Traffic

Steven Soderbergh’s Traffic (which, for whatever reasons, I never managed to see before now) is a brilliant tour de force–in terms of the performances, and especially Soderbergh’s direction: intense, gripping, and visually compelling, with the multiple plot lines and locations beautifully orchestrated together. As a commentary on the “war against drugs,” however, it is mostly hokum. While it is (properly) cynical enough to recognize the futility of our current “zero tolerance” policies, and while it is well done in the gangster/corruption aspects, it shows no understanding about drugs themselves, what they do (including their profound differences from one another), and why people take them. Instead, we get cliches (the black drug dealer who Michael Douglas’ daughter has sex with in order to get her fix) and melodramatic posturing (not that I have anything against melodrama, just against tasteful melodrama) about the nuclear family. Though Michael Douglas is marginally less loathsome than he is in most of his other roles, and though Soderbergh thankfully doesn’t lay on the family values with anything approaching Spielbergian hysteria, it all still rings hollow. Give me R-Xmas any day, rather than Traffic, when it comes to films about drugs and their effect upon families.

Steven Soderbergh’s Traffic (which, for whatever reasons, I never managed to see before now) is a brilliant tour de force–in terms of the performances, and especially Soderbergh’s direction: intense, gripping, and visually compelling, with the multiple plot lines and locations beautifully orchestrated together. As a commentary on the “war against drugs,” however, it is mostly hokum. While it is (properly) cynical enough to recognize the futility of our current “zero tolerance” policies, and while it is well done in the gangster/corruption aspects, it shows no understanding about drugs themselves, what they do (including their profound differences from one another), and why people take them. Instead, we get cliches (the black drug dealer who Michael Douglas’ daughter has sex with in order to get her fix) and melodramatic posturing (not that I have anything against melodrama, just against tasteful melodrama) about the nuclear family. Though Michael Douglas is marginally less loathsome than he is in most of his other roles, and though Soderbergh thankfully doesn’t lay on the family values with anything approaching Spielbergian hysteria, it all still rings hollow. Give me R-Xmas any day, rather than Traffic, when it comes to films about drugs and their effect upon families.