Writer-director Paul Greengrass’ United 93 is a film of “men who fail.” This sounds judgmental; it isn’t intended to judge, merely to observe. Of all the flights hijacked on September 11, 2001, as notes the end crawl of the film, United Flight 93 was the only one among the four overtaken by terrorists that failed to make its target. And, the passengers who grouped to counter-attack the hijackers came close to succeeding, but they, too, failed.

When one scene near the end of the film shows, both, the hijackers and the passengers praying for their separate ends, then, yes, man does fail.

Though many are talking about the timing of the film and its portent, the film is more numbing than affecting – at least cinematically. Except for the final ten minutes of the film, there is no visceral reaction to be had. Greengrass’ film style, a bright, documentary look, doesn’t lend itself to capturing anything other than what we know from news and from cell phone calls. The film’s narrative, though, is an attack on a filmgoer’s sensibility, akin to an Altman film that’s peopled by unknowns, who are all simultaneously engaged in conversations, which we hear in snippets. Not surprisingly, the words and images that stand out are children and anniversaries.

What stands out is how documentary-like Greengrass’ storytelling is. In the early scenes, we almost expect the voice of John Walsh delivering the exposition with selectively weighted import on the finality of the destination. That’s not to say we get to know our hijackers. Greengrass doesn’t even try to translate the dialogue by the hijackers to the passengers. We know what’s being said; it doesn’t take a translation to grasp the motivations of men who stab a passenger and the pilots in the melee. Yet, when they speak to one another, we do get their lines translated. But, it’s almost pointless; they’re four men who have forsaken their lives to a cause that requires them to kill themselves and others.

The major failure and the major victory of the day was communication. As the passengers all reach the conclusion that they are doomed, there’s a flurry of affecting phone calls. There’s a moment of surreal hope as we watch the blonde stewardess passing down the aisle, overhearing and passing along news gleaned from passengers’ calls to other passengers. On the contrary, the air traffic control scenes alternately bored and irritated me beyond relief. We hear perplexed reactions by ATC officials, en route to meetings when given news of a potential hijacking. We watch the inevitable working-against-shock as employees in ATC watch, helplessly, as the first, then, second plane crashes into the World Trade Towers. Even though we know how it ends, we can’t look away. Except for the people who actually lived through the day in New York, the rest of the country looked on as though the events of September 11, 2001 were a movie. Yet, the result here is a docudrama with no revelations. I suspect that filmgoers will be affected by the film not because of Greengrass, but by what they invest in the experience of watching – and remembering.

One scene stands out for its quietude, its almost pastoral sense of a moment taken out of time, therefore allowing us to divorce the scene from the reality of the day. Various passengers, all paying scant attention to the seat belt instructions, sit, drawn into their own private worlds. You can imagine them planning their day, once they land, once they get to their destinations. Greengrass’ bright lighting for the early morning scene gives the shot a glow confirming the film as the flashback for a nation that can’t go back. We’ve already seen too much.

United 93 will be remembered not for its cinematic merit, but for the events it details.

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