Its focus is Dan Ellsberg, a passionate and highly intelligent American, ex-marine and erstwhile aide to Robert McNamara, not to mention a strategist in the construction of the Cold War. In 1971, following a gruesome two-year tour of duty in Vietnam, Ellsberg used his connections and prestige to leak The Pentagon Papers, a short (over 4,000 page) history of the missteps, pratfalls and general carelessness that went into the war from 1945-1967. Its partial publication in the New York Times and the entering of the document into public record by Senator Mike Gravel of Alaska during s filibuster exacerbated the country's already wavering trust issues and dealt a rarely equaled blow to the presidency; black eyes were dealt to Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and McNamara in one fell swoop.
I mention McNamara for a reason. In the early 2000s, McNamara sat down with the filmmaker Errol Morris for an interview about America, the military, his life, politics and his complex, heartfelt relationships with the men he worked with and for as US Secretary of Defense. His reaction to the death of John F. Kennedy ranks with the great emotional moments in the last decade of cinema. The Fog of War, which Morris hinged on little more than McNamara's presence and intellect, is a deeply personal work of awesome power that reveals a lifetime of grief and dismay over how government can be so easily manipulated; it doubles as an essential document of that mysterious decade spent in the ether, known as the 1960s.
The Most Dangerous Man in America certainly talks a great game about the 60s. Ellsberg, in interviews, describes his peaceful run-ins with the counter-culture -- he married the writer Patricia Marx, an outspoken flower child; later, the late historian Howard Zinn offers support for his actions. But even amongst his friends, there is a sense that there is more interest in Ellsberg as a figure than anything else. Riding high on their self-righteous notion that government corruption is something new in and of itself, the filmmakers seem dead-set on leaving any complexities and multitudes in Ellsberg at face value which leaves the film stiff and broad as an exposé.
Facts are presented while the individual conscience is excised in The Most Dangerous Man in America and the directors' sterility in form extenuates the importance of what Ellsberg did. As a portrait of a man, it asks nothing but questions aimed to further his image as a heroic radical, largely ignoring the husband, father and conflicted political convert he is. As a snapshot of the 60s, I can only say that it fails spectacularly to capture or convey anything that wouldn't be covered in a high school history class.
