Great art is always ambiguous. Rather than giving us answers, it forces us to ask new questions; complexity is its hallmark. None of this applies to American Sniper, a truly abhorrent film that cannot be confused with art, much less great art.

Yet I suspect that the already deafening praise the film has received will only grow as Chris Kyle’s image as a national “war hero” is amplified both by Bradley Cooper’s Oscar nomination and the ongoing trial of Kyle’s murderer, Eddie Routh, a veteran struggling with severe mental health problems who Kyle had reached out to after returning home.

When not articulated within hawkish narratives emphasizing the glory or necessity of war, the very real suffering of so many returning soldiers is largely framed within the familiar dovish critique of American imperialism — repeated by American Sniper — which casts the war as a misguided expenditure of “our” lives and resources.