. . . because it's heart is in the right place, and it says all the right things about the United States' current "war on drugs": namely, that it is fundamentally un-winnable, and that to even wage it, we must - as Michael Douglas's character in the film states - "declare war on our own families" by treating addicts as criminals. Furthermore, the tremendous amounts of money to be made on the supply side, added to people's inevitable desire for altered states of consciousness on the demand side, ensure that there will never be an end to drug trafficking, no matter how many busts the government makes. Someone will always be ready to step into the breach and pick up the slack.
The problem, as I see it, is that all of these points have been made before and Traffic does nothing to make them more lucid or compelling. I think the structure is the problem: the movie tells four different stories (well, three-and-a-half: two of the strands together form one entire story arc) spread out across four different locations: Washington D.C., San Diego, Cincinnati and Tijuana, Mexico. In theory, this should provide for epic movie making: a vast mosaic of snapshots from within and without the drug trade, as we alternately rub up against dealers and suppliers, lawmen trying to put a stop to it all, and the people whose lives are directly affected by the presence of illegal, yet available, drugs. Coming in, I was very much looking forward to the interplay of these various stories.
But the truth is, these stories don't resonate off each other in any particularly useful way. Aside from the fact that they all have something to do with the drug trade, they may as well be separate movies. In fact, that's exactly how it feels: as if four separate and distinct movies have been jammed together into one giant hodge-podge, with parts cut out of each in order to make them all fit. Whenever a particular story strand is getting interesting or building some dramatic momentum, it is cut away from in order to visit one of the others. After little less than a half an hour, the technique becomes annoying and self defeating.
Furthermore, because time is at such a premium for each story, any semblance of subtlety or nuance must be forsaken in order to streamline and get points across. This isn't to say that the film lapses into Oliver Stone style polemics or overstatement, but it does mean that none of the stories yields any particular surprises, nor develops along lines that are any more than the most relentlessly cookie-cutter.
Story #1: Michael Douglas, playing an Ohio Supreme Court judge with a reputation for being tough on drug offenders, is appointed the nation's new drug czar, only to find out (at *EXACTLY* the same time!) that his straight-A daughter has become a major user. Oh, irony of ironies! Story #2: Catherine Zeta-Jones, after years of living the high life in San Diego, finds out that her husband, who she previously thought a legitimate businessman, is one of the country's biggest drug importers. After what seems like thirty seconds of soul searching, the genteel socialite turns ruthless she-bitch in order to secure her man's release from prison, as well as the successful continuation of his drug business. The other two stories are mirror images of each other: Benicio del Toro and Don Cheadle as, respectively, Mexican and American cops trying to put away drug pushers amidst a system that is, at best, ineffectual (in Cheadle's case) and at worst (for del Toro) actually encouraging of the lawbreakers. Cheadle and del Toro both give great performances, but we've seen this all before too: the frustration of the "one good cop" against all manner of corruption and villainy. The stories in Traffic bring nothing new to the party. (In fact, in the del Toro story, when we find out that a top ranking Mexican official is in fact involved with the drug trade, it seems as if it's supposed to be a surprise. But it was so loudly telegraphed from the very beginning that it packs absolutely no punch whatsoever.)
To be honest, I found the Michael Douglas story, though melodramatic, to be the one with the most heft and heart. I think the movie would have been much better if it had cut out the other tales and just focused on this one. After all, this one story covers an awful lot of ground in and of itself: as the new drug czar, Douglas not only must meet with Washington movers and shakers, but he also elects to visit with customs officials at the border (both here and in Mexico) to try and figure out how the situation is currently being handled. Add to that the harrowing personal dilemma of his own daughter's drug dependence, and you've got a story that is already sufficiently well-rounded and existing on more than one level (and locale). Making this one story into a gripping movie would have been accomplishment enough; unfortunately, Soderbergh and everyone else involved felt they had to pack in more, and in doing so they've plainly overreached.
