Film Review: The Statement (2003)

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In the crowded landscape of early 2000s cinema, Norman Jewison’s The Statement arrived not with a bang but with a whimper—a fittingly muted reception for what would prove to be the Canadian director’s final film. Based on Brian Moore’s eponymous 1995 novel and adapted by esteemed Holocaust dramatist Ronald Harwood, this tale of a Nazi collaborator’s decades-long evasion of justice promised much but delivered disappointingly little. Jewison produced not the highly engaging film its pedigree suggested, but rather a malarkey that consisted of a totally unconvincing action thriller, a dull political drama, and failed attempts to make Michael Caine’s character—one of the most despicable in his career—seem multidimensional.

The plot follows Pierre Brossard (Michael Caine), a former member of the Milice, French Fascist paramilitaries who actively participated in the deportation and murder of Jews during the Nazi occupation. Protected for decades by powerful allies within both the Catholic Church hierarchy and the French government, Brossard’s comfortable existence is shattered in 1992 when a determined investigative team—led by the steely magistrate Annemarie Livi (Tilda Swinton) and Colonel Roux (Jeremy Northam) of French Gendarmerie—finally closes in. Complicating matters, Jewish vigilantes, led by the haunted David Manenbaum (Matt Craven), pursue their own brand of vengeance, creating a three-way pursuit that should generate palpable tension but instead results in narrative confusion.

Jewison, whose distinguished career included masterworks like In the Heat of the Night, had long demonstrated a deft touch with politically charged material exploring racism and institutional oppression. Yet here, his direction lacks the urgency and moral clarity that characterised his earlier triumphs. The film’s pacing feels lethargic where it should be taut, contemplative where it demands propulsion. Scenes of Brossard’s nocturnal wanderings through misty French villages, while atmospherically shot by cinematographer Renato Berta, ultimately substitute mood for momentum, leaving audiences stranded between genres—neither a gripping chase thriller nor a profound moral meditation.

The film’s most significant misstep lies in its handling of Michael Caine’s performance. As Brossard, Caine delivers one of his most physically restrained and intellectually complex portrayals, capturing the character’s perpetual anxiety and moral corrosion with subtle precision. Yet Jewison and Harwood squander this potential by failing to grant Brossard the nuanced interiority he deserves. Instead of exploring the psychology of a man who has lived with monstrous guilt for half a century, the script reduces him to a series of reactive gestures—praying mechanically in churches while simultaneously plotting escapes, expressing remorse one moment and cold calculation the next. This lack of psychological depth transforms what could have been a career-defining role into a frustrating exercise in missed opportunities.

Compounding these artistic shortcomings were significant contextual challenges. By 2003, the cinematic landscape was saturated with Holocaust narratives, from Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List to Roman Polanski’s The Pianist. Against such formidable company, The Statement’s more modest ambitions—and less assured execution—struggled to find purchase. Audiences had become increasingly discerning about Holocaust storytelling, demanding either profound new insights or exceptional dramatic craft. Jewison’s film offered neither in sufficient measure.

Furthermore, the film’s unflinching anti-Catholic stance—partly inherited from Brian Moore’s novel and partly reflective of early 2000s historical reassessments like Costa-Gavras’s Amen.—arrived at a profoundly inopportune moment. Rather than engaging with the Church’s compromised role during WW2, public discourse had shifted dramatically towards more timely clerical sexual abuse scandals. This temporal dissonance left The Statement seeming like a well-intentioned but tragically misdirected history lesson, speaking to issues that had already moved beyond public urgency.

The film’s production circumstances add a layer of poignant irony to its failure. The Statement marked the final screen appearances of two titans of British theatre and cinema: Alan Bates and Frank Finlay, who bring gravitas to their supporting roles. Their presence underscores what might have been—a deeper exploration of the psychological toll exacted by decades of delayed justice. Instead, their farewell performances are largely overshadowed by the film’s structural weaknesses.

Perhaps most tragically, The Statement fails to honour its source material’s moral complexity. Moore’s novel and Harwood’s screenplay contain profound questions about justice, memory, and the impossibility of true atonement for crimes against humanity. Yet Jewison’s direction consistently opts for conventional thriller mechanics over philosophical depth. The parallel pursuits—legal and extrajudicial—should create a compelling dialectic about the nature of justice, but instead feel like competing plotlines vying for attention in an overcrowded narrative.

In the end, The Statement stands as a melancholy footnote to a distinguished career—a film that aspired to moral significance but was ultimately defeated by its own indecision. Jewison, who had so often given voice to the oppressed and challenged institutional injustice throughout his career, found himself making a film about historical accountability that lacked the very clarity of purpose that defined his best work. For a filmmaker whose career was defined by speaking truth to power, it is a profoundly unsatisfying coda.

RATING: 3/10 (+)

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