The Most Dangerous Man in America tells the story of Daniel Ellsberg, the erstwhile Marine and Defense Department analyst who in 1971 underwent a crisis of conscience and leaked the Pentagon Papers to The New York Times. The film is both a historical and personal piece, nudged along by the elderly, reflective narration of Ellsberg himself.
The filmmakers’ decision to have Ellsberg narrate was a good one, as it infuses a dearness into what is otherwise a story of sprawling political scandal and moral decay. Indeed, Ellsberg’s voice, along with those of his “partners in crime,” takes center stage in the film. Some airtime is given to the dissenting point-of-view that Ellsberg was, in fact, a traitor, but most of this comes by way of the crazed and bizarre tape-recorded outbursts of the late President Nixon. The Nixon sound bytes were obviously chosen with precision and care, and it is clear that the filmmakers are advancing a thesis about civic duty, honor, courage, and not least of all, the moral and political rectitude of Ellsberg’s actions in the face of unbelievable madness. Yet, the film hardly comes off as propaganda or manipulation. The bottom line is that Ellsberg’s story is real, and that is why it is special to hear him recount it.
At times, the film utilizes elements of the historical thriller genre to enhance the narrative. It emphasizes the fact that Ellsberg was very much a company man, that he had a deep and total change of heart precipitated by a closer reckoning with the facts, that he was subsequently up against insurmountable odds, and that he emerged victorious in his struggle. This is a failsafe plot arc in fiction, and the filmmakers seem to have made a calculated decision to use it as the undergirding for their non-fiction account. Historical documentation is one of the aims here, but another is pure drama.
The film does not skip past anything of real importance, though. It broaches issues that must be painfully relevant for people who lived through the Vietnam era. A thread that emerges early on is the question of what Vietnam was supposed to be about. Was it about fending off a real and imminent threat, or was it about a symbolic show of military and ideological strength? At the time of Ellsberg’s “conversion,” this was becoming an increasingly prominent question in the national discourse, and more and more people were leaning towards the second answer. It is significant to note, as the film does, the political context in which Ellsberg took action. As we are reminded on several occasions, the government was waging an immoral war, losing, and lying to the American people about it. But few people knew about it and even fewer had the capacity to do anything about it. For Ellsberg, the question of whether to throw all his weight against this corrupt system was rooted in his recognition that there was no other moral thing to do, and perhaps no one else to do it.
That character shift, which deservedly occupies a central place in the film, becomes the basis for talking about a host of issues that are still afflict us: government secrecy and malfeasance, immoral war, the meaning of free press, and maybe most importantly, the power of individual action. The story of the ensuing legal battle over the disclosure of the highly classified Pentagon Papers, for instance, is in many ways a subject in itself – a reminder that our constitutional rights are as much meant to limit government as to empower individuals. But the epic scope of this side story does not crowd out the film’s personal details, such as the months that Ellsberg spent copying the 7,000-page report, or NY Times counsel James Goodale’s advice to run the story even though he knew it was against the law.
It is not hard to see the parallels between Dangerous Man and many of the moral-political questions we face as a people today, and that may be precisely the point. Ellsberg remembers the hard lessons, the horrifying realizations, and the ensuing struggle clear as day. We on the other hand do not, but we ought to.
Mack Lannahan 