Three Kings succeeds magnificently as cockeyed caper movie, less so as metaphor for America’s abortive involvement in Iraq following the Persian Gulf War. The former unspools propulsively as George Clooney’s disgruntled commando leads a ragtag crew on a crazy hunt for Saddam Hussein’s gold. The increasingly involving goose chase makes for a wildly entertaining movie.
The latter plays out as a case study in American self-loathing, a cock-and-bull story that slimes Operation Desert Storm as a hypocritical exercise in thievery. Yet David O. Russell’s movie does create a legitimate sense of shame that we stood by as Saddam slaughtered the Iraqi people after George Bush the Elder encouraged them to rise up. Geopolitical realism is a cold, cold thing.
George Clooney’s classic star power anchors the movie. As Archie Gates, rakish Special Forces officer, he had his first unquestioned success as a moviestar.
His partners in crime provide entertaining backup.
Cliff Curtis makes a strong impression as a grievously put-upon Iraqi, as does Saturday Night Live alum Nora Dunn as a jaded TV journalist.
Brilliantly filmed, cleverly constructed, cannily conceived: director David O. Russell made great hay out of John Ridley’s original story. Audacious in its day, classic now, flawed only by self-loathing, Three Kings deserves two crowns and a jester’s hat.
Modern war violence is brutally messy. Plus there is an exploding cow.
Oh man, there’s a lot to say about this movie’s reality, just not now. Gotta publish.