Credits:
Director: Steven Spielberg
Screenwriters: Tony Kushner, Eric Roth
Based on the book "Vengeance" by: George Jonas
Producers: Kathleen Kennedy, Barry Mendel, Steven Spielberg, Colin Wilson
Cast:
Avner: Eric Bana
Steve: Daniel Craig
Carl: Ciaran Hinds
Robert: Mathieu Kassovitz
Hans: Hanns Zischler
Daphna: Ayelet Zurer
Ephraim: Geoffrey Rush
Avner's mother: Gila Almagor
Papa: Michael Lonsdale
Louis: Mathieu Amalric
Andreas: Moritz Bleibtreu

The problem faced by Universal Picture, which co-produced the film with DreamWorks and will distribute, is twofold: On the domestic side, the company must market "Munich," a film without stars, as a Spielberg film, yet it's the least Spielbergian film he has ever made. Secondly, overseas marketing must counter suspicions that a controversial film about terrorism made by an American Jewish director will have an anti-Palestinian bias. It doesn't, but we're talking about perceptions here.

The film mostly concerns the aftermath of the terrifying hostage taking and murder of 11 Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics. The story, written by Tony Kushner and Eric Roth (based on the book "Vengeance" by George Jonas), follows the somewhat fictionalized efforts of a secret team of five Israelis stationed in Europe to track down and kill 11 Palestinians suspected of planning the Munich attack. The Munich event itself is doled out in dark, gritty flashbacks throughout the movie, but these are seen as a recurring nightmare that drives and haunts the unit's leader.

Eric Bana plays Avner Kauffman, a Mossad officer and former bodyguard to Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir. He is personally selected by Meir (Lynn Cohen in a fine impersonation) to lead the assassins. So great is the secrecy that he must resign his position, virtually abandon his pregnant wife (Ayelet Zurer) and operate beyond the knowledge and supervision of his bosses, particularly the morally equivocating hard-ass Ephraim (Geoffrey Rush).

The team is a surprisingly motley crew. Grimly determined South African hit man Steve (Daniel Craig) is maybe too eager to kill. Meticulous Belgian toymaker Robert (Mathieu Kassovitz) has the task of assembling bombs. The German-Jew Hans (Hanns Zischler), whose cover is an antique dealer, proves an excellent forger of documents. Cleanup man Carl (Ciaran Hinds) must worry that targets are clean and no collateral damage ensues.

At first, the movie takes place in the familiar movie world of international intrigue and revenge melodrama. Gradually, though, an unease fills the scenes of the team shadowing and liquidating their prey. The victims are not what one might expect: a scholarly writer in Rome, who translates Arab literature into Italian
a dignified professor in Paris, living a comfortable bourgeois life with his family. The realization hits some of the killers that no one has seen one iota of proof that these targets had anything to do with Munich.

Certainly, no one today needs reminding how government assurances and intelligence can prove woefully wrong if not disingenuous. Indeed a new book about Israel's revengeful response to Munich claims the Israelis largely got the wrong men.

"All this blood comes back to us," complains one assassin. The unintended consequence for these men is that they are now haunted by their own bloody deeds. Worse, with these illegal acts, one argues, Israel loses its sense of righteousness. How can anyone now tell them apart from their enemies?

There is even another price. For every death, Black September, the terrorist group behind Munich, strikes back with acts often more horrific, at least in terms of body count, than Munich. Finally, the hunters find themselves among the hunted as members of Avner's team are killed one by one.

Political context comes in a telling sequence in which Avner, in his pose as a European communist, discusses the Palestinian issue with a Palestinian terrorist, who is unaware of Avner's true identity. In this calm discussion, it becomes evident that two tribes claim the same land with equal passion and that each has genuine grievances against the other. Each is willing to answer acts of violence with more acts of violence, perpetuating a deadly cycle that will never cease without the intercession of peacemakers, a group in short supply in the Middle East, then and now.

One fascinating aspect to the group's tracking down targets is their total reliance on a shady French contact, Louis (Mathieu Amalric). He along with his deceptively affable father (Michael Lonsdale) are equal-opportunity buyers and sellers of information. It takes awhile for Avner to realize that nothing prevents this charming family from selling out his team.

Spielberg stages the killings to maximize suspense without resorting to elaborate cinematic tricks. Killings and gunfights are messy, even botched. Characters are ordinary mortals with little emphasis on heroics. Avner's primary concern is a wife and daughter, whom he has spirted out of Israel to Brooklyn so he can visit them occasionally.

Locations in various countries are kept matter of fact rather than exotic. Cinematographer Janusz Kaminski's smooth, retro style moves the film into darker, more disturbing colors as the killings continue. Designer Rick Carter never shows off period details. Michael Kahn's editing builds suspense in the individual sequences in a Hitch*****ian manner as John Williams' muted score quickens the pulse.

The film ends as two men part ways in Brooklyn. The towers of the World Trade Center dominate the skyline behind them.

