In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, few powers in the world have intervened in the political and military affairs of other nations as frequently as the United States. These interventions have taken many forms: direct wars, covert coups, intelligence operations, and economic pressure. Official narratives have often framed such actions with phrases like “defending freedom,” “fighting dictatorship,” “combating terrorism,” or “protecting global security.” Yet when history is viewed from the perspective of the people living in the countries affected by these interventions, a different picture often emerges—one of governments overthrown, fragile democracies destroyed, and populations forced to bear the human cost of wars, sanctions, and political upheaval.
This complicated and often tragic history has not only been recorded in political archives and historical research; it has also found powerful expression in cinema. Film, one of the defining storytelling media of the twentieth century, has sometimes been used to justify wars and promote official narratives, while at other times it has served as a vehicle for exposing uncomfortable truths about power, violence, and geopolitical intervention.
One of the earliest and most consequential examples of American intervention in the modern Middle East was the 1953 coup against the government of Dr. Mohammad Mossadegh in Iran. Mossadegh had come to power through democratic means and attempted to nationalize Iran’s oil industry, which had long been controlled by foreign companies. In response, the United States and Britain organized a covert operation—later known as Operation Ajax—that resulted in the overthrow of Mossadegh’s government and the restoration of the Shah’s authority. The coup fundamentally altered the trajectory of Iran’s political history and contributed to decades of tension between Iran and the West.
Cinema has repeatedly returned to this event. The documentary Coup 53 (2019), directed by Taghi Amirani, reconstructs the coup using archival materials and newly uncovered historical evidence. Other films have indirectly referenced the event as well. Ben Affleck’s Argo (2012), which dramatizes the CIA operation to rescue American diplomats during the 1979 hostage crisis, places the story within the broader historical context of the 1953 coup and its long-term consequences for relations between Iran and the United States.
Perhaps no region illustrates the impact of American intervention more vividly than Latin America. For decades during the Cold War, many countries in the region experienced political instability shaped by foreign pressure, covert operations, and military coups. One of the most dramatic cases occurred in Chile in 1973, when the democratically elected government of President Salvador Allende was overthrown.
Allende had become the first socialist president in Latin America to win power through a democratic election. His government sought to implement economic and social reforms, including nationalization of major industries. From the beginning of his presidency, the United States government viewed his administration with deep suspicion. Over time, evidence emerged showing that American intelligence agencies supported efforts to destabilize Allende’s government and strengthen opposition forces inside Chile.
On September 11, 1973, the Chilean military led by General Augusto Pinochet attacked the presidential palace, La Moneda. Allende died during the assault, and a military dictatorship took power. The Pinochet regime would last for nearly two decades, during which thousands of people were killed, imprisoned, tortured, or forced into exile.
This dramatic historical episode has been widely portrayed in cinema. Costa-Gavras’s film Missing (1982), which won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, tells the story of American journalist Charles Horman, who disappeared in the chaotic days following the coup. The film portrays the emotional journey of his father as he searches for the truth and gradually discovers the extent of U.S. involvement in the events. Another major cinematic record of the coup is Patricio Guzmán’s monumental documentary trilogy The Battle of Chile (La batalla de Chile, 1975–1979), widely regarded as one of the most important political documentaries ever made. Decades later, the film No (2012), directed by Pablo Larraín and nominated for the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film, depicted the 1988 referendum campaign that ultimately led to the end of Pinochet’s dictatorship.
Chile was not an isolated case. Across Latin America, similar patterns appeared. In Guatemala in 1954, the democratically elected government of Jacobo Árbenz was overthrown following a CIA-backed operation. The consequences were devastating: decades of civil conflict and repression followed. In Panama, the United States launched a military invasion in 1989 to remove General Manuel Noriega from power, an operation that resulted in significant destruction and civilian casualties. The Oscar-winning documentary The Panama Deception (1992) critically examines the invasion and challenges the official narrative presented at the time. Earlier still, in 1983, U.S. forces invaded the small Caribbean island of Grenada and removed its revolutionary government.
For many historians and political observers in Latin America, the twentieth century became a period marked by repeated external interference that shaped the political fate of entire societies.
In Southeast Asia, the Vietnam War became one of the most catastrophic conflicts of the Cold War era. The war caused immense suffering and claimed millions of lives in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. It also left deep scars on American society itself. Cinema has played a crucial role in documenting and interpreting the psychological and moral dimensions of this war.
Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) transformed the Vietnam War into a surreal descent into the darkness of the human psyche, loosely inspired by Joseph Conrad’s novella Heart of Darkness. Oliver Stone’s Platoon (1986), based on the director’s own experiences as a soldier in Vietnam, presented a raw and personal portrayal of combat and the moral ambiguity faced by soldiers. Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket (1987) examined the brutal process of turning young recruits into instruments of war. Meanwhile, the Oscar-winning documentary Hearts and Minds (1974) juxtaposed official rhetoric with the human suffering of Vietnamese civilians, offering one of the most powerful anti-war statements in American documentary filmmaking.
The pattern of intervention did not disappear with the end of the Cold War. In the twenty-first century, the United States launched major military campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq. The invasion of Afghanistan began in 2001 following the September 11 attacks, becoming the longest war in American history. In 2003, the U.S. and its allies invaded Iraq under the claim that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction. The subsequent failure to find such weapons generated widespread controversy.
Cinema again responded to these events. Michael Moore’s documentary Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), which won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, sharply criticized the political decisions leading to the Iraq War. Paul Greengrass’s thriller Green Zone (2010), starring Matt Damon, dramatized the search for the alleged weapons of mass destruction and the growing realization that the intelligence behind the war was flawed. At the same time, other films such as American Sniper (2014) and Black Hawk Down (2001) presented a more heroic portrayal of American soldiers, illustrating the continuing tension within Hollywood between patriotic narratives and critical reflection.
Throughout these films runs a recurring theme: the contrast between official narratives of war and the lived experiences of individuals. Cinema has the power to reveal what political rhetoric often obscures—the faces of civilians caught in violence, the psychological trauma of soldiers, and the moral complexities of geopolitical conflict. This is why some of the most enduring films in the history of cinema are anti-war works, from Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory (1957) to Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line (1998). Such films remind audiences that behind every military strategy lies a human cost.
Today, tensions in the Middle East once again raise questions about the repeating patterns of history. Decades after the 1953 coup that reshaped Iran’s political landscape, the region remains a focal point of geopolitical conflict. Critics of American foreign policy argue that the current escalation represents a continuation of earlier patterns—where strategic interests and military alliances lead to destructive confrontations whose consequences are borne primarily by ordinary people.
For these observers, the recent military actions against Iran, carried out with the support and participation of Israel, represent another chapter in a long history of intervention. Cities and infrastructure once again face the threat of destruction, and the specter of regional war looms large over the Middle East.
History shows that wars may eventually end, but their consequences can shape generations. Cinema has repeatedly preserved these memories—from the fall of democracy in Chile in Missing and The Battle of Chile, to the psychological chaos of war in Apocalypse Now and Platoon. Perhaps the most important role of art is to prevent such histories from disappearing into silence. Because every time a war begins, new narratives are created—but it is often cinema that ensures the voices of those who suffer its consequences are not forgotten.
