On Oct. 20, 2011, the president of the United States announced, in a clip cruelly replayed at the outset of “13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi” that the death of Moammar Khadafy marked “the end of a long and painful chapter for the people of Libya, who now have the opportunity to determine their own destiny in a new and democratic Libya.”
As it turned out, democracy doesn’t arise from long-distance best wishes. For all the blood, bullets and fire shown in “13 Hours,” there is a running theme: With brave men such as these available, why weren’t more of them deployed to give Libya a chance? “Libya is officially a failed state,” reads a grim title at the end of the film.
Michael Bay’s film is a salute to the grit and resourcefulness of the private security contractors (ex-military men, including SEALs and Army Rangers) assigned to protect a CIA outpost and a nearby diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya. On the night of Sept. 11, 2012, jihadists attacked the latter area, where only a gossamer ribbon of security protected US Ambassador Chris Stevens.
Back at the CIA annex, Benghazi veteran Tyrone Woods (James Badge Dale) is still explaining things to newcomer Jack Silva (John Krasinski) when the call for help comes in. But the security contractors are mere hired help to the CIA, whose arrogant station chief (David Costabile) tells them to stand down. After an hour, the fighting men simply ignore the boss and roar to the diplomatic compound to try to save Stevens and his small team.
There’s a breathless hour of uninterrupted gunfight between the half-dozen security men and dozens of jihadists in the streets, and though Bay makes the action thrilling and visceral, overly rapid editing often muddies things. Moreover, some scenes (such as an early one in which Tyrone talks his way through a roadblock by citing a nonexistent drone) are either too fanciful and movie-ish or too weepy and silly (Jack’s wife, on the home front, gets overcome by the fog of war while trying to choose from the McDonald’s takeout menu). “13 Hours” could have used more moments like the reflective one, on the rooftop of the annex near dawn, when Jack talks about how he wishes he could convince himself to stay home with his wife and kids.
Still, if “13 Hours” lacks the gravitas of “American Sniper,” it’s powerful stuff. Bay’s goal is to put you right in these men’s boots, to feel the heat, the fear, the fatigue, the weight of the weapons and the web of camaraderie. Sticking closely to the survivors’ accounts of what happened that night, Bay captures in impressive detail the dizzying chaos. “13 Hours” injects you with raw testosterone, adrenaline — and anger at how the men never got the air support for which they repeatedly begged.