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On April 28th, Universal Pictures will release United 93, a film that professes to be a real time account of what may have happened onboard United Flight 93 before it crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, on September 11, 2001. The pull of the story, of course, is that amidst the well-known calamities of the day, passengers on this plane -- most famously Todd Bemer and his “Let's Roll” charge -- halted the terrorists in their tracks by bringing the plane down themselves, before it could do harm to others. This film marks the first Hollywood interpretation (television has already left the gate) of September 11th, although Oliver Stone's World Trade Center -- “A true story of courage and survival” -- is set to open later this year. Universal seems to be having a hell of a time trying to figure out how to market the damn thing because of a furor by those who claim no one wants to watch one of the great tragedies in U.S. history unfold before them on the big screen. Why, they ask, does Hollywood feel the need to submit us to a ninety minute recreation of something we experienced a mere five years ago? Why indeed? Why do we make historical recreations at all, in fact? History is written in many ways. While the most obvious form remains the scholarly, well-researched tome, done by professional historians after years of archival research, history lives in many other forms and fashions. It lives in the songs, films, poems, and novels of the day. It lives in the stories people tell -- stories that often, likely, differ greatly from what actually happened. History is a frustrating beast, one that fails to organize time and space the way we often wish that it would. Decades pay no attention, for example, to the ethos that we attribute to them. The sixties -- the era of rebellion -- really begin in the 1950s, with actions like the Montgomery Bus Boycotts. And rather than end on December 31, 1969, they went past their expiration date, continuing into the 1970s with Radical Feminists and Black Panthers deciding they had more to say. And while it would've been lovely for the idea that “greed is good” to have remained in the 1980s, thankfully times other than the 1920s “roared.” Because of this, dates in general tend not be a central focus for many of us who study history, particularly those of us who focus on cultural history. We rely on chronology far less than many think we should, making for a thorny undertaking of defining historical trends while avoiding vulgar generalizations. Does it remain a worthy endeavor? Of course, for how else would we understand how, for example, an electorate chose Richard Millhouse Nixon in the visibly revolutionary year of 1968? History, then, is not a fixed entity, but rather is a process. It changes according to whose history it is, who is doing the telling, who is doing the remembering, and for what purpose. It changes through time, with events visited and re-visited. One of the oft-cited examples used by historians is Reconstruction, the period that followed the Civil War, which entailed the federal rebuilding of the physically, economically, and culturally devastated South. The history of Reconstruction evolved over time, with the same course of events examined. The early stages of its historiography began with an agreed-upon story from what has been called the Birth of a Nation school, a version in which the Ku Klux Klan is posed as the saving grace that finally threw northern carpetbaggers out of Dixie and restored order with Black Codes and Jim Crow. After the turn of the 20 th century, W.E.B. Du Bois made his own intervention, bringing a black intellectual voice into the story to offer a far different perspective from those who felt D.W. Griffith's masterful, but screamingly racist, film offered any kind of ray of truth. More recently, the esteemed Eric Foner leveled the field, at least until the next account, with his tome Reconstruction, a comprehensive three-braid narrative that examines the perspective of white southerners, northern legislators, and former slaves. The story of 9/11, like anything else, is certainly not a done deal, perhaps particularly with the increased visibility of conspiracy theories of late, and within the bigger picture, the story of what took place on United 93 is far from settled. While the “Let's Roll” version persists, for example, the official 9/11 Commission report concluded that the hijackers actually crashed the plane -- not the passengers. But which version is more important -- the official story, based on tapes and conversations? Or the popular version, the one that people perhaps need to believe? The story of United -- like any other re-telling -- relies on speculation and manipulation, something few historians admit they do, but all hopefully recognize as a mode of operation. History isn't about fact: it's about the representation of fact, meaning that once something has happened, it has no chance at ever recovering a moment of authenticity. It is a feature of what Walter Benjamin called the “age of mechanical reproduction,” a culture in which the reproduction of representations of reality permeate our postmodern sensibilities. In terms of representing the movie itself, Universal has taken some heat. Just the hanging of the poster on the walls of multiplexes raised eyebrows, what with its image of the shadow of the spiked head of the Statue of Liberty facing the outline of a plane headed towards an already-smoking New York City skyline that still includes the barely standing twin towers. To appease those who raised the eyebrows, the studio has promised 10 percent of the gross from the first three days of the film's release to the Flight 93 National Memorial Fund, and has screened a “making-of” short that includes footage of family members saying they supported the film. But it is perhaps the trailer for the movie, shown on some 3,000 screens, that has caused the most talk, with many stories about moviegoers who were uncomfortable with the images in the trailer. Some theaters reported that audience members yelled “Too soon!” at the screen, and in New York City, AMC Lincoln Square pulled the trailer after people complained. For some, movies can, certainly, be a form of escape. But they serve many other purposes as well, one of which is to make us visually understand a course of events, regardless of when those events took place. In doing this, United 93 is hardly unprecedented, as many movies have reflected on the history in its most recent form. On July 4, 1968, for example, The Green Berets, starring John Wayne, came out smack in the middle of the Vietnam war, mere months after the brutal Tet Offensive turned the tide of public opinion regarding the battles that television showed in non-fiction form in American living rooms each evening. The film that many consider to have put a human face on AIDS, Longtime Companion , came out less than a decade after the disease became visible in the U.S. And what of Hotel Rwanda or The Killing Fields or Salvador, films that likely shed light on brutal events that many people hadn't paid any attention to? Or even more recently: Jarhead, Three Kings, Osama, Live from Baghdad. The list is long. And some of the list is distinguished. But not all. What of The Producers , a musical about the man who brought us the Holocaust? A small film that became the most successful Broadway musical in history, spawned yet another film version, but at its core, is of a troubling nature. Can you imagine a Columbine-the-Musical? Would you be able to see it happening in fifty years or so? How about Hurricane Katrina? What would its “Springtime for Hitler” be called? And conversely, has time and space allowed us to not be disturbed over the sights in a film such as Life is Beautiful? Were people just fine with the details of the concentration camps because they belonged to an older history? Or is it that only those people who have access to making their voices known -- those who are able to be the loudest -- have opinions that matter? And that those who are upset but silent don't? So when does history come too soon? It can't, and when United 93 bows at the Tribeca Film Festival, an affair founded by Robert De Niro and friends as part of the effort to rejuvenate lower Manhattan in the wake of 9/11, people will likely discover this to be true. History happens the second time moves on, not in terms of societal progress, but rather in terms of historical space. It isn't always pleasant, nor should we expect it to be. History can be disturbing, and gruesome, and brutal, and uncomfortable, and distressing, and alarming, and unsettling. Because that is what life is like for many people in this world. So perhaps we should get used to it. And if we don't like what we see, perhaps we should have the courage to turn it off, make it better, or perhaps put effort into ensuring that what is so disconcerting never happens again. April 12, 2006
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