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Paul Asay
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Movie Review

“This is what we’ve been dreaming about, you know? It’s not just sports.”

So Israeli weightlifter David Berger tells an ABC camera crew at the 1972 Munich Olympics. He suggests that the Olympics can, in a way, unite the world. Berger says that he talks with athletes from Egypt and Lebanon—countries that are mortal enemies of Israel. And those athletes, they talk with him. Here, in Munich’s Olympic village, exists a tiny enclave of peace. Perhaps a template of what the world could one day be.

It’s a great sentiment, right? Sure, the Olympics have never quite embodied their lofty ideal. Political and social tensions tend to worm their way in—again, proof that the Olympics are “not just sports.” But still, the Olympics wouldn’t exist without those sports. Whether those sporting events part of an idealistic dream or an illustration of a sadder reality, they make for riveting television. And for the first time ever—thanks to the magic of satellite communication—the whole world can watch the Olympic Games in real time.  

Roone Arledge, ABC’s sports empresario, knows just what a big deal the Olympics are—and how much the games could rocket ABC’s ratings to the stratosphere. And he knows just how to do it: Play on patriotism. Focus in on camera-friendly events and human-interest stories. Hint at Cold War tensions. And when someone questions why he’d bring politics into a sporting event, Roone has a quick answer.

“It’s not about politics,” he says. “It’s about emotions.”

But on the wee morning hours of Sept. 5, 1972, Roone’s own emotions are spent. He needs sleep, so he heads back to his hotel and tells his staff to not call him before 10 a.m. Marvin Bader, the organizational architect for ABC’s Olympic coverage, decides to take a quick, rare nap in one of the film rooms. Geoffry Mason—a young, promising producer—will lead ABC’s B-team through the day’s first frame.

And so Geoff does—negotiating with a grumpy German facilities manager to help get them some new cables. Figuring out when to cut to the crowd during the volleyball game. Planning when to insert human interest stories into the mix.

And then someone hears gunfire.

Geoff doesn’t know it yet, but a Palestinian militant group called Black September has infiltrated the Olympic village, killed two members of the Israeli Olympic team and taken nine others hostage.

“It’s not just sports,” weightlifter David Berger told ABC not so many hours before.

Now, he’s a hostage.

And as his own life and fate rest in the trigger-holding hands of Palestinian terrorists, the ABC sports crew scrambles to figure out what’s happening—and beam it, in real time, to the rest of the world.


Positive Elements

Hollywood has always been enamored by journalism. It likes to tell the stories of these storytellers, lionizing the moral obligation those storytellers feel to uncover the facts and tell the truth—no matter the cost. And there is, indeed, honor in that impulse. But September 5 also dares ask what that cost might be. And there is honor in that, too.

Marvin Bader is September 5’s moral conscience in that latter regard. As Geoff and Roone scramble to film the unfolding events and deliver them, in real time, to the hungry public, Marv asks what happens if the terrorists start executing hostages in front of the cameras. “If they shoot someone on live television … who’s story is that? Is it ours or is it theirs?”

And much later in the day, when Roone pushes Geoff to run with an almost-but-not-quite-substantiated rumor, Marv preaches caution. “This isn’t a competition,” he warns Geoff. “Wait for confirmation.”

While Marv is the most outspoken voice on these issues, he’s not the only one feeling that tension. These broadcasters are not insensitive that they, too, are part of the story. And how they tell it could have far-reaching implications.

Marianne Gebhardt, a local German working for ABC’s crew, serves as its all-important translator during the crisis. And throughout the day, we can see Marianne try to do the right thing—whether it’s getting the story or urging caution. And more than that, we see the pride and worry she feels for her home country. Fewer than 30 years after World War II came to a close, the Munich Olympics is Germany’s chance to rehabilitate its image in front of the world. Instead, a new tragedy unfolds in her homeland, one that once again victimizes Jews, and we can see her heart break a little as it does.

We’re also given some hints of humanity and compassion on the periphery of the main story: When a Lebanese athlete is interviewed, he says, “My heart is very heavy today.” And he expresses “solidarity with my Israeli colleagues, and I pray that everything ends well.”

Jim McKay, ABC’s on-camera ringleader, walks his television audience through the events of the day with quiet journalistic competence and disarming sensitivity.

Spiritual Elements

Religious and political tensions surround the events in Munich. The Israeli team is targeted because of who they are, where they live and what (presumably) they believe. The group Black September demands the release of more than 200 Palestinian political prisoners in exchange for the lives of the hostages.

We learn that that Mark Spitz, the U.S. swimming star of the Munich games, is Jewish. Before Black September attacks, Roone asks that when someone interviews Spitz, he should ask him about the Holocaust. “So you want to ask a Jew about the Holocaust on live television,” Marv says. “Yeah,” Roone answers. “Ask him what it’s like to win a gold in Hitler’s back yard.” (We later learn that Spitz left Munich shortly after the attacks, with many worried that he’d also be a target.)

