Are you ready to laugh at some of the things the United States does in the name of defense? Perhaps that war in Vietnam to contain the communist monolith that didn’t exist? Or maybe that war in Iraq against what was thought to be Saddam’s own juggernaut, but who only laid down his arms in a couple days? While not everything the U.S. military does is shrouded in conspiracy, some of the things it does are clearly laughable.
If you still think the military industrial complex is entirely trustworthy, perhaps it’s time to review Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 classic about fear and military might meeting in the hands of madmen: Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.
The movie, set in the early 1960s, is the story of General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden), who sends a wing of nuclear bombers to attack the Soviet Union. The movie unfolds in three locations: the War Room in the Pentagon; the interior of the bomber; and Berpulson Airforce Base where Ripper, the only person who knows the recall code, has locked himself in a room with an adviser and has told base security to fire on anything that approaches.
Why did Ripper do this? Because he believes flouridation, which began in 1948, is a Communist conspiracy to corrupt Americans’ precious bodily fluids.
Yes, there is nothing serious about this plot, but it should be noted that most of the problems Kubrick satirizes in this movie really did exist. In fact, one of the most amazing things about this film is Kubrick’s legendary attention to detail. Every inch of the set, every line of dialogue, feels authentic.
If for no other reason, this movie succeeds thanks to the genius of Peter Sellers. Playing three different roles–Ripper’s captive adviser, President Muffley and Dr. Strangelove himself–each performance is so convincing that when Strangelove advises the president, it is difficult to imagine both characters are being played by the same person.
Next to the impish Muffley, who at one point engages in childish phone dialogue with the drunk Soviet premiere (“…We always talked about the possibility of something going wrong with the bomb…the bomb Dimitri…the hydrogen bomb…” ) that, after about 10 seconds, should have you doubled over, Sellers develops another wonderful straight man in the character of Capt. Lionel Mandrake. This is an up-tight British exchange officer who, locked in a room with Hayden’s hilariously insane Ripper must listen to theories about precious bodily fluids and deal with a man who pulls an assault rifle from his golf bag and shouts, “Mandrake, in the name of Her Majesty and the Continental Congress, get over here and feed me this belt!” and “Mandrake, hurry up, the Redcoats are coming!”
It is also amazing that George C. Scott, with a third of the roles Sellers has, is equally brilliant as Gen. Buck Turgidson. Among other comments the gum-chomping hawk makes are, “Gee, I wish we had one of them doomsday machines,” and, while standing near the Russian ambassador, “The Russkie talks big, Mr. President, but, quite frankly, we think he’s short on know-how. I mean you can’t just expect a bunch of ignorant peons to understand a machine like that–and that’s not meant as an insult, Mr. Ambassador.”
And if the opening shot of copulating war ships does not convince you war is driven by sex, keep an eye out for some subtle and blatant hints: Ripper’s diminishing cigar; Slim Pickens’ huge, bomb-shaped transport; and the names Buck Turgidson, Lapuda A.F. Base and Merkin Muffley.
