Yves here. When it comes to classifying films, my perspective may differ slightly from the norm. I’ve always hesitated to categorize “films about politics” as “political films.” The latter, in my view, tend to promote or vilify distinct political agendas or figures, akin to propaganda—Leni Riefenstahl’s *Triumph of the Will* serves as the quintessential example.
However, many films discussing political themes are indeed labeled as “political films.” I wonder if my distinction reflects a genuine difference or merely a personal quirk. Satyajit Das also seems to question this classification, suggesting it’s a topic worthy of exploration.
This article is the first part of a two-part examination of political cinema. Here, I will explore films that seem political at first glance but may not truly fit that description. The second installment will delve into films that, while perhaps less overtly political, actually engage with political themes more significantly.
By Satyajit Das, a former banker and the author of numerous technical works on derivatives as well as several general titles: Traders, Guns & Money: Knowns and Unknowns in the Dazzling World of Derivatives (2006 and 2010), Extreme Money: The Masters of the Universe and the Cult of Risk (2011), and A Banquet of Consequences (2016 and 2021). His latest book, *The Everything Bubble: A Guide to the New Age of Financial Speculation and Phantom Wealth*, is set to be released in 2027. He also writes about ecotourism, including *In Search of the Pangolin* (2006, with Jade Novakovic) and *Wild Quests: Journeys into Ecotourism and the Future for Animals* (2024). This is adapted from an extended version of a piece published in the print edition of the New Indian Express.
Sorting films into categories and genres is common, yet when it comes to political cinema, it often oversimplifies complex themes.
A glance at film critics’ lists of the best political movies raises intriguing questions. Is a film revolving around a politician or a campaign inherently political? If a character expresses a political stance, does that qualify the entire film? This creates unnecessary subcategories such as political drama, political thriller, and political satire.
Classifying works into familiar formats implies certain shared characteristics, which, when met, seemingly denote success. However, this oversimplification can obscure genuine evaluations of a film’s merit.
Classification also attempts to impose an objective standard on inherently subjective opinions. The imperfect nature of most art is part of its beauty. For instance, Pablo Picasso’s *Les Demoiselles d’Avignon* is considered flawed; the artist deemed it incomplete for years, despite its crucial role in the evolution of Cubism. As Jorge Luis Borges stated in his 1951 essay *Kafka and his Precursors*: “Every writer creates his own precursors.” Each artistic endeavor is inherently shaped by what has come before and is affected by external circumstances. Cinema is no exception, with many works shifting in political significance over time.
Director Alan J. Pakula’s 1976 film *All The President’s Men* is frequently hailed as a notable political film. In essence, however, it serves as a documentary detailing the work of two journalists, Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein (portrayed by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman), as they uncover the Watergate scandal. The film authentically captures the journalistic process as it once was, heavy with dialogue and often devoted to the mundane tasks of reporting. Its fame arises from the very excesses of Watergate, which have since become more commonplace.
*Primary Colors*, directed by Mike Nichols in 1998, provides a semi-fictional glimpse into Bill Clinton’s 1992 presidential campaign, inspired by Joe Klein’s novel. The film, filled with multiple sub-plots, navigates revelations about Clinton’s extramarital affairs. Ultimately, it explores human flaws—the self-destructive tendencies of a man and his wife’s decision to maintain loyalty despite his shortcomings, hiding her own aspirations behind a façade of unwavering support.
Noteworthy moments include a memorable performance by Billy Bob Thornton as a fictionalized James Carville, the character Henry Burton (played by Adrien Lester), a descendant of a civil rights leader, and Mykelti Williamson’s portrayal of a man sharing the struggles of illiteracy. The film’s most revealing political scene occurs when John Travolta’s version of Clinton addresses union workers late at a rally, demonstrating a seemingly genuine connection with them. He refrains from making promises but vows to do his utmost for their well-being. This moment of honesty underscores what made Clinton appealing, both as an individual and a politician.
