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N I N E T E E N L I G H T I K T H E D A R K N E S S B A R E L Y recognize this country anymore," a character laments in one of the films Spielberg made in the aftermath of 9/11. And that is from one of his lighter films, Indiana Jones and theKingdom of the Crystal Skull. Even in his "entertainments," Spielberg addressed the national trauma and the repressive political climate of the George W. Bush—Dick Cheney era with a pointed and probing intensity. The attacks on the United States and the ensuing assaults on American civil liberties were reflected metaphorically (and sometimes more overtly) in film after film as Spielberg questioned what had become of his country in the new century and challenged it to remember and live up to its former ideals. The role of political artist that Spielberg assumed with Schindler's List, and the extraordinary public responsibilities that went with it, helped lead him into this position, and rather than run away from it when national trouble came, he reacted with fervor and dedication. Spielberg's examination of the policy of preventive detention in Minority Report, his horrific depiction of an invasion of the "homeland" in War of the Worlds, and his questioning of the morality of targeted assassinations of terrorists in Munich are the most overt examples of how the darkness that descended after 9/11 colored his work as a director. But his good-natured Tom Hanks comedy The Terminal is just as vigorous a confrontation with these I 488 S T E V E N S P I E L B E R G issues, using Kafkaesque black humor to critically examine the premise that "America is closed" to newcomers. Other Spielberg films from the Bush era find only guarded hope at the end, but The Terminal allows him to triumphantly reassert the inclusive, welcoming principles he grew up with, celebrating what John F. Kennedy called "a nation of immigrants." No filmmaker resting on his laurels or coasting in midlife could have shown the ambition and courage to take on the challenges Spielberg shouldered with his post-9/11 body of work, which actually began, somewhat presciently , when he went into preproduction in 1998 with his chilling futuristic film Minority Report (filmed in 2001, before the attacks, and released in 2002). Spielberg risked his popularity repeatedly to make a series of films boldly addressing his fellow citizens, and his audience throughout the world, about the radically changed political and social circumstances in which they found themselves. He recognized how difficult that journey was for some of his audience : "You wouldn't believe how many people come up to me in the street and repeat almost verbatim the lines the Martians say to Woody Allen in Stardust Memories: 'You know, we like your earlier, funnier films.'" That Spielberg still managed to draw wide audiences, despite some spectator resistance, for his challenging explorations of such troubling themes is another tribute to his range and depth as a popular artist. He occasionally vacillated in his political positions during this period but still produced a rich body of work whose power and significance should stand as a powerful commentary on the cultural turmoil of its time. And he did so in a period of general escapist frivolity in the American film industry, a time when audiences tended to avoid adult subject matter (including most of the infrequent movies about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan ) and studios relentlessly pandered to juvenile tastes, as Spielberg's own DreamWorks did with much of its production slate. The uneasy relationship between Spielberg-as-mogul and Spielberg-as-artist became increasingly schizoid in the 2000s, buttressing the argument that the aging filmmaker consciously used his often crassly commercial business enterprises to enable his personal ventures into increasingly risky artistic terrain. If DreamWorks movies such as Meet the Fockers, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, and The Cat in the Hat seemed to exist in an alternate universe from Minority Report and Munich, that was a price Spielberg was willing to pay for the high level of artistic freedom he managed to maintain during this period, sometimes against considerable odds. "I look at the world in which my children are growing up, and when I see darkness I can't make funny films about it," he reflected after making his 2005 film Munich. "As I get older I feel...

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