"Wonder Woman" and loving your enemy

Much has been made of the ways in which "Wonder Woman" is different from male-centered comic-book movies. For example, director Patty Jenkins goes out of her way not to sexually objectify the movie's many female characters, and the effort pays off: It really does feel like a flick the Amazons would sign off on. Yet in addition to the fierce female warriors, Diana's emphasis on peacekeeping, and the aforementioned lack of gratuitous T&A (check out the Amazons' practical outfits!), I noticed something else about "WW" that seemed like a marked departure from the usual superhero testosterone-fests: the recognition that even our enemies are still human beings.

The moment whizzes by fast. Diana is trying to convince Capt. Steve Trevor that Ares, the god of war, is behind all of the hideous violence that WWI has wrought. Yes, she's been fighting on the Allied side against the Germans, from the moment that Steve landed on the shores of Themyscira through the bombastic, CGI-heavy climax. But her belief that Ares is the real culprit, not the German army, supports a logic one doesn't often witness in Marvel or DC films: If Ares is defeated, the Germans, too, will be liberated from the awful burden of their own bellicosity.

In the realm of progressive politics, particularly the branch dedicating to fighting oppressive systems, it's long been understood that neither the oppressor nor the oppressed group ultimately benefits from an oppressive dynamic. Sure, it sucks to make 79 cents for every dollar a man earns, but men aren't stronger, better people because they benefit from injustice. If anything, our sexist system makes good relationships between men and women more difficult to maintain than they would otherwise be, as women feel (understandable) resentment and men experience (equally understandable) guilt. Yes, there are shorter-term, material gains to be had when you're in the oppressor's seat, but it coarsens your soul if you don't commit to dismantling it, and that's too steep a price to pay.

"WW" doesn't delve into the intricacies of interlocking oppressions, but Diana's comment clearly underscores the film's overall message about war: It's bad for everyone. Victories that result in a bunch of stuff being blown up aren't glorious or triumphant; they are, at best, a necessary evil. (It's worth noting that the Marvel movies, and especially the "Avengers" films, have at least acknowledged the collateral damage -- to people and buildings -- that superhero smackdowns tend to produce.)

Germans might well be the most loathed white people in Hollywood period pieces. Think of the Nazis in the Indiana Jones movies, or the Nazis in any movie, or indeed the amoral general and mad scientist in "WW" itself. Yet Jenkins' movie tries to see the bigger picture, in a way that some might consider more typically feminine than masculine. At the end of the day, only the most sociopathic bullies want this gruesome war, and it's worth fighting for the freedom of the many, and remembering in the process that peace-loving people will always outnumber the most devout warmongers.

"The Hurt Locker"

Kathryn Bigelow's unusual, masterful war movie will almost certainly end up on my list of this year's top 10 films. (The others so far: Adventureland, Up, and Humpday.) From the opening scene, in which the director shows us simply and memorably how a military bomb disabler does his job, to an exquisitely rendered duel between snipers -- American and Iraqi -- across a barren desert landscape, The Hurt Locker is a film in total control of its tone. It's a stripped-down vision of war that communicates familiar messages (we and the enemy aren't so different; behind the stoic mask of a soldier lies untold psychological tumult) in ways that seem utterly fresh.

Take that sniper duel. A soldier played by Anthony Mackie is taking aim at an Iraqi shooter a long, long way away. Both men have partial cover and are partially exposed. Either could hit the other, but neither has an easy shot. As each man prepares his weapon, we see a fly climb down to the eyelashes of the Iraqi fighter before he shoos it away. A moment later, we see another fly do the same to Mackie. This is a film that treats Americans and Iraqis, adults and children, with a fundamental respect that can be hard to find in war films. Its main character, Staff Sergeant William James (played with Oscar-worthy integrity by Jeremy Renner), is a man doing his job; it just so happens that it's one of the most dangerous jobs imaginable. At one point in the film, a superior asks him how many bombs he's disabled. His answer: 837, including today's.

Starting with an opening quote from journalist Chris Hedges, this is a film that sees war as a drug, and it soon becomes evident that it's James' drug of choice. The first half of The Hurt Locker is a fairly methodical depiction of James' work life that's riveting in its documentary-like realism. In the second half, the screenplay by journalist Mark Boal (whose writing inspired Paul Haggis' underrated In the Valley of Elah) starts taking risks, exposing layers of James' character that we didn't think existed. We already know he takes unnecessary risks, but when he lets emotion cloud his usually excellent judgment, he emerges as a truly three-dimensional protagonist -- something not enough war movies have provided.

The film avoids clichés without being showy about it. My friend Reed observed that after the sniper duel, we get to see something few other movies have shown us: the slow, unsettling period of waiting, waiting, to see if the fight is really over. Most films about combat end the scene when the bad guys have been eliminated; this one stays with the American soldiers as they wonder if anybody else will emerge to take a shot at them. Eventually, as sunset approaches, James calls it. Cut to a scene of the three main characters back at the barracks, roughhousing in what seems like typical tough-guy style. But even this scene plays out in an understated way. As a result, we're forced to examine its elements rather than being spoon-fed a message about what war can do to men.

Throughout the film, Boal and Bigelow keep the interpersonal drama low-key; their focus is on the everyday tussles that can put all involved at greater risk during combat. I've rarely seen a movie about war that so devastatingly communicates its toll on a soldier's mind. The film's workmanlike ethic recalls last year's The Wrestler -- another superb character study with a bare-bones, quasi-documentary aesthetic. The Hurt Locker isn't the easiest movie to sit through, but it's captivating, and its use of violence is the opposite of gratuitous. Roger Ebert called it "the best American film of the summer," which might end up being an understatement. Even if you don't like most war movies, I urge you to see it.