Although Munich is predominantly billed as an action picture filled with conflict and terrorism, it’s so much more. Munich is an earnest nail-biter, a cerebral thriller, and an affecting exercise in post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When you’re not on the edge of your seat, it quickly becomes apparent that the actors were emotionally absorbed in their characters’ anxieties and passion. For instance, seeing Bana paranoid enough to tear apart a mattress, a phone, and a television and then sleep on the closet floor is distressing and effective. Additionally, Munich’s most emotive moment occurs when Eric Bana cries amazingly genuine tears, as he listens to his character’s daughter speak to him over the phone. At this moment, the audience forgets that they’re watching a Hollywood production and instead sees a distraught father weep.
Even conscious of Munich being rushed from production to screen within six months (for Oscar consideration) shouldn’t deter audiences from considering it as one of Spielberg’s best. Granted, Spielberg could have nursed the spirit of the picture more, pared it down in length, and extracted the slightly ostentatious tone. Nevertheless, one can appreciate the stern, yet somehow impartial, perspective from a gifted director—especially considering the man is Jewish himself.
In Munich’s closing shot, Spielberg captures a pre-9/11 Manhattan skyline in the backdrop. As the Twin Towers stand tall behind Avner and Ephraim (Geoffrey Rush), one can only draw poetic parallels between the terrorism just witnessed on screen and the occurrences of that blue-skied Tuesday. Just like the film in its entirety, this scene alone is poignant, arousing, and inviting of analysis.
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