Film Review | J. Edgar

Hearing the name J. Edgar Hoover, you'd be forgiven for assuming it refers to a super-villain with a penchant for vacuum cleaner-based weaponry.

The truth may be more mundane, but the fact remains that Hoover - FBI boss from the 20s to the early 70s, serving under a grand total of six presidents until his death in 1972 - was the very definition of a 'larger than life' personality, and the aura of mystery which surrounds his private life to this day makes him an enduringly compelling subject.

With typical gravitas - and a persistent interest in the ins-and-outs of 20th century American history and politics - Clint Eastwood has written and directed J. Edgar, a time-hopping biopic starring Leonardo Di Caprio.

Eastwood gets to the heart of his very complicated subject matter right from the get-go, with an aging Hoover telling an agent stenographer in no uncertain terms that America was under a persistent and insidious communist conspiracy during the 20s, when Hoover himself was a young upstart agent at the Bureau of Investigation (which would eventually morph into the FBI). 

Hoover's dogged pursuit of a perceived red conspiracy would propel his career forward, but Eastwood presents this (never entirely explained) missionary zeal as the root of countless other problems, both personal and professional.

One of the main strands of the script (penned by Milk screenwriter Dustin Lance Black) focuses on the alleged gay relationship between Hoover and Agent Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer). The harrowing bit of repressed drama actually comes as a respite in what is otherwise a film of talking heads and rolling historical narrative, repackaged and retold for our convenience.

Eastwood has a steady hand on historical facts, even when he has to make them up. We are, after all, dealing with a man who made a career out of collecting secrets, and it stands to reason that he would keep his own under lock and key (a closing caption tells us that certain elements of Hoover's life will never see the light of day). The main framing device is well handled: Hoover tells his own version of events to a number of agent stenographers - all of whom question the truth of his statements at some point - while flashbacks illustrate his ascent to the top and the (often destructive) intensity of his ambition.

Hoover was also a master of spin, and Eastwood, while telling the story mostly from the perspective of the film's subject, doesn't let him get away with it, pulling the rug from under his feet in a crucial moment.

In terms of cinematographic cosmetics the film is spot on - period details (spanning all six decades) are genuine enough to reel us in, and provide some necessary eye candy for what is otherwise a bit of a heavy-handed narrative.

The more bodily cosmetics leave a lot to be desired, however, and an aged Di Caprio looks more like a white aubergine than the beleaguered FBI boss in his twilight years.

But Di Caprio - previously a teen heart-throb but recently an ever-ascending dramatic star - manages a much better turn as a historical personage than his attempt with The Aviator. Perhaps the heavy load of prosthetics kept any overacting and histrionics at bay, but the young actor manages an impressive balancing act between eccentric tics and poignant emotion.

He is helped along by a quietly diligent supporting cast: Naomi Watts, as Hoover's onetime squeeze and loyal secretary, fades into the background almost as soon as she's introduced (as if becoming part of the boss' own collection of kitsch furniture) but despite even bigger prosthetic problems, The Social Network's Hammer plays things both coy and open-hearted. Thanks to Hammer's dapper, earnest performance, you will root for Tolson, who remains the only human link in Hoover's life as his long, chequered career becomes increasingly mired in one controversy after another.