The Monuments Men

George Clooney’s fifth directorial feature is one of two films this month that addresses the destruction of art and culture during World War II. While The Book Thief focuses on book burning, The Monuments Men is centred on the mass robbery and destruction of some of Europe’s greatest art works. It’s perhaps fitting that this thudding, lifeless ensemble piece also marks the disappearance of George Clooney’s artistry. What you get instead is a tired historical-dramedy- by-numbers.

Adapted from Robert M. Edsel’s account of American troops charged with protecting arts treasures from wartime pillaging, Clooney is blessed with fantastic raw material – but poorly sketched characters and a thinly drawn plot let him down. A stellar cast includes Matt Damon, John Goodman, Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, Hugh Bonneville and Jean Dujardin. Alas, the fine actors are sadly reduced to tics and clichés: Murray deadpans, Dujardin charms through broken English, Goodman is wry and loveable, Clooney and Damon share bromatic banter.

The lack of character development isn’t helped by the strangely broken narrative, which feels disjointed and episodic. Brief moving moments like Murray listening to a record of his grandkids singing ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ jarringly cut to vignettes that only exist to deliver weak punchlines. As the scenes haphazardly stumble forward, often jumping time and geography, there’s no sense of momentum in either action or emotion.

Not that the latter is for want of trying. Clooney is eager to stress the nobility of the men’s mission. An earnest and recurring voice-over addresses the importance of art, culture and human spirit. Much like Alexandre Desplat’s desperate, patronising score, his attempt to add emotional heft merely highlights the film’s inability to evoke feeling or excitement.