Credits:
Screenwriter-director: Terrence Malick
Producer: Sarah Green
Executive producers: Toby Emmerich, Mark Ordesky, Trish Hofmann, Bill Mechanic, Rolf Mittweg
Director of photography: Emmanuel Lubezki
Production designer: Jack Fisk
Music: James Horner
Costumes: Jacqueline West
Editors: Richard Chew, Hank Corwin, Saar Klein, Mark Yoshikawa
Cast:
Capt. Smith: Colin Farrell
Pocahontas: Q'Orianka Kilcher
Capt. Newport: Christopher Plummer
John Rolfe: Christian Bale
Powhatan: August Schellenberg
Opechancanough: Wes Studi
Wingfield: David Thewlis
Captain Argall: Yorick Van Wageningen

Clearly "The New World" takes an audience into the rarefied atmosphere of an art film made with a studio budget, making its boxoffice impact hard to assess. The 150-minute film opens Christmas Day in Los Angeles and New York, then expands Jan. 13. Its slow, bucolic rhythms and unwillingness to exploit the violence or sex inherent in the story -- the film nevertheless carries a PG-13 rating for its battle scenes -- relegate the film to audiences devoted to Malick's work and film esoterica. In that world, it may become a hit.

The historical record -- especially on the Native American side, where no written language exists -- is skimpy. Nevertheless, Malick and production designer Jack Fisk bring us into a primeval Eden that feels credible. The weirdly painted natives and white-skinned, armor-clad intruders eye one another suspiciously. Their worlds, goals and beliefs could not be more antithetical.

The natives have little sense of possessions or greed but do have a strong social order. The settlers, most unprepared to deal with a wilderness, seek riches, regard each other with envy and mutiny at a moment's notice. A violent clash is inevitable.

John Smith (Colin Farrell) is first seen in shackles on one of three English ships that reach the James River in 1607. He has been insubordinate but is too valuable a soldier and survivalist to lose to a hanging. So Capt. Newport (Christopher Plummer) frees him upon arrival in the New World. He even gives Smith a key assignment before the captain returns to England for supplies.

Smith leads an expedition upriver to contact a native chief in hopes of establishing trade. Instead his men are killed, and he is taken prisoner. His life is spared by the chief (August Schellenberg) when his favorite daughter, Pocahontas (Q'Orianka Kilcher), begs for mercy. The chief releases Smith to this teenager so the two can learn each other's language and he might gain insight into the newcomers' intentions.

What they do, of course, is fall in love. Here the movie enters a dreamlike state, a nearly dialogue-free, lengthy montage composed of the physical world of the Virginia circa 1607. (The film actually was shot in that state.) As a strong bond is formed by two absolute strangers, they take in the richness of landscape and sounds of wind and birds in the forest. What would be unspeakably corny in the hands of a less masterly filmmaker works here because of Malick's absolute fidelity to the underlying emotions.

Smith returns to a crude fort with provisions supplied by the Indians. But his homecoming is like awaking from a dream into the ugliness and pettiness of the coarse settlers. When the settlers plant corn and thereby tip off the native chef that they intend to stay, he prepares to attack. But his daughter warns her lover, and the assault is thwarted.

The natives' heartbroken leader banishes his daughter, who then falls into the hands of another tribe that eventually trades her to the whites as an "insurance policy." Smith vehemently opposes this trade, which causes the ungrateful colonialists to depose him as their leader.

After the return of Capt. Newport, Smith is called back to England to lead other expeditions while the Indian girl adopts to living among the whites. Believing Smith to be dead, she marries newly arrived aristocrat John Rolfe (Christian Bale) and has a child. Much later, the couple travels to England, where this "princess" is introduced to the British monarch. Here she sees Smith for one last time.

While the name Pocahontas is never mentioned -- the settlers ridiculously name her Rebecca -- the film is essentially a love letter to the idealized myth of this historic woman, who is viewed here as both forest naif and earth mother. Malick and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki cover Kilcher with more loving poses and angles than a photographer doing a fashion spread. Kilcher is a striking young woman, and the camera -- and perhaps Malick himself? -- falls in love with her.

The movie has a restlessness as it moves through this story with a meandering camera, inner monologues and shifting points of view. James Horner's sumptuous musical score, incorporating bits of Wagner, Mozart and others, emulates the steadiness of the wind while its repetitive refrains remind one of Philip Glass. The camera lingers on details of frontier life, but the exploration here is less scientific and historical than a spiritual quest for what was lost and what was gained in this clash of civilizations. Certainly, the Westernization of this native woman presages the fate of North American natives and the despoiling of their paradise.

Farrell looks uncomfortable in the role, seldom changing expression and shifting his body aimlessly. Kilcher is quick-witted, full of 15-year-old life and possesses fine instincts despite being a newcomer to acting. Bale underplays his role, letting his innate goodness seep slowly out. In the native roles, Schellenberg and Wes Studi capture the dignity and ferocity of warriors fighting to retain a way of life. David Thewlis, Yorick Van Wageningen and others ably portray the avarice and aggressiveness of the newcomers.