Traffic

Traffic is built a bit like Amores Perros or Pulp Fiction, where it follows a number of semi-separate but interlocking stories that all share a central idea, theme, or location. In Amores Perros it is dogs and their owners, in Pulp Fiction it is pulpy crime stories set in Los Angeles, and in Traffic it is the complexities of drugs and the drug war circa the early 2000s. The main storylines follow an American judge tasked with leading the country’s anti-drug efforts, a Mexican police officer that crosses paths with the cartels, and a San Diego based smuggling operation that has come under scrutiny by law enforcement.

In so many ways, Traffic reminds me of an extremely condensed version of HBO’s landmark show The Wire. Both utilize a myriad of perspectives to explore the nuances and uncomfortable truths behind America’s decades of failed drug policy. The Wire initially focuses on street dealers and the police trying to stop them, eventually ramping up to include everything from the failing inner city school system to the impotence of even the highest offices in local government. Traffic does similar, but moves from the city-centric perspective of The Wire into one that is more national/international. Splitting time between Mexico and the United States, it explores the sisyphean nature of holding a top position at the DEA; the corruption of the Mexican government, military, and police; and the difficulties in trying to unravel something that so many dangerous and connected people have such a massive financial interest in perpetuating.

I also like how Traffic, similar to The Wire, never over-corrects and acts like drugs and drug addiction are no big deal. Both have junky characters that provide a realistic portrayal of the destructive effects that chemical dependency can have. This issue isn’t as simple as drugs are bad or drug enforcement is bad, but one where the costs of trying to save addicts from themselves must be weighed against the numerous negatives of current drug policy, like how the black market lines the pockets of dangerous cartels or how even well meaning enforcement policies can end up destroying poor communities both in Mexico and the United States.

Between the two, The Wire is almost certainly the better total package, but it is also 60 hours in length to Traffic’s 2 hours and 27 minutes. The Wire can explore many more areas and follow characters for much longer, providing a much richer total picture, because it is a five season television show. Still, what Traffic gives up in breadth it makes up for with brevity. If one is interested in a nuanced take on the drug war from a variety of perspectives exploring the numerous, overlapping motivations of the police, drug lords, politicians, and smugglers that make up the Gordian knot of the drug war, and you don’t have a few days to dedicate to binge watching a television show, Traffic can give an effective, albeit abbreviated, version of the same thematic material, with a slightly different focus, in a much more manageable run time.

There is more to discuss with Traffic than just its storytelling, of course, namely in its cinematography. The movie is hyper stylised when it comes to its visual design, which some viewers might find jarring and unnatural. The movie’s three main storylines correspond with three key locations and each one is shot differently. Ohio, home of the newly appointed “anti-drug czar” and his troubled family, is cold, blue, and monochrome. Mexico is given an almost sepia toned look by leaning heavily into the light browns and oranges, and often slightly overexposed to create a harsh, heat blasted feel. San Diego is shot closest to natural, but with an emphasis on warm yellows and skin tones. I initially did not like how unreal this makes everything feel, but as I got drawn into the story I began to recognize its utility both in establishing place without titling and in supporting the emotional tone of each location and its connected story. Broadly speaking, Ohio is about detachment, Mexico is about fear, and San Diego is about family and each location’s color palette reflects that.

The film is also stylistic in its camera work. Despite being shot on lightweight Panavision 35mm film, the final print of the film has the grittiness one more associates with 16mm documentary or news footage from the pre-digital era. Similarly, the camera is almost always handheld and mobile, framing in the moment, to evoke a cinema verite style that makes the piece feel captured rather than staged, further pushing its stylistic imitation of documentary work. Unlike the color choices, this aims to be more subtle and convey a sense of realism, which it does quite well.

Overall, if you can look past the more bold cinematography choices, especially around the geographically informed color palettes, Traffic offers a thought provoking and compelling look at the drug war. Its multiple, overlapping stories provide a variety of perspectives, often even multiple perspectives contained within the same story, and the directing and camera work make the unfolding events feel immediate and punchy. I’ll be the first to admit that this isn’t my favorite mode of filmmaking, and so I don’t love it as much as some of Steven Soderbergh’s more “polished” movies like Ocean’s Eleven or Out of Sight, but it isn’t hard to see why it made such an impact on release and went on to win four Academy Awards.

Would Recommend: If you’ve always wanted to watch The Wire but never had the time.

Would Not Recommend: If you’ve seen The Wire and aren’t interested in returning to that subject matter, even for a different perspective and artistic approach.