Steven Spielberg's "Munich"

After listening to countless reports about how Steven Spielberg's new film, “Munich,” will receive little promotion and no press treatment prior to its December 23 limited release (it goes wide in January, when it should hit Wisconsin), I found myself in a press screening of the film this morning. So much for that rumor. (Given, it was one of the more hush-hush screenings I have ever attended, with a meager 10 people allowed in the theater and a guard at the door.)

And it is now somewhat easier to understand why the film doesn't want for advance hype: it can market itself. Despite being nearly three hours long, the movie is among the finest to grace the silver screen in some time and should be able to work over any intelligent audience not bothered by a level of blood, gore and even nudity traditionally reserved for either works of horror or mindless action flicks.

The movie begins with the 1972 Olympics and the massacre in Munich, where a bunch of Palestinian thugs enter the athletes' quarters, execute two members of the Israeli squad and take the remainder of the nation's team hostage. What ensues is an eerie form of American nostalgia as Mr. Spielberg allows the beginnings of the plot line to be delivered by those who actually covered the terror some 33 years ago; stock footage of Jim McKay and Peter Jennings (the latter being vocal, not visual) helps create the horrible reality of Munich, 1972.

But the film is less concerned with the massacre carried out at the games than what came afterwards. At this point, it is difficult to distinguish reality from fiction, other than to comment that Mr. Spielberg clearly makes an effort to keep the work within truthful realms. A secret Mossad squad of assassins is assembled, with Golda Meir (Lynn Cohen) personally giving her go-ahead to the team's leader. There is a back story, of course – the man charged with helming the squad has a pregnant wife and will have to virtually disappear into thin air, living a life dictated by Swiss safe deposit boxes registered to no one. The true focus of the feature, however, is the squad of assassins who are hired to track down the 11 men responsible for the Olympic terrorism and kill them.

“Forget peace for now. We have to show them we're strong,” Ms. Meir says.

The side chatter about values is remarkable. Just as Mr. Spielberg left some of his principle character questioning their mission in “Saving Private Ryan,” there is plenty of soul-searching here. The most memorable and arguably poignant moment of the picture pits one of the assassins gently arguing with a Palestinian over a cigarette – neither man know who the other truly is and yet they manage a frank and compelling exchange of philosophies. It is this very debate that has ruptured the nation of Israel ever since its birth and it is this very debate that continues to prohibit peace today.

The nature of the plot does, of course, demand blood and Mr. Spielberg is not hesitant to show it. The movie is about killing humans who have killed humans and any reminder of that humanity comes as supremely welcome. A mutilated body dangles from the rafters, a character shot in the neck spurts blood with every breath, and, in recreating the actual terror of the Olympiad, one of the film's offerings is a stabbing of squeamishly vivid proportions. Still, the faint of heart who are strong of mind should try to endure – this is an important film in so many ways.

Aesthetically, the movie is beautiful. Janusz Kaminski, Mr. Spielberg's longtime director of photography and the finest cinematographer of this era, presents stunning shots of Europe as the gang of assassins chase down their soon-to-be victims. Even the violence is beautiful and stunning, the dated nature of the movie is never in question (to whatever extent 1972 had an aura, it is present in this film) and every shot is tidily executed with an astonishing amount of attention paid to detail.

The question that has chased this movie since its filming began – and that is perhaps driving the relative media blackout – is whether or not Mr. Spielberg is conveying an agenda.

He undoubtedly is.

But is a meticulous agenda, well-backed by the construction of history he offers. While Israel may be the sympathetic cause in “Munich,” the Palestinian effort is presented in all three dimensions. With a robust running time, Mr. Spielberg clearly makes this concession at the expense of concision, and it is worth it.

Finally, a note for those who will see the film, without offering any spoilers. Stay in your seat until the first credit is actually displayed. The last shot of the movie offers a pan at the end and it is in this moment that the thesis of the entire work is compellingly summed up. “Munich” is a film about a cycle of unjust violence and Mr. Spielberg wasn't going to let audiences go home without a gentle reminder of how real this issue is.