This point is most caustic when, near the end, Robert Wakefield (Michael Douglas), a well-respected Ohio supreme court justice who has been picked to fill the chief position in the U.S. Office of Drug Policy, attempts to give his first press-conference speech. Wakefield has spent the majority of the film dealing with his 16-year-old daughter, Caroline (Erika Christensen), who has been on a rapid descent into the world of drug abuse. Wakefield attempts give the reporters what they want: positive, strong rhetoric about the need to fight the influx of illegal drugs. When he gets to the point where he is about to list his 10-point plan, he breaks down and cannot go on any more. It is key that he finally breaks at this point in the speech because it underlines how ineffective 10-point plans are in battling a multi-billion industry.

A similar, but different, moment occurs earlier when Wakefield asks a group of advisors to "think outside the box" for other ways to stop the drug trade. He is met with awkward silence because they are incapable of doing such a thing. Like the overlong involvement in Vietnam, the war on drugs is so entrenched in its own logic that it cannot see any other alternatives.

Having said all that, I want to make clear that Traffic is not a one-note film. Had it been that, it might not have been so memorable. On the contrary, it deals with the issues in a multifaceted manner; and, even though its overall message is one of despair, there are moments of hope. Even amid all the defeats in the battle to control the drug trade, there are still true believers, and the film strongly asserts that treatment and familial support for drug addicts is worth more than all the border inspections in the world.

One of the true believers is Montel Gordon (Don Cheadle), a DEA investigator who, along with his partner, Ray Castro (Luis Guzman), busts a small-time drug wholesaler named Eduardo Ruiz (Miguel Ferrer). In a plea bargain, Ruiz agrees to give them information about his main supplier, who turns out to be a wealthy husband and father named Carlos Ayala (Steven Bauer). Ayala is, perhaps, the most sinister of all because he is the kind of criminal who hides behind a thick mask of respectability. A pillar of his community who owns multiple legitimate businesses and hosts charity fundraisers at his multi-million-dollar home, he is actually one of the major suppliers of cocaine to all of California.

Ayala keeps this secret so well hidden, though, that not even his pregnant wife, Helena (Catherine Zeta-Jones), knows about it until he is arrested. A substantial portion of the film follows Helena and her response to the discovery of her husband's secret business dealings. The results are chilling, as we watch a woman turn into a ruthless, calculating criminal capable of ordering an assassination all because she is afraid of being alone, something she has never experienced before.

Another major narrative thread concerns Javier Rodriguez Rodriguez (Benicio Del Toro), a Mexican cop who becomes involved with a Mexican army general who is battling a huge drug cartel for multiple reasons, not all of which are honorable. Javier is a complex character who goes through multiple changes throughout the film--it is hard to tell absolutely on which side he stands at any given point. Of course, he works as a police officer in Mexico, a country in which, as one character puts it, being a police officer is an entrepreneurial position.

The narrative in Traffic, which was based on a 1989 British miniseries of the same name (but spelled Traffik) that dealt with the European drug flow, is particularly adept at getting underneath the political rhetoric and middle-class assumptions about what the drug trade is. In fact, the film only seems to scratch the surface, suggesting an infinity of possibilities. The fact that corrupt Mexican officials and police officers use desperate, poor men to smuggle the drugs over the border, which are then taken by wealthy Americans and parceled out to street thugs and dealers, who then sell to everybody from pathetic junkies to wealthy suburban kids shows how the trade encompasses the totality of life in North America.

The most harrowing moments in Traffic, though, deal with Michael Douglas' character and his fight to save his daughter. The film suggests that he is partially to blame; as a politically active judge with a time-consuming career, he has not had the time to deal with a daughter in the thralls of adolescent angst. One of the harshest criticisms leveled by the film is that his daughter, Caroline, is particularly susceptible to drugs because she is rich and bored and, most importantly, has easy access. Led by another teenager, Seth (Topher Grace, many degrees removed from his lead role on the teen sitcom That '70s Show), she indulges in free-basing cocaine as a form of escape. But, that escape becomes a sharp descent that leads her from a privileged life in the suburbs to a strung-out existence in the ghetto where she will do anything, including selling her own body, for a hit.

Soderbergh directs Traffic with a sure hand, juggling multiple plots and dozens of characters with apparent ease. Despite the quick introductions and necessarily brief screen time that is spent with some of characters, all of them still emerge as fully realized. This is due in no small part to the fine performances--not a single character rings false or forced. What could have been tacky melodrama between Douglas' character and his daughter is instead touching and sincere. Douglas, despite his anger, reacts as a loving father, and one of the most heart-breaking scenes in the film is when he finally tracks Caroline down and, having found her naked in a sleazy motel, strung out and delirious, strokes her hair and cries.

The visual style of Traffic is also quite striking. Soderbergh, who acted as his own cinematographer, relies heavily on slightly unstable hand-held camerawork. He also uses special multi-stage film processing to give the scenes in Mexico a ragged, bleached look that contrasts with the sharper, blue-hued scenes in which politicians discuss and debate in large governmental buildings in the United States. He also adds some aesthetic flourishes, such as a gripping car-bomb sequence shot in slow motion in which all the sound drops out except for the musical score.

But, again, the film ultimately works not because of the style, but because of the characters and the storytelling. Soderbergh may not be telling us anything we don't already know--many rational people who have no interest in using drugs have nonetheless begun to concede the futility and monetary wastefulness of the drug war. But, he does it so well with so many intriguing and moving characters that the film takes hold of you and keeps you wrapped in its grip.

Copyright © 2001, 2002 James Kendrick