Telling tales

I cannot tell you about all the things Steven Spielberg can and cannot do. I cannot tell you, for example, if he can make decent goblets from Quality Street wrappers or funny teeth from orange peel, as I can, but what I am able to say is this: he knows how to tell a story; where to start it, where to finish it, what to do with all those fiddly bits in the middle. And although Lincoln is a film that pays fantastically close attention to politics — not a negative per se, but unless you are on top of your American history you may occasionally find yourself scratching your head — its narrative swoop largely takes the legislative detail in its stride, plus the star is Daniel Day-Lewis, which is always a thing. He is not so much an actor, more a shape shifter. He could, I think, play anything and make you believe it. He could play that coaster on your table over there. Maybe he is playing that coaster on your table over there. If I were you, I’d poke it around before putting any hot drinks down, just to check. (You don’t want to scald Daniel Day-Lewis just because you need somewhere to place a warm beverage.)

According to the press bumf, which, for some reason, I did not immediately toss into the bin — I am usually most assiduous about this — it took Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner a decade to come up with the right Lincoln story to tell; one that would, I guess, capture the essence of the man. And the story they have chosen is the final four months of his life, which included the passage of the 13th amendment abolishing slavery, the end of the Civil War with the surrender of the Confederacy, and his assassination.