The news was the first rough draft of history, according to Katherine Graham’s (Meryl Streep) husband. In a way, that line sums up the subject of The Post; someone has to hold those in power accountable for their misdeeds. In this case, it’s successive administrations’ involvement in the Vietnam War, which was continued mostly to try and avoid a humiliating defeat. The plot initially plays out as a seemingly familiar story of government vs. free press. In 1971, the New York Times gets hold of the McNamara report and publishes part of it, before being suppressed by Nixon under the Espionage Act. Where The Times is silenced, The Washington Post gets a chance to publish the documents. However, the film’s originality comes from the exchanges between its two leads. As the paper is going on the stock market to increase its declining readership, owner Graham and executive editor Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks) also have to wrestle with the inevitable moral questions of deciding whether or not to publish. How can we hold anyone to account with no money and therefore no paper? Will we be putting lives at risk? What will people think if they know we had the documents but did nothing? The fact that we know the outcome doesn’t diminish our enthusiasm, and we feel complicit with the characters throughout, following them through the bustle of the newsrooms with tracking and crane shots. If the promise of Streep and Hanks on screen together gets people into cinema seats, their performances hold them there. Hanks is convincing as the morally right journalist who just wants to do his job (“The only way to assert the right to publish is to publish”). But Streep has the more complex role as Graham, simultaneously trying to save her paper whilst doing the right thing. And she has to do it in a misogynistic, male-dominated environment, constantly reminded that the company belonged first to her father, then her husband. It’s satisfying to watch her finally assert control while Nixon, almost a distant shadow boxed in by the windows of the Oval Office, screams into the phone, followed by a tiny foreshadowing of Watergate in the film’s closing moments. While the boardroom scenes and the battles fought with words may make the story seem slow for some viewers, Spielberg keeps us hooked with a well-scripted, well-acted and neat comment on the (past and modern) times. It’s a successful reminder that, when the press serves the governed, not the governors, the pen can be mightier than the sword.

Gary Oldman is the latest in a long line of actors to play the wartime leader in this latest film centring on Churchill. Just when we thought there couldn’t be anything more to say, Joe Wright gives us something new. He opts to keep the war as an external threat, which we only catch fleeting glimpses of in the authentic black and white footage in the opening scenes. Instead, he focuses on the conflict between Churchill and his war cabinet (composed mostly of doubters like Halifax and Chamberlain), showing us Winston with the world on his shoulders, thought incompetent by his peers, and under constant threat of being ousted. Oldman, versatile but barely recognisable under heavy prosthetics, makes us empathise with the character through a complex and multi-faceted portrayal; Churchill is taken away from the history books, humanised and familiarised. He ranges from outbursts of defiance towards those who want him to capitulate (“You cannot reason with a tiger when your head is in its mouth!”), to a conflicted heavy-drinker sitting alone in his room, contemplating his every decision and very fitness for office. Wright is deftly able to depict pressure and tension at every turn, particularly visible through the expressive use of close-up shots during speech scenes, and symbolic colour tones. For example, at one point, a red light, initially out of focus in the foreground, illuminates Churchill at a desk, a reminder of danger. Even the mise-en-scène is restrictive; we watch the characters scurry around the narrow corridors of the War Office, and see the PM frequently confined by darkness in the lift and the toilet. Surrounded by doubters, Winston’s wife Clementine (Kristin Scott-Thomas), and his secretary (Lily James) are the ones who instil confidence in him when he flounders, but occasionally feel underutilised by the sheer amount of screen time dedicated to the protagonist. It’s not all darkness. There are some light-hearted moments when the secretary points out to Churchill that his backward V sign means “Up your bum”, and a message, “Tell the Lord Privy Seal that I am sealed in the privy!” But the most memorable scene and turning point has to be when he takes the tube to talk to the people, who urge him not to negotiate with Germany. Bolstered by their support, he finally gains the support of the doubters in his speech to Parliament. It’s in the final shot that Oldman transforms the character into the figure we know. As a silhouette, he walks towards us and out of the door, to thunderous applause, and when I saw this film I wanted to join in the clapping. No surprises with the awards – the film is a winner, thanks mostly to Oldman’s convincing turn alone.