ever-growing pile of projects to stretch his more than capable acting muscle. Clint Eastwood’s latest foray into the directing world is no different. Opening a window into the world of one of America’s most influential minds in modernising law enforcement, Eastwood and DiCaprio bring J. Edgar back to life in a biography on the creator of the FBI.
Joining a young Hoover as a up-and-coming plucky underling; Eastwood tells his protagonist’s story through Hoover and a team of writers working on his personal memoirs. Spanning the decades we touch upon scandal, the Palmer Raids and the growth of the FBI; ticking the historically pleasing box with style and assurance. But striving for more than just historical fact; J Edgar’s sexuality quietly bubbles under the surface, adding to an odd relationship with his mother (Dench) and restrained but deep love for right hand man Clyde (Hammer).
There is no doubt that Eastwood is a great film maker. His simplistic eye for clean-cut shots paint a sure-footed picture of Hoover’s past. The star cast are also in force, strutting their powerfully illustrious stuff. Dear Dame Judi Dench excels as Hoover’s over protective mother Anne, in a rather intense relationship reminiscent to that of the Bates’ in Psycho. Likewise, DiCaprio is brilliant; nailing Hoover and his every mannerism with pin point and maticulous accuracy. Supported by an impressive Armie Hammer, who is endearing throughout; earning his spurs in a turn that provides the piece with a beating and at times, sweet heart. But for every bold shot and stellar performance, there’s a scene lacking something – an angle.
It’s a biography written with kid gloves, never wanting to stray too far into controversy. Hoover’s sexuality is a point of note, hinting at a subtle awareness of what he truly is; but the movie never delves deeper. Instead of a revealing story that opens the closet door on the man behind the FBI, it is more a character piece that gives the truly excellant DiCaprio full reign behind a large wooden desk and rather distracting heavy prosthetics.
Which is exactly what they were, distracting. Much like a pair of 3D glasses’ ability to create a barrier between viewer and screen; J. Edgar‘s costume and make-up is jarring. Both DiCaprio and Hammer are clearly in fine form, but as they age, reality rather gives way for fat suits. The liver spots of Hammer’s Clyde in particular steal the show, fighting for screen presence with DiCaprio’s increasingly chubby face. Similarly, Naomi Watts, intentionally quiet and reserved as Hoover’s doting secretary Helen; virtually disappears behind the layers of make-up into pointless obscurity.
Eastwood is a king when painting 20th century USA onto the screen. His direct, no-nonsense approach boldly stamps clean-cut America into your retina’s and J. Edgar’s sharp, crystal clear screen presence is lovely to look at. But it could have been so much more. It wasn’t that it wasn’t a well made movie or a terrible watch. It’s just a bit limp. There’s no doubt that Hoover had an interesting life, full of drama and, at times, even the bizarre; but what can only be because of blind admiration, the usually great Eastwood misses the mark.
(3/5)
Matt Hamm
@jadedlittlepill
