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That's the sort of moral conundrum that's bandied about like sacred lore in The General's Daughter, a second rate, pseudo-psychological thriller dressed-up in Army fatigues. Heart-thumping background music sweeps the rather untidy tale of rape and murder before us, ominously warning that this here is Fort McCallum, Georgia, boy, and we civilians better know that way down yonder justice marches to its very own beat. Military jargon and mood populate the script wholesale. Unfortunately, all this mental bayonet clashing proves no substitute for a solidly constructed mystery.
But then this movie directed by Simon West has a likeable movie star like John Travolta to ameliorate its obvious shortcomings. And he almost does. Tossed into a snake pit of ethical dilemmas when General Campbell's Army captain daughter is brutally killed under the most nefarious of circumstances, Mr. Travolta as warrant officer Paul Brenner is assigned to investigate the case.
That he is the only ray of sunshine in these murky surroundings is hardly coincidental. Natch, he's the take-charge type. And this seems to have some folks worried. The consternation showing on his face, Clarence Williams III as Colonel Fowler, General Campbell's supremely loyal right-hand man, clearly implies a threat when he asks the military gumshoe if he's going to be a soldier or a policeman. What the colonel doesn't know is that he's wrong on both counts. Charming in his rogue appeal, Travolta's Paul Brenner is going to be a Boy Scout.
That's it, you figure. The general did it. It's a cover-up. Think about it. They're touting him for Vice President, and he was probably doing some horribly unpaternal thing (this movie loves hinting at the unthinkable). But wait, on second blush, nah, too obvious. Maybe that's just what the director wants us to think. While James Cromwell is completely credible as the esprit de corps espousing general, he's way too guilty looking - a sure sign of his innocence, no? Which leads us to speculate; maybe Williams' rendition of Gunga Din did it. He's crazy with nerves. It looks as if his stressed-out mug is going to twist into a New York City pretzel any second. Nope, can't be. Too expendable. What do we care if this ghoul gets the firing squad?
One is fairly sure how Travolta's character will react if he finds that the culprit(s) are high up on the mess hall chain. Unless of course you're swayed by this one little contrivance: Campbell was Brenner's commanding officer in Vietnam, and the younger man is still in complete awe of the old soldier. We all know Rambo would never turn in Richard Crenna.
But hey, maybe the panoply of sinister sorts is meant to throw us off. Especially the always game James Woods as Elizabeth Campbell's adoring C.O., amusingly affecting shades of Clifton Webb's societal mentor in Laura.
Can we really be certain our golden boy isn't the killer? Jeez, what a dramatic cop-out it would be if he were. You'd definitely want your money back then. Come to think of it, though, Travolta did show us an evil side in Face-Off. And then again, that would leave the film with absolutely no good guys. What kind of moviemaking would that be? Not very good. But that would be the right answer regardless of whether he did it or not.
As glib as he is heroic, when warrant officer Brenner is asked his whereabouts when the title character was being murdered, he laughingly informs that he was busy killing someone else. He really was. And when an understandably defensive suspect counters his interrogator by asking how he felt about his father, Travolta's sleuth elaborates: "He was a drunk, a gambler, and a womaniser (a well-timed pause) I adored him." Hard to resist, Travolta practically charms over the viperous sensationalism that tries to pass as a plot. But he can't mask how The General's Daughter sullies itself in a repetition of prurient incursions, disingenuously rationalising its highly questionable intent in the name of women's lib.
At its smartest, momentarily reminding of Anatomy Of A Murder, The General's Daughter hints that it's going tackle some tough subjects, and hopefully with some intelligence and dignity. But all too quickly it loses its grip, ultimately turning into an irresponsibly tawdry mishmash of the usual exploitation. And hardly any of the usual suspects, while painted in perfunctorily different shades of khaki, manages to pique the imagination.
Failing to structure his unimaginative whodunit with the revelatory wonder of an artistically peeled onion, director West offerrs no tasty clues to whet the appetite, no Hansel and Gretel trail of informative morsels to lead us to the killer. He merely parades the motley cast of possible perpetrators before us, adjusts the military setting to atmospheric overload, and invites us to pick door number one, two or three. Your guess is as good as anyone's.
In the female lead, Madeleine Stowe as Sarah Sunhill is an uncomfortable mistake. A rape counsellor who just so happens to be Brenner's former love interest, she is coincidentally assigned to work this case with her old beau. Referring to a past interlude, Brenner sighs, "At least we'll always have Brussels". But the romantic sparks just don't fly, and worse, there's absolutely no opportunity for the actress to strut the sort of quietly exciting stuff she exhibited in Blink, a savvy little suspense yarn about a blind woman who regains her sight just in time to witness a homicide.
Lacking the intellectual firepower for the big issues it aspires to, pretentiously dabbling in the possibilities of conspiracy and the grey area between loyalty and justice, this military spook house ride has all the curiosity appeal of a highway accident. Sure, you may want to know what happened, but you're not terribly proud of it. Possessing too much spit and not enough polish, The General's Daughter won't be winning any medals.
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