The first two names that I ever associated with the making
of films were George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. They were involved, in one
capacity or another, in many of the entertainments that I viewed time and again
as a small child. It took quite a while for the Lucas love to fade (I imagine
that I was the only twelve-year-old in existence excited for the release of
RADIOLAND MURDERS), but I still hold that soft spot for Spielberg. He has had
his share of let downs, and beginning in the early 80s, he seems to hit a
creative spurt every ten years that lasts for a handful of films. By that
theory, this or next year should be that creative streak, though I have yet to
see THE ADVENTURES OF TINTIN, WARHORSE
or MUNICH (which I am watching once this essay is finished, and would disprove
this unfounded theory should I like it).
There is nothing in LINCOLN
that signified a Steven Spielberg picture. This is not to say that it is poorly
constructed or without authorship, just that the material is so staid and well
worn, and little is done to shake it up or make it fresh. It was presented as
sturdy awards bait, and it is. Daniel Day-Lewis, great as always, does have an
unconventional take on Lincoln. His
voice is high and reedy, and he is denied many of the landmark biopic moments
that one would assume you would see in a Lincoln
film.
Historical spoilers after the jump.