Marv also appears to be Jewish: When he shares a toast with a colleague, he says “l’chayim.” A couple of Jewish athletes wear yarmulkes in news footage.

Sexual & Romantic Content

None.

Violent Content

This may be a spoiler for some: The hostages taken on Sept. 5 were all killed. But the film—most of which takes place in the command center of ABC’s Munich offices—keeps us at a relative distance from the horrific tragedy unfolding. Even as Geoff and his crew work to get ever closer, they never get closer than the real journalists got—and that’s not very close. But because of that remove, the images we do see come with that much more power.

We see, in 1970s-era TV footage, a hostage led out onto a balcony in a blood-smudged undershirt, a gun pointed at the base of his neck. We hear gunfire, both in the initial assault and the chaotic firefight that followed many hours later.

In news footage, we watch German policemen creep on the roofs of adjacent buildings with guns, apparently prepping some sort of operation. Uniformed policemen barge into ABC offices brandishing guns, demanding that all their cameras around the Olympic village be turned off. We hear references to both the Holocaust and World War II.

Crude or Profane Language

Ten f-words and one s-word. We also hear uses of “d–n” and “h—.” God’s name is misused three times, and Jesus’ name is abused four times.

Drug & Alcohol Content

Several characters smoke cigarettes. In celebration of an apparently successful hostage rescue, Geoff and others pass cans of beer around the control room and drink to the Israelis’ safety. Marv and Roone drink a spot of whiskey for the same reason.

Other Noteworthy Elements

An undercurrent of historical, national and ethnic tension percolates throughout the ABC offices. For instance, a local German facilities manager refuses to find some much-needed cables for the Frenchman who asks for them. (The German Marianne ultimately serves as a go-between, reminding the German that “The whole world has its eyes on us—on our Munich—and you contribute a great deal to making it happen.”)

But Marianne becomes a bit of a target herself. Marv scoffs at the idea that the Munich Games are a chance for Germany to “move on from the past.” But Marianne says, “It’s all we can hope for. What else can we do but move on—try to be better?” And when Marv angrily suggests that Marianne’s parents turned a blind eye to the horrors of the Holocaust, she says, “I’m not them.” Marv backtracks and sheepishly welcomes Marianne to ABC sports.

We hear someone mutter over “Arabs,” to which another crewman mention that his mother’s from Algeria.

ABC skirts rules to cover the story. For instance, one crew member disguises himself as an athlete (complete with entry badge) to smuggle in blank film reels and smuggle out filled ones. An ABC newsman (Peter Jennings) evades police in order to stay in the Olympic village as the crisis unfolds. And Roone Arlidge seems willing to bend or break many legal and moral safeguards to cover the story—and keep it, and the glory, for himself and his team.

During the crisis, ABC film crews capture Olympic athletes in the village, behaving as if nothing is happening. The games themselves go on as usual, with the International Olympic Committee refusing to even suspend the various events. (The committee eventually relents after several hours.)

Conclusion

The Olympics has given the world many indelible memories: Jesse Owens’ golden performance at Berlin’s 1936 Olympics. Gymnast Nadia Comaneci’s perfect 10s in 1976. The United States hockey team winning gold in 1980.

But for many, the most memorable words spoken at the Olympics weren’t Al Michaels’ immortal hockey call, “Do you believe in miracles?” Rather, it was Jim McKay relaying the tragic end of the 1972 Munich hostage crisis.

“They’re all gone.”

September 5 unpacks the story of that tragic day. But more than that, it unpacks the story of the story: It tells us how the Munich massacre became the first major news story to be broadcast around the world as it was happening. It lays bare the mistakes made along the way—not just by the German authorities, but by the ABC crew itself. It both salutes the dogged drive of Roone and his colleagues to follow the story, even as it suggests what a shallow, self-serving enterprise it was. Marianne, the German interpreter, sums up her last few hours, her eyes glassy with unshed tears: “We were waiting for something to happen because we wanted to take a picture of it.”

September 5’s own picture is one of perhaps surprising restraint. The movie’s language earns an R rating, but even that profanity is relatively infrequent. We see a bit of drinking and smoking, but no skin and very little blood.

And yet September 5—even for those who know how the story will end—proves to be riveting, taut and, at times, hard to watch. The film is, in many ways, an illustration of the power of less is more. With most of the film’s “action” taking place in a claustrophobic, screen-filled control center—a place where split-second decisions seem filled with soul-splitting portent—we feel more a part of the story than had September 5 predictably taken us straight into the bloody, climactic firefight.

We, like those who followed the story more than five decades ago, watch—feeling the distance between us and Munich, 1972, is not so terribly great. We don’t need to see the blood to know it spilled.


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Paul Asay

Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.

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