Frank Capra’s *Mr. Smith Goes to Washington* showcases a naive hero’s journey that ends in predictable disillusionment. Jimmy Stewart portrays Mr. Smith, a leader of the Boy Rangers, who takes on corruption in Washington after being appointed to fill a deceased US Senator’s seat. The plot is somewhat simplistic, centralizing the idea that Washington has compromised its integrity and no longer serves its citizens—a notion that, at the time of the film’s release in 1939, was likely unsurprising and is certainly acknowledged today. The film’s iconic filibuster scene is memorable, though Jean Arthur’s congressional staffer and Claude Rain’s duplicitous Senator Joseph Paine render Stewart’s idealism almost secondary. While often lauded as a classic, it may not possess the subtlety and depth of Capra’s best works, like *It’s A Wonderful Life*.
In the 1972 film *The Candidate*, Robert Redford plays Bill McKay, a young, clean-cut progressive running for a Senate seat. Believing he cannot win, McKay initially speaks honestly to the electorate. When he unexpectedly gains momentum, he discovers the realities of political success—managing narratives and flexible stances. Captivated by his idealistic charm, he ultimately compromises his principles. Director Michael Ritchie illustrates a familiar narrative of ambition’s surrender, culminating in the film’s famous closing line: “What do we do now?” This statement encapsulates a fundamental political truth: the pursuit of power often overshadows purpose.
Films like *Parallax View* (1974), *Three Days of the Condor* (1972), and *The Manchurian Candidate* (1962) appear to convey political messages yet are primarily thrillers. In *Parallax View*, also directed by Alan Pakula, the storyline follows reporter Joe Frady as he investigates a senator’s murder, only to become ensnared in a conspiracy involving the elusive Parallax Corporation—a presumed government operation. While Warren Beatty delivers an impressive performance, the film’s gripping atmosphere is undermined by overly predictable plot devices.
*Three Days of the Condor*, directed by Sydney Pollack, offers a formulaic thriller that begins with a brutal massacre at a secret spy agency. The hero, Robert Redford—extremely charismatic—survives as he is out for lunch. Though it features a complicated romance with Faye Dunaway, the tension largely revolves around Redford’s character being pursued by assassins. Powerful performances from actors like Max von Sydow and Cliff Robertson highlight the film, despite its somewhat flimsy narrative.
John Frankenheimer’s *The Manchurian Candidate* plays on the anxieties surrounding communist infiltration in America during the McCarthy era. The narrative involves two captured men, portrayed by Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey, who are brainwashed and returned to society to carry out sleeper-agent operations. Notable acting bolsters the plot, particularly Angela Lansbury’s ruthless performance as a scheming mother.
*Parallax View*, *Three Days of the Condor*, and *The Manchurian Candidate* flirt with political narratives but ultimately adhere to the conventions of their respective genres. They emerge from a post-war era marked by Cold War paranoia, anxiety, and distrust—contexts that resonate even today, underscoring the potential for unaccountable power.
Interestingly, some lists of political cinema include Martin Scorsese’s 1976 film *Taxi Driver*, often considered among his finest works. Despite a plot that stretches credibility, the film encapsulates Robert de Niro’s riveting, improvised performance as Travis Bickle, showcasing his gradual descent into a nightmare of contradiction. Michael Chapman’s cinematography captures a gritty New York that is largely a memory. The film’s themes hinge more on alienation and rejection than direct political commentary.
English filmmaker Ken Loach’s extensive oeuvre illustrates the complexities of genre classification. His films, such as *Riff-Raff* (1991), *My Name Is Joe* (1998), *I, Daniel Blake* (2016), and *Sorry We Missed You* (2019), address social issues, including labor, immigration, poverty, and class struggles. Loach’s political standing is highlighted by the frequent censorship of his films due to his outspoken views, particularly regarding Palestinian rights.
Influenced by Italian neo-realism, Loach’s body of work emphasizes everyday life and interpersonal relationships set against a political backdrop. His pronounced views may render his films propagandistic in intent, attempting to drive change, whether one agrees with him or not.
Ultimately, while many of these films have merit, they may be less politically charged than their categories would suggest.
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