Argo.2012 Today

"Argo, fuck yourself," Lester Siegel says, hanging up the phone. It’s a rude, perfect, ridiculous punchline. And like the plan itself, it worked like a charm.

In the winter of 1979, six American diplomats did the only thing they could to survive: they ran. They slipped out of a burning Tehran embassy, dodged the revolutionary chaos, and found refuge in the homes of the Canadian ambassador and a few trusted staff. For 79 days, they existed in silence—hiding in attics, playing cards by candlelight, terrified that the knock on the door would be the one that ended everything. argo.2012

Affleck’s secret weapon is not grand spectacle. It is procedure . The first half of Argo is a darkly comic, utterly absorbing procedural about the machinery of deception. We watch Mendez (played by Affleck with a weary, coiled stillness) pitch the insane idea to his skeptical superiors: "We don't need jet fuel, we need film stock." We watch him travel to Hollywood and enlist two real-life legends—makeup artist John Chambers (John Goodman) and producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin)—to build a fictional sci-fi epic called Argo . "Argo, fuck yourself," Lester Siegel says, hanging up

Ben Affleck, having since retired from directing these kinds of taut thrillers, made a film that is lean, mean, and emotionally precise. It won Best Picture not because it was the "most important" film of 2012 (it wasn't), but because it was the most perfectly engineered. Every gear meshes. Every silence is loaded. Every line of Arkin’s dialogue is quotable. In the winter of 1979, six American diplomats

The film-within-a-film scenes are a delight. Goodman and Arkin get the film's best laughs, holding script meetings that double as covert operations. "If we're going to make a fake movie," Siegel drawls, "let's make a fake masterpiece." They place ads in Variety , rent office space, and hold a table read for a script that has no intention of ever being shot. It’s The Player meets The Spy Who Came in from the Cold .

By [Staff Writer]

The film’s famous third act—a breathless race to the airport, the frantic ticket stamping, the terrifying chase on the tarmac—has been criticized by historians as exaggerated. (In reality, the escape was quiet and uneventful. The plane did not chase them down the runway.) And yet, dramatically, it works because Affleck has earned it. By the time the 747 lifts its wheels off the ground, and the audience in the theater finally exhales, you don’t care about the historical asterisk. You care that the six people you’ve spent two hours with are going home. Argo is not a war film. It is a film about bureaucratic paralysis. The CIA is not heroic; it is cautious, risk-averse, and ready to abandon the six diplomats to their fate. The State Department is worse—more concerned with diplomatic protocol than human lives. The only real villain is the machinery of government moving too slowly.