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Austin American Statesman
May 5, 1997
"Waco" Tries to Place
the Blame
"Waco: The Rules of
Engagement" presents so much powerful evidence, in such a persuasive
manner, that the wisest critical advice would seem to be to tell every
interested party to see it, then break into discussion groups.
By Ann Hornaday
American-Statesman Film Critic
 "Waco: The Rules
of Engagement" presents so much powerful evidence, in such a persuasive
manner, that the wisest critical advice would seem to be to tell every
interested party to see it, then break into discussion groups. Because
audiences will have divergent takes on this nearly 3-hour film, which
traces the events that led up to the fire at the Branch Davidian compound
in Waco in 1993. But no one will deny that the perspectives and facts
it presents are crucial to a fuller understanding of what may be one
of the murkiest and most disturbing chapters in American political history.
"Waco: The Rules of Engagement," which was directed by
William Gazecki and produced by Amy Sommer Gifford and Dan Gifford,
goes about its business with somber deliberation, building its case
with workmanlike steadiness and allowing the inherent drama of the Waco
tragedy to emerge of its own accord.
Using rare archival film of the first Branch Davidians, interviews
with attorneys and scholars, and C-SPAN video of the congressional hearings
that followed the siege's fiery end in 1993, "Waco" convincingly
suggests that the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms manufactured
the raid on the Mount Carmel compound in order to get favorable publicity
before appropriations hearings; that the BATF and eventually the FBI
continually lied during negotiations with Branch Davidian leader David
Koresh and his lieutenants; and that the U.S. government never had control
of its forces in Texas -- forces that became more and more unbalanced
as time wore on and Koresh's resolve hardened.
As one Harvard psychologist puts it, he went to Waco in order to
study the people inside the compound, wondering what kind of cult would
behave in such self-destructive ways. When he arrived -- to the FBI
blaring Nancy Sinatra songs and the cries of dying rabbits from loudspeakers
-- he began to think that the people outside were more worthy of inquiry.
Damning Evidence
Using very little narration and a brooding, repetitive synthesizer
score, Gazecki has woven a daunting amount of material into a thoroughly
absorbing narrative. Especially interesting are the "home movies"
of the Davidians and the FBI; some damning audio tapes of mendacious
negotiators and a desperate call to 911 during the first moments of
the ATF raid. And, in clear-eyed, laconic counterpoint to "Waco's"
most disturbing material, there's some pretty convincing remarks from
the Waco chief of police, a Texas Ranger and a medical examiner whose
video records of the fire's aftermath mysteriously disappeared while
in FBI hands. (Presumably it went to the same place the feds sent a
metal door to the compound that held clues about who fired the first
shots.) By the film's grim last moments, it seems startlingly clear
that, as one former FBI special agent puts it, the Branch Davidians
weren't victims of a suicide; they were victims of a homicide.
The centerpoint of "Waco's" argument is video taken by
the FBI using Forward InfraRed (FLIR) technology -- a heat-sensitive
"night vision" system that American audiences first saw during
the Persian Gulf War. With the help of FLIR expert Edward Allard, the
filmmakers play -- and replay and replay -- the grainy images of a tank
entering the back of the Davidian building, with bursts of light that
seem to represent machine-gun fire. Later, Allard concludes that government
forces not only fired on the Mount Carmel compound, they also deliberately
ran over a Branch Davidian member with a tank, then set the fatal fires
by shooting into a tear-gas filled house.
Of course, this is the most explosive material presented in "Waco,"
and it's all the more gripping because the back side of the building
was off-limits to the press, which was kept a mile away from the compound
by federal agents. It is also a problematic moment, when viewers are
being led through material that they cannot interpret on their own.
Even with such a convincing witness as Allard, the FLIR material --
although admittedly compelling -- may not be as conclusive as the filmmakers
would like it to be.
Koresh As Saint
Still, "Waco" doesn't have to be conclusive to make its
point, which is that there are still some tough questions about Waco
that demand attention.
The film pays short shrift to Koresh's responsibility for putting
his followers and their children in harm's way, and its treatment of
the two charges that ostensibly brought the government to Waco in the
first place -- child sexual abuse and weapons stockpiling -- is superficial
and contradictory. (Koresh is shown admitting that he's hoarding guns
because he believes he might need them to fight the federal government,
then a Davidian survivor dismisses the stockpile as the collection of
a hobbyist.)
The filmmakers' efforts to humanize Koresh and his followers are
understandable and even laudable. But it isn't necessary to portray
Koresh as a saint in order to lend credence to the theory that the government
-- and its agents who went "off the shelf" -- was responsible
for what happened at Waco, and blatantly covered up its culpability
to a credulous Congress.
The most chilling scene of "Waco" isn't in the FLIR tapes,
nor the sickening photographs of children who were burnt and bent beyond
recognition. It's when the first tank rams its way into the Davidian
compound, pumping the building with toxic gas. After all that's gone
before, it is impossible at that particular moment to remember what
the argument was originally about. And the nagging sensation one comes
away with from "Waco: The Rules of Engagement" is that the
men driving the tanks -- and their bosses in Washington -- couldn't
remember, either.
©1997 Cox Interactive Media, Inc.
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