Spielberg's 'Munich' - everything but the truth

But it gets worse. From the Mossad accountant who evokes ancient cultural stereotypes by loudly demanding receipts from an undercover agent (the message is that even Jewish spies only really care about money), to the folly of putting a deep cover unit in the field for years at a time, there is hardly a single principle of espionage tradecraft the Israelis in Munich do not violate.

But there is method to Munich's madness, and the implausibility of its storyline serves a didactic purpose that is meant to apply more to the present than the past.

The script was composed by playwright Tony Kushner, who has described Israel's creation as a "historical, moral and political calamity".

And from first scene to last, the viewer is given the distinct impression that the film script is a tendentious vehicle that is designed to push a partisan political agenda.

Spielberg never fails to hit every politically correct button on the keyboard. There is hit squad commander Avner, the sensitive soul whose Jewish angst grows every time a terrorist bites the dust.

And lest the Palestinians be too upset, Kushner engineers an inane scene in which a Black September cell leader pleads the PLO's cause in a conversation with Avner, who is posing as a left-wing Euro-terrorist.

The dominant theme that pervades is that all forms of violence are morally equivalent. It preaches that those who fight against armed terrorists are the same as those who murder defenceless civilians.

To Spielberg, all dead bodies are the same, and self-defence is no excuse.

It all just contributes to an ethically neutral "cycle of violence" that leaves everyone the poorer.

But in light of Spielberg's vast military experience (hey, he made Saving Private Ryan, didn't he?) it is surprising that the filmmaker overlooked the unequivocal success of Israel's counter-terror strategy.

By aggressively attacking the Palestinian terrorist command and control structure and through the construction of its defensive barrier along the West Bank, the Israelis have cut armed incursions to a mere trickle.

While Israel suffered 37 suicide attacks in 2002, this past year only three bombers successfully made it to their civilian targets.

But Spielberg's sanctimonious moralising is not focused solely upon Israel. In a kitschy final scene, the camera focuses on a southern Manhattan in which the twin towers of the World Trade Centre loom large in the background before the camera fades. The not-so-subtle message? That America is also guilty of defending itself against terrorist assailants.

Like another figure who is historically associated with Munich, Neville Chamberlain, Spielberg seems to think that all the world's problems can be solved through a good group hug.

This film, and its message, are sloppy silliness.