Most of us don’t think twice about how our favorite action movies are made. Fighter jets roar across the screen, war heroes prevail against the odds, and the American military almost always comes out looking professional, principled, and unshakably heroic.
But what if some of those scenes and storylines were shaped not just by directors and writers, but by the Department of Defense?
For decades, the U.S. military has worked closely with Hollywood studios through a formal and often little-known process. When filmmakers want access to tanks, aircraft carriers, or military bases, they typically submit their scripts to the Pentagon for review. If the story aligns with the military’s messaging goals, or is edited to do so, the production receives support. If not, the military may walk away.
This arrangement has shaped more than 2,500 films and television shows, including some of the most popular franchises in the world: Top Gun, Transformers, Iron Man, Black Hawk Down, and even Captain Marvel. The influence goes beyond factual accuracy or technical consultation. It often involves content changes, character rewrites, and the removal of politically sensitive material.
New Orleans, with its diverse backdrops and generous film tax credits, has hosted several of these productions. Captain Marvel filmed scenes at the Michoud Assembly Facility in New Orleans East. Though it wasn’t branded as a military film, the U.S. Air Force worked closely with Marvel on everything from pilot portrayal to tone. G.I. Joe: Retaliation and Green Zone also shot in the area—though in the case of Green Zone, Pentagon support was denied due to the film’s critical depiction of the Iraq War.
None of this is new. During World War II, the U.S. government created the Office of War Information, which worked directly with Hollywood studios to support the war effort. Films like Casablanca and Frank Capra’s Why We Fight were shaped in part by government messaging. After the war, this collaboration didn’t disappear. It simply evolved.
In 1953, the Psychological Strategy Board, a Cold War-era body created to oversee strategic influence campaigns, issued a confidential report advocating for the U.S. government to work through private media to shape public attitudes. “The hand of government must be carefully concealed,” the report advised. President Eisenhower echoed that sentiment, suggesting such messaging be handled through partnerships with “privately operated enterprises in the field of entertainment, dramatics, music, and so on.”
This was more than Cold War paranoia. The Pentagon’s Militant Liberty program, launched in the 1950s, was a short-lived but revealing effort to infuse anti-communist themes into Hollywood films. Studios were encouraged to highlight American freedoms in contrast to the “slave world” of communism. Even films not overtly about politics—westerns, thrillers, spy movies—became vehicles for soft persuasion.
Sometimes, the influence is measurable. After the original Top Gun was released in 1986, Navy recruitment reportedly jumped by as much as 500%. Recruiters set up tables in theater lobbies. The film didn’t just entertain; it boosted enlistment numbers and reshaped public perception of the Navy.
So what’s the issue?
For some, there isn’t one. Military leaders argue this collaboration helps ensure realism, improves the military’s public image, and supports recruitment goals. Filmmakers get access to equipment they couldn’t otherwise afford. Everyone wins.
But for others, it raises questions about transparency, narrative control, and democratic accountability. If a public institution is helping produce films that shape public perception of war, foreign policy, and national identity, shouldn’t that be visible to viewers?
And what about the cost? While the Pentagon doesn’t disclose a specific line item for film support, those jets, ships, personnel, and resources aren’t free. They’re funded through broader defense budgets like the Defense Media Activity. That means taxpayers—many of whom may never know such partnerships exist—are subsidizing entertainment that often promotes a specific, government-approved version of military power.
This is especially worth considering in cities like New Orleans, where public services struggle to meet basic needs. It’s not that supporting filmmakers is inherently bad. But when some of those productions are quietly guided by federal agencies to tell a sanitized story of war, the conversation becomes more complicated.
This isn’t about denying the bravery of American service members, nor is it about calling every military-themed movie propaganda. Rather, it’s about asking who gets to tell the story and who edits it. What voices are amplified, and which ones are cut from the script?
Hollywood is one of the most powerful narrative forces on Earth. When it aligns with the most powerful military on Earth, it’s fair to ask: Are we watching a movie, or are we watching something more curated?
That doesn’t mean we stop watching. But maybe next time we see a jet streak across the sky, we take a moment to wonder whose story it’s really telling, and who made sure it looked just right.
