‘Civil War:’ Catastrophe Porn Hits A Nadir
The Lincoln Memorial explodes, no one learns anything, and everyone loses. But Kirsten Dunst is magnificent.
I asked my best friend in March if she wanted to see Civil War when it opened.
She said, “Nah,” and that was it.
We’d recently gone to Dune: Part Two for the second time in as many weeks; we were jazzed and hoping for something new and exciting to look forward to on the silver screen, or at least I was, accepting in the resigned way of adulthood that, though nothing would likely touch the epic cinematic achievement of Dune, for the sake of my love of movies, as well as Hollywood’s survival as an industry, a highly anticipated trip to the theater should be forthcoming.
But when she turned me down, I realized, suddenly and stupidly, that the title Civil War, to a Black person, is probably going to hit differently.
However, I remained curious.
So I saw it.
And you know, I wish I hadn’t.
Civil War feels like maybe Alex Garland just wanted two hours of our lives to secure an audience while he pistol whips these United States, with all the repressed glee of one sort of Brit, the sort who goes through life with America living rent-free eternally in their embittered, post-empire psyche. (Maybe……
