The Conspirator: Redford's Autobiography

Robert Redford obtained superstar status in the early 70s with crowd-pleasing hits like Butch Cassidy and The Sting. But after All the President's Men and Three Days of the Condor, he turned into the most handsome scold in Hollywood, only occasionally reverting to satisfying films like Ordinary People and Quiz Show.

His latest film, The Conspirator, is the most egregious example of his liberal hectoring: Government is evil, except when it's enforcing liberal policies. In this movie, the evil government card is personified by Secretary of War Edwin Stanton (Kevin Kline), who chews the scenery as a rabid, Constitution-be-damned-we're-saving-the-Union martinet who sees to it that Mary Surratt (Robin Wright), the landlady of several of the conspirators, is tried as a co-conspirator by military tribunal as opposed to civilian trial.

That much is indeed true. In fact, much of the film is historically accurate, though much of it is not. The costumes, hair, carriages, streets, and interiors are all historically correct, but the bigger question is: Of all the films one could make about the Civil War in general and Lincoln's assasination in particular, why make this one?

There has not been a major feature film about Lincoln's demise during my lifetime, which is strange, considering that Americans esteem Lincoln only slightly less than George Washington. The best film about Lincoln was directed by John Ford and starred Henry Fonda (Young Mr. Lincoln, 1939), though it focuses on Lincoln's early trial lawyer career. Though many documentaries have considered the life and death of our 16th president, no feature films in recent memory have mined this rich vein of historical truth, compelling drama, and tragic end of a great figure.

Redford has the clout to make such a sorely-needed film, but instead opted for the one story that makes the Lincoln administration look corrupt, fearful, and willing to shred the very document hundreds of thousands of Americans died for.

I cannot imagine a bigger insult to the memory of Abraham Lincoln.

I imagine Redford would assert that the little-known story of Mary Surratt begs our attention, but the film cannot hide the fact that she was as guilty as she was found by the (gasp!) military tribunal. Given Redford's public opposition to the military trials of Al Queda suspects, the reasons for his making this movie start to come into focus.

Like an inept grad student trying to ineffectively sway his undergrad lecture class, Redford tries to draw a connection between the Surratt trial and that of modern terrorist suspects. Unfortunately, we can dismiss his overeager analogy with a wave of the hand: Mary Surratt was an American citizen and had every right to a civil trial. Khalid Sheik Mohammed is not, and therefore does not.

The audience knew this intuitively, which is why the movie grossed less than half of its $25 million dollar budget.

As a long-time resident of Utah, I've seen Redford's politics up close. After his first films made him a millionaire, he bought up the backside of one of the highest peaks in America and created his Sundance ski resort, reserving thousands of acres therein for his own private use, which he surrounded by high chain-link fences, warning signs, and restrictions on others who might wish to build nearby.

Route 189 is the main canyon road that leads from Utah Valley to the branch canyon that connects to Sundance. It has long been a dangerously winding two-lane road where many fatalities occurred over the years. When the state and county wished to widen the road to reduce the carnage, Redford vigorously opposed it. In fact, he even ran for sewer commissioner in order to prevent any development, public or private, anywhere near his precious Sundance. It took many years and more deaths before the road was finally widened over Redford's objections. Since then, traffic fatalities have been rare.

Redford is everything he no doubt decries: a greedy one-percenter who, having obtained his mountain view, seeks to deprive everyone else of it. He despises the government except when he can twist its aims and outcomes to his own selfishness; when he cannot, he decries it like a self-righteous Jeremiah.

In fine, Robert Redford is a capable director, but an awful human being, and wasted a wonderful opportunity to tell one of the most important stories in American history: the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.

In so doing, he tells us everything about himself.