How do we arm the other 11?

Rating: 6/10 (2 October 2016)

There are grander and more complex ideas in the opening and close of Lord of War than in any of the minutes that are sandwiched by them. They posit that Yuri Orlov is like any other toiler of their trade, merely a tiny cog in a finely oiled machine that will chug on no matter who is delivering the goods or pulling the trigger. It's a sobering and frightening thought, although for Yuri he is less tiny than he might like to think. The role asks for a master of deflection and thin justifications. Cage has a logical answer for any challenge, a tight-lipped smile for any moral quandary, although in the end it is again about money. Would he be a more interesting character if there was more to this motivation? It is structured like certain Scorsese films, with the man perched high on his domain, flaunting his wealth and influence directly to the audience via narration, flashing luxury and excess until we are also somewhat entranced. But Niccol ultimately resists this direction, and the result is a rather muddled moral tale that lacks spine.
He goes in the more serious direction. He could have posed Yuri as a Henry Hill or a Jordan Belfort, have him go out guns blazing into a satire at full tilt. And indeed there are flashes of this potential; the stirring strings of Ride of the Valkyries at a military show, how the giving away of guns is handled like children flocking to a free ice-cream truck, and the way Yuri covets the end of the Russian communist state, not because of any political idealism, but because of how much guns and tanks he can now resell for a fat profit. Could any other actor besides Nicholas Cage pull off kissing Gorbachev like he does? Coincidentally he is a man of many talents, and can also play the opposite, the straight man with a vein of dark humour running through him. He is a showmanship through and through, which means he is in the right business, at least until the mundane trappings of domesticity come for him.
War may be the ultimate business to Yuri, but even guns cannot be his first love. Using the tools and deceptions of his trade he woos his childhood crush, and eventually finds some semblance of settling down. It is here that Niccol tries to craft a conflict; most men wouldn't be flying around the world dealing with firearms if they had Bridget Moynahan to come home to, but of course Yuri isn't most men. Running guns is supposed to consume him, but the problem is that there isn't much to consume in the first place. Ava is, as she herself admits, nothing more than a pretty face, and the extended family is neatly tucked away someplace where only a occasion phone call can reach.
The other quandary is the moral one, which cannot be ignored in such a macabre affair. Though Yuri might attempt to distance himself from the consequences of his trade by way of clumsy metaphor (gun-running is compared to everything from losing your virginity to peddling vacuum cleaners) at the end of the day he must still confront what his guns are doing. Two figures are played off the coldness of Yuri; his brother, a coke-head who nevertheless sees things a little clearer than his older brother (as in, not just in dollar signs), and the rugged Interpol agent Jack Valentine (Ethan Hawke woefully miscast as the righteous, lawful type, and with a terrible name to boot). But the film tales the easy sentimental route, showing us nothing new. We already know that Yuri is fooling no one with his talks of "I'm not the one pointing the gun". His one-liners ("At least mine have a safety switch") might have a brief zeal but in the end we aren't charmed by this equal opportunity merchant of death. Yuri, at the start and by the end, has already convinced himself of no wrongdoing, but can he convince the viewer? Well, he certainly gives it a good shot.