But, as I said at the outset, I mean to be kind to this movie. I ultimately can't give it a positive rating, but I should emphasize that it's not a *painful* film to sit through in any way. And, if you're sympathetic with the viewpoint expressed, you should find something to like. Trouble is, that's a bit like preaching to the converted. And Traffic isn't good enough to win over anyone from the other side. So it fails as politics, and it's iffy as art. But it does have the best of intentions; in Hollywood today, that's got to count for something.
The problem, as I see it, is that all of these points have been made before and Traffic does nothing to make them more lucid or compelling. I think the structure is the problem: the movie tells four different stories (well, three-and-a-half: two of the strands together form one entire story arc) spread out across four different locations: Washington D.C., San Diego, Cincinnati and Tijuana, Mexico. In theory, this should provide for epic movie making: a vast mosaic of snapshots from within and without the drug trade, as we alternately rub up against dealers and suppliers, lawmen trying to put a stop to it all, and the people whose lives are directly affected by the presence of illegal, yet available, drugs. Coming in, I was very much looking forward to the interplay of these various stories.
But the truth is, these stories don't resonate off each other in any particularly useful way. Aside from the fact that they all have something to do with the drug trade, they may as well be separate movies. In fact, that's exactly how it feels: as if four separate and distinct movies have been jammed together into one giant hodge-podge, with parts cut out of each in order to make them all fit. Whenever a particular story strand is getting interesting or building some dramatic momentum, it is cut away from in order to visit one of the others. After little less than a half an hour, the technique becomes annoying and self defeating.
Furthermore, because time is at such a premium for each story, any semblance of subtlety or nuance must be forsaken in order to streamline and get points across. This isn't to say that the film lapses into Oliver Stone style polemics or overstatement, but it does mean that none of the stories yields any particular surprises, nor develops along lines that are any more than the most relentlessly cookie-cutter.
Story #1: Michael Douglas, playing an Ohio Supreme Court judge with a reputation for being tough on drug offenders, is appointed the nation's new drug czar, only to find out (at *EXACTLY* the same time!) that his straight-A daughter has become a major user. Oh, irony of ironies! Story #2: Catherine Zeta-Jones, after years of living the high life in San Diego, finds out that her husband, who she previously thought a legitimate businessman, is one of the country's biggest drug importers. After what seems like thirty seconds of soul searching, the genteel socialite turns ruthless she-bitch in order to secure her man's release from prison, as well as the successful continuation of his drug business. The other two stories are mirror images of each other: Benicio del Toro and Don Cheadle as, respectively, Mexican and American cops trying to put away drug pushers amidst a system that is, at best, ineffectual (in Cheadle's case) and at worst (for del Toro) actually encouraging of the lawbreakers. Cheadle and del Toro both give great performances, but we've seen this all before too: the frustration of the "one good cop" against all manner of corruption and villainy. The stories in Traffic bring nothing new to the party. (In fact, in the del Toro story, when we find out that a top ranking Mexican official is in fact involved with the drug trade, it seems as if it's supposed to be a surprise. But it was so loudly telegraphed from the very beginning that it packs absolutely no punch whatsoever.)
To be honest, I found the Michael Douglas story, though melodramatic, to be the one with the most heft and heart. I think the movie would have been much better if it had cut out the other tales and just focused on this one. After all, this one story covers an awful lot of ground in and of itself: as the new drug czar, Douglas not only must meet with Washington movers and shakers, but he also elects to visit with customs officials at the border (both here and in Mexico) to try and figure out how the situation is currently being handled. Add to that the harrowing personal dilemma of his own daughter's drug dependence, and you've got a story that is already sufficiently well-rounded and existing on more than one level (and locale). Making this one story into a gripping movie would have been accomplishment enough; unfortunately, Soderbergh and everyone else involved felt they had to pack in more, and in doing so they've plainly overreached.
But, as I said at the outset, I mean to be kind to this movie. I ultimately can't give it a positive rating, but I should emphasize that it's not a *painful* film to sit through in any way. And, if you're sympathetic with the viewpoint expressed, you should find something to like. Trouble is, that's a bit like preaching to the converted. And Traffic isn't good enough to win over anyone from the other side. So it fails as politics, and it's iffy as art. But it does have the best of intentions; in Hollywood today, that's got to count for something.