Director: Roger Donaldson
Starring: Kevin Costner, Bruce Greenwood, Steven Culp, Dylan Baker

There can have been few more critical periods in post-war world history than the thirteen days of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, when the USA and the USSR looked deep into each others’ eyes and wondered whether it was time to end the world. As the world teetered devastatingly close to the brink of total nuclear war, it was only the decision of one man, against all advice of his military advisors, to avoid a fight. In 1962, John F. Kennedy stopped being a young idealist and started down the road to assassination and sainthood. What we didn’t know, however, is that a good shoulder massage from Kevin Costner helped him on the way.

“Thirteen Days” tells the story of Kennedy’s diplomatic battles with his enemies, both domestic and foreign, from the point of view of old school-buddy, best mate and Presidential Aide Kenny O’Donnell (Costner). The terrible threesome of Kenny, John (Bruce Greenwood, “The Sweet Hereafter”) and little brother/attorney general Bobby (Steven Culp) turn to each other for comfort and guidance as conflicting advice flies from all directions, and they must decide whose agendas are being served.

Flawless in period detail, “Thirteen Days” captures the extreme threat and paranoia of the missile crisis wonderfully, building up almost unbearable tension as every decision brings the world one step closer to oblivion. But the thrill of the crisis is not reason enough to make a film, and there have been more than enough retellings of this story to demand further justification for its existence. Australian director Roger Donaldson (“Cocktail”, “Species”) seems to think that he is creating something very important, as he inexplicably shifts the film between black and white and colour at almost random intervals, implying some sort of historical, documentary element to what is essentially a bunch of fictionalised hokum.

This is a story of best buddies with that old Irish-American charm who can only talk in profound soundbites at all times, fighting against the big bad military chiefs who only want a war. Donaldson and screenwriter David Self ask the audience to believe that, when in need of something profound to say about the upcoming battle, Kennedy would quote Hsun Tzu’s “The Art of War” for inspiration.

Donaldson, so sure of the importance of every single moment of the film, bombards the audience with a never-ending soaring orchestra accompaniment, which attempts to build even the smallest moment into an event of huge tension and importance. The damn violins don’t let up for the entire film, floating around Washington DC like a mischievous heavenly choir taunting the protagonists with their inspiring music.

Costner, with a slightly embarrassing Irish brogue, is watchable for most of the film, but eventually succumbs to the god-complex so evident in “The Postman” — O’Donnell is standard Costner ,ber-human with no flaws and only pure good in his heart. Greenwood, however, in the role of his career, is not willing to let Costner take centre stage in JFK’s story, and turns in a remarkable performance as a man torn in a thousand directions, none of which seem to end in peace. Equally strong is Culp’s Bobby, a little brother destined for greater things learning the true nature of life in politics’ inner sanctum. The backup ensemble, featuring such wonderful actors as Dylan Baker as Secretary of Defence Bob McNamara and Michael Fairman as Adlai Stevenson, the UN representative who forced Russia into submission.

Like most Costner projects of late, “Thirteen Days” falls over not because of any technical problems, or poor production — the military skirmishes in Cuba are visually stunning — but because everybody involved has forgotten that this is just a film, not a sacred text. There have been hundreds of thousands of pages written on these particular thirteen days, and it would take a bad director to fail to capitalise on such incredible tension and political intrigue. To Donaldson’s credit, he manages to convey Nikita Khrushchev’s similar dilemma sympathetically, implying that these were two men struggling less against each other, and more against their own advisors, who were desperate for some excitement.

The potential of this story, and of JFK’s years in power, will never truly be realised until somebody gets the guts to film James Ellroy’s “American Tabloid”, but, so long as you don’t treat it as fact, this all-American apple pie rendition of a President/God and his best buddy taking on the world and saving it remains a watchable, impeccably created piece of high-tension drama.