PicoBlog

There is no evidence that the polio-stricken Franklin D. Roosevelt ever pushed himself up and out of his wheelchair to prove a point to his military advisors that a counter-offensive against Japan was a worthwhile risk in the hours after the attack against Pearl Harbor.

In the hands of a less-competent actor, such a scene might make for a seriously distasteful moment that borders on the line between dark, unintentional comedy and historical malpractice (in other words, just another day on set for Michael Bay).

But Jon Voight delivers a performance with such determination, detail, and fortitude that it forces the viewers to forget about the previous 130 minutes that make up the first two acts of 2001’s Pearl Harbor.

Voight pivots his wheelchair ninety degrees, plants his metal braces into the ground, waives off his assistant, and physically props himself up in front of a room full of generals and admirals.

“Do not tell me it can’t be done,” he says, as the music swells.

On paper, the scene shouldn’t work at all. The premise is flawed—not because Roosevelt never did this—but also because most of the American military leadership agreed that the United States needed to strike back against Japan, and needed to do it quickly.

That’s okay, I guess. There is a certain amount of artistic license to be had in a historical film. One could argue that an attack on U.S. soil that left nearly 2,500 people dead might contain enough drama to sustain a feature-length film without rewriting the facts, but I’m not here to tell Michael Bay how to do his job.

Voight attacked the scene with sincerity and provided a believable performance in a fairly outrageous scene in an extremely outrageous movie.

He was a Franklin D. Roosevelt historian who petitioned to play the role. He actually wore the steel leg-braces and suffered bruises and chafing for weeks after shooting. The makeup crew applied a foam latex neck wattle and gelatin ear tips that made Jon Voight genuinely resemble the 32nd president of the United States.

In any other film, he might have earned an Oscar for his troubles. But he wasn’t even nominated, probably because the surrounding three hours of Pearl Harbor are more suited for a Razzie.

Okay, let’s take a step back and examine Pearl Harbor without noting the exceptional acting job of Jon Voight.

Today, you can appreciate it as either an incredibly offensive movie or an incredibly hilarious movie. I lean towards the latter, but the unintentional comedy is partially a product of its offensiveness, so it’s hard to have your cake and eat it, too.

If you’re like me and watch Pearl Harbor three times a year on AMC to have a good laugh, I think that’s alright. It’s a funny movie.

The movie opens with a child flying a plane.

Ben Affleck is shot down over the Atlantic, but survives thanks to a deal with God.

During the Dec. 7, 1941 attack, Josh Hartnett remarks, “I think World War II just started.”

There’s a scene where Tom Sizemore tries to shoot Japanese planes out of the air with a pump shotgun.

The credits roll and the song you hear is “There You’ll Be” by Faith Hill. Yes, a World War II movie is capped off by a Faith Hill song. This was several years before Ms. Hill would jumpstart “Sunday Night Football” on NBC.

This movie, like I said, is hilarious. But if you’re looking at things to be offended by, you’ll no find no shortage of those either. I won’t go through them, but it’s possible that Michael Bay made this movie to ignite a second war with Japan.

Pearl Harbor was born via one, singular motive. Any rational person would expect that motive to involve honoring the men and women that perished on Dec. 7, 1941. But that’s not it.

Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer made Pearl Harbor because they saw that Titanic made $2.2 billion at the box office in 1997. And they looked at each other and said, “how the fuck do we do that?”

Most, if not all of the ingredients that made Titanic a hit four years earlier are present in the Pearl Harbor recipe.

Early twentieth-century maritime disaster that killed thousands? Check. Hot young actors? Check. Maniacal director? Check. Tedious love triangle? Check. Pandering dialogue? Check, check.

Pearl Harbor plays the same hits as Titanic, but the only thing in Pearl Harbor that seems to match the quality of Titanic is the action. The forty minute action sequence depicting the bombing of Pearl Harbor is legitimately impressive, well-coordinated, and non-gratuitous.

But like the caveat I made regarding Jon Voight’s performance, it’s still sandwiched by roughly 140 minutes of bad movie.

Titanic works as a love story because of the plausible chemistry between Kate Winslett and Leonardo DiCaprio. Even Billy Zane turns in a hell of a performance as Winslett’s jilted ex.

None of that is present in Pearl Harbor.

Ultimately, the performances of the main love triangle (Ben Affleck, Josh Hartnett, and Kate Beckinsale) are as offensive, if not more so, than any of the historical inaccuracies.

That’s why Jon Voight’s turn as Roosevelt is so jarring. In a sea of bad acting, Voight raises all ships. For one scene, at least.

Jon Voight might have won an Oscar if Pearl Harbor had been a halfway-decent movie. His dedication to the role, from his replication of Roosevelt’s speech to his unnerving physicality, is undoubtedly what the Academy Awards love to reward.

He just so happened to play the role he was born to play in a movie that makes most people wish they were never born at all.

There was, surprisingly, one Oscar for Pearl Harbor: a win for best sound editing.

But there were a slew of Razzies.

The film was nominated for nine Golden Raspberry Awards, ranging from worst screen couple to worst director.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t even win those, getting beaten to the punch by Tom Green’s magnum opus, Freddy Got Fingered, which virtually swept the 2002 Razzies.

By almost all measures, Michael Bay should be embarrassed that he made this movie. But he isn’t, because when I say “almost all measures,” I’m excluding the fact that Pearl Harbor made $450 million worldwide.

That’s less than a fourth of what Titanic pulled in, but when you shoot for the moon, etc. It’s important because, at the end of the day, that’s the only metric that matters to Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer, and that’s what they aspire to, which is reasonable.

Jon Voight probably is embarrassed that he participated in the film. But he’s one of the very few that shouldn’t be.

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