As paranoid we are now of terrorism as they were of the Cold War then, this is a horribly appropriate time to be watching a film like this. But how blackly, bleakly funny it is all the same. Peter Sellers excels himself three times over in this fantastical, too-close-to-the-bone-for-comfort black comedy.
During the Cold War, each nation prepares itself with its own irreversible plans to react against any real aggressive moves. The Soviet Union is sick and tired of that international form of keeping up with the Joneses, the space race, and more lately, the arms race. They have come up with its own unique, secret solution that is much cheaper than stockpiling weapons at America�s rate. It is simply this: make an irreversible, automatic nuclear Doomsday machine that will set itself off at the first hint of military aggression on certain Soviet sites, and life on Earth is kaput. Any attempt at disarmament will also set off the machine.
But as the American president points out when he hears of this machine, such a deterrent is only useful if you don�t keep it secret. Sadly, the day before the Soviet Union is about to announce this machine to congress and the world in general, a lone, paranoid-insane American general decides to launch Plan R: America�s own, final, nearly irreversible plan of aggression against the Soviet Union, the only one which is implementable without the permission of the president.
The American president, over his war room, contacts the Soviet ambassador who tells him of the Doomsday machine that is about to be set off by Plan R�s warplanes. Only one person � the insane general who has just five minutes ago blown his head off � has the code that can call back Plan R�s aeroplanes.
Peter Sellers plays the straight-man president, a British RAF officer who is second-in-command to the dead general, and, of course, the sinister, gloopy-voiced Dr Strangelove. All three roles are played well, but it is Dr Strangelove who made me yelp with laughter. Everyone is lampooned with a forgivable reliance on stereotypes: the vodka-drunk Soviet president; the gum-chewing, shit-for-brains head of military; the chipper, Biggles-style British RAF officer. The denouement of the film is tight, clever, and unforgivingly ironic. Be warned: when you�re taking sides, the ones on yours are just as dangerous as your enemies. |
