Ethics in Documentary Film & Errol Morris' "The Fog of War: Eleven lessons from the lif

Last week in class we touched upon the ethics of documentary filmmaking. Because we deal in reality there seems to be a certain sense of responsibility towards being ethical documentary filmmakers; we “must” be accurate in our portrayal of our subjects, in the story that we are presenting. But what if the subject is morally dubious? What if, as filmmakers, our relationship with the subject clouds our ethical judgment? How close is too close? Do you treat an infamous subject differently than a layman? What footage or information is appropriate to include or not? What if our aim is not to construct a narrative of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ but to simply tell a personal story? I’d argue that there isn’t a definitive set of answers to all of these questions, though we seem to have compiled general guidelines for navigating questions of ethics within documentary film.

In preparation for my presentation of Fog of War in Bill Nichols' class, I encountered the arguably complex relationship between Errol Morris (filmmaker) and Robert McNamara (his subject). The ethics of that relationship and subsequent portrayal of McNamara have remained the staunchest criticisms of Morris’ film. McNamara’s 11 “lessons” are used to establish a narrative structure throughout the film. This structure sets McNamara up (problematically or not) as a) an authority, and b) both a reflective and relatable person who uses rationality often in order to evade moral culpability. The film is limited in its frame of reference and its orientation due to the use of McNamara as our sole informant and narrator.

To his credit, Morris occasionally interjects throughout the film, pressing McNamara about specific issues: “EM: Do you feel in any way responsible for the War? Do you feel guilty? McNamara: I don't want to go any further with this discussion. It just opens up more controversy. I don't want to add anything to Vietnam. It is so complex that anything I say will require additions and qualifications. EM: Is it the feeling that you're damned if you do, and if you don't, no matter what? McNamara: Yeah, that's right. And I'd rather be damned if I don't.”

The film is not chronological in its presentation, curated from 20+ hours of interviews between the two men. This isn’t just a historical account; it is also meant to serve as one man’s reflection on war, politics, and power.

Utilizing archival footage of the Cuban Missile Crisis, WWII, and Vietnam as well as declassified documents, teletype, interview footage, and audio recordings from Cabinet meetings, I would argue that Morris presents a visual representation of McNamara’s account that is occasionally sympathetic, and intermittently scathing and shocking. Morris allows for a painful, touching, empathetic retelling of JFK’s assassination, with the camera focused on a visibly upset and emotional McNamara. One has to be virtually heartless not to be moved by this sequence. These visuals are eventually juxtaposed with archival footage of the Japanese fire bombings during WWII (in which McNamara played a substantial role, admittedly or not), and images of the denounced and debunked ‘domino theory’ that informed much of McNamara’s approach to foreign policy. That being said, the film, and thus Errol Morris, allows for historical inaccuracies in McNamara’s account – information which, I’d argue, proves vital in an accurate depiction of McNamara’s intellectual gymnastics and deception. Information which is not evident in its absence until further exploration of the topic. For example: McNamara’s account of the August 1964 incident involving the U.S.S. Maddox in the Gulf of Tonkin (which led to Johnson’s unilateral power in Vietnam) allows for admittance of human error in sonar readings of missiles. What McNamara leaves out, however, is the fact that the Maddox was in the area performing covert operations against the North Vietnamese meant to provoke an attack that would legitimize the escalation of U.S. military operations in Vietnam. When pressed on the issue during a Senate Foreign Relations Committee, McNamara said “Our Navy played no part in, was not associated with, was not aware of, any South Vietnamese actions, if there were any.” Technically there were no SOUTH Vietnamese actions at this stage, so he was telling the truth. Later on in the documentary McNamara states: “I learned early on...never answer the question that is asked of you. Answer the question that you wish had been asked of you. And quite frankly. I follow that rule. It’s a very good rule.”

Inconsistency in McNamara’s historical account occurs in other places throughout the film. It was revealed, for example, that he was staunchly against acquiescing to Khrushchev after the first few days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. In the film, though, he is quoted as saying, simply, "Kennedy was trying to keep us out of war," he tells Morris. "I was trying to help him keep us out of war."

Though his portrayal in the film is supposedly confessional in style, McNamara is quick to absolve himself of guilt. He readily admits that, had the Axis powers been victorious in WWII, he and Curtis LeMay would most likely have been tried as war criminals for the fire bombings of Japan. After making this claim he backtracks and emphasizes the fact that he isn’t suggesting the firebombing were his doing; that he wanted to increase efficiency, not the death toll. Why does Morris include the details about McNamara instituting seat belts at Ford as well as his insistence on the limited use of loaded weapons during Vietnam War protests and leave other vital historical information out of the film? Is this a shortcoming or simply a fair portrayal of a divisive figure?

Morris has admitted to feeling “tortured” by his attitude towards McNamara, “Am I being too kind to him? Have I been taken in by him? Have I been too hard on him? I would say we enjoy talking to each other. I feel still that there's a lot to be learned from this man.” Did Morris’ relationship with McNamara color the film in any way? Is this inherently problematic? Can we a) accurately portray our subjects, and b) objectively learn from them? Particularly if they are alienating historical figures? Morris has described the film as a “20th century fable” what does he mean by this? What should an audience glean from this? Is this a productive use of documentary film? If this film does function as a fable, what moral arc or lesson does it present to the audience?

Prior to my second viewing of the film, I had a very negative view of Robert McNamara’s time as Secretary of Defense. My opinion was derived mainly from my father’s espousal of disgust at McNamara. My dad was a Vietnam combat veteran who thought McNamara didn’t do enough to de-escalate the Vietnam War. After re-watching the film, I felt much more internal conflict concerning McNamara. Was this problematic? Was this Morris’ intent?

A fog of war is defined as: “The uncertainty in situational awareness experienced by participants in military operations. The term seeks to capture the uncertainty regarding one’s own capability, adversary capability, and adversary intent during an engagement, operation, or campaign.” As an audience member, I seemed to experience a ‘Fog of McNamara’. Unable to pin down exactly who this man really was; if he was genuine or sincere in his reflection, completely guilty, or simply a flawed human being that served in a position of power at an incredibly volatile time in our nation’s history. Is this an ethical portrayal of a divisive figure? Does the film do a disservice to historical accuracy and the moral culpability of our leaders in war time? Or is it simply a reflection of one man's experience?