Friday, October 17, 2008

W

by Erik

One of my favorite skits from the Comedy Central series Chappelle Show imagined President Bush as a black man. The idea was simple but effective; a great example from the much-missed (for me anyways) show of Chappelle’s deft handling of racial and political humor, and his gift for satire. It was smart, spot-on and laugh-out-loud funny (the highlight coming when Bush elaborates on the