Is Steven Spielberg Overrated?

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The phenomenal success of Steven Spielberg, the versatility of his enormous output and his undiminished prestige make it difficult to evaluate the remarkable breadth of his achievements. Nonetheless, the distinction between artistic ability and populism remains in question, haunting his legacy which remains elusive. One is aware of his enduring optimism, his driving sense of cinematic imagination rich in storytelling energy and his affection for children. The audience-friendly quality of his films is in itself misleading because Spielberg is clearly a cinematic artist of the first rank not given to morbid introspection.

He is masterful with small but memorable details: the dying soldier in Saving Private Ryan calling “mother” with his intestines spilling out; the first ominous thud of the tyrannosaurus’ leg without revealing the massive form; the tentative bathers in Jaws reluctant to be the first in the water; the little girl in red in Schindler’s List. Such scenes are constructed with loving, micromanaged care and convey almost unendurable suspense. The audience holds its breath as tension generates. Yet Spielberg’s superb detailing sometimes obscures the fact that even his best films withhold a certain conclusive determination. He is characteristically inclined for an upbeat conclusion. We are spared the true horrors of Auschwitz in Schindler’s List. As in Saving Private Ryan, the mood is ameliorated by unnecessarily sentimental epilogue.

Spielberg’s optimism is best served in his more popular adventure series. The Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park movies are too much fun to be taken seriously, but who won’t find them exhilarating? Even Spielberg’s feature debut, Duel, showed these tendencies. One nerve rackingly anticipates how and when the malevolent truck will attack the driver. Spielberg’s tense cliffhangers may not be as subtle as Alfred Hitchcock’s, but they augment his underrated reputation as a master of suspense. One historian wondered how Spielberg could have produced such dissimilar films as Jurassic Park and Schindler’s List in the same year (1993), yet the films share Spielberg’s characteristic perverse optimism. The dinosaur and the Nazi commandant receive their just deserts. A change of venue does not diminish Spielberg’s unyielding optimism. Both films leave us with a balanced sense of a cinematic job well done.

The success of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, despite its odd plot structure, again displays Spielberg’s unyielding optimism even in the realm of science fiction. E.T. has aged less well. Delightful children may not be the most obvious venue to the vast mysteries of outer space, but the disingenuous appeal of the children won over many naysayers. Spielberg’s popularity unfairly diminishes his reputation as an artist, yet his approach is so cinematically rich with immeasurable filmic detail that one cannot but credit him as a brilliant filmmaker of the highest order.

One wonders at the change of direction in his most recent films. Attempts at sophistication have led to some surprisingly disappointing results. Munich strains to give credence to Israeli vengeance, but the film is bogged down by Tony Kushner’s overwrought screenplay and a quasi-documentary cinematic style combined with violence that doesn’t seem to suit Spielberg. Hardly more exciting is the rather flaccid spy-exchange melodrama Bridge of Spies, which seems boring by comparison despite Tom Hanks’ attempts to enliven the situation. One begins to miss the standard of excitement which so characterizes the best of Spielberg and wishes that he would leave current social commentary to those lacking his flight of unbridled imagination.

Unfortunately, even the much-heralded Lincoln seemed to be less about the Great Emancipator himself than the congressional conflicts which resulted in the Emancipation Proclamation. Even the star performance by Daniel Day-Lewis seemed subject to the limitations of a politically underwhelming screenplay. We are deprived of the visceral excitement which characterizes Spielberg’s best work.

The Post misuses Tom Hanks and emphasizes the overly restrained performance by Meryl Streep in a situation where the conflict between freedom of the press and national security might have resulted in a more exciting scenario. The earnestness with which the cast attacks the overwritten screenplay only undermines the potentially exciting cinematic experience in a film unfavorably compared to the subtler All the President’s Men.

So, is Spielberg an artist or a populist? Even a cursory look at his body of work identifies a filmmaker—often inspired and inspiring—who must be placed among the first rank of directors based upon his dedication to cinema as a source of inspiration, enlightenment and excitement. Even the more widely heralded Hitchcock and Billy Wilder have never quite matched the unstated quality of a joyous spontaneity which characterizes his best work. (I will not comment on Ready Player One. Spielberg’s attempt to experiment with virtual reality is so atrociously inept and so glaringly overproduced—one reviewer said that it gave him sore eyeballs—that I prefer to believe that he gave up on the film and simply tossed it to the special effects department.)

Yet Spielberg’s historical legacy leaves something to be desired. Even his finest films seem too reticent, somewhat lacking the ultimate sense of aesthetic cohesion that completely satisfies. Spielberg’s pleasure in his own work seems to verge on self-indulgence, despite the sincerity of his finest efforts. It’s ironic that many consider Jaws his greatest achievement. Its tension provides a challenge well met. Spielberg remains a great director who has yet to make a great film.