In the middle of Clint Eastwood’s new movie, “J. Edgar,” a group of Washingtonians collect in a cinema to watch the just-released 1931 flick “The Public Enemy.” It’s one of many in which James Cagney made gangsters look cool. Before the feature begins, patrons are subjected to a public service announcement from J. Edgar Hoover. Played by Leonardo DiCaprio, he enthusiastically describes his young agency’s work in arresting just the kind of men that the audience is there to admire. The PSA gets a laugh from the audience — both the one in “J. Edgar” and the one that’s there to watch “J. Edgar.” The movies continue to romanticize criminal lowlifes. And Americans continue to distrust — at best — the G-men, as FBI agents were once called, who work to bring them down.
Hoover himself is now known to most young people, if he’s known at all, as the guy who secretly wore women’s clothing and had sexual relationships with men, all while collecting personal details of the lives of his political superiors so he could blackmail them. “J. Edgar” handles such touchy material with a light hand.
| On screen |
| ‘J. Edgar’ |
| 2.5 out of 4 stars |
| Stars: Leonardo DiCaprio, Armie Hammer, Naomi Watts, Judi Dench |
| Director: Clint Eastwood |
| Rated: R for brief strong language |
| Running time: 137 minutes |
But the film showcases the other, better sides of its subject. Hoover brought modern forensic techniques to his bureau, insisting on collecting facts from a crime scene, instead of walking all over the evidence while coming up with fact-free theories about what might have transpired.
But that’s how “J. Edgar” feels in the end: like a collection of facts, though it’s true not all of them are verifiable. What’s missing is a grand theory. “J. Edgar” never really gets inside the heart of its title character. No one really can, of course; the man kept his cards close to his chest.
But the job of a screenwriter and director is to imagine the man in full, and present their theory to the audience. Here, we get only hints. We don’t even see his bedroom, filled with exotic objets d’art, until the final moments of the film, when its subject is already dead.
He is brought to life, though, by DiCaprio, in a surprisingly mature performance. We hear the story of his long and controversial career through the unfortunate gimmick of a memoir dictated to FBI employees. It’s when he’s in action, not pacing the room and dictating, when we see what kind of man he is and what kind of bureau he led.
DiCaprio isn’t the only one who deserves mention here. Naomi Watts is a quiet, but firm, presence as his secretary of more than half a decade, while Armie Hammer is just right as his right-hand man (and possibly more), Clyde Tolson. Judi Dench is always a welcome presence, though the character of Hoover’s mother could have been drawn more deeply. And Jeffrey Donovan is a pitch-perfect Robert F. Kennedy. He’s so good, in fact, it feels insulting when you notice Eastwood has put the attorney general’s name on his desk for viewers who can’t figure out who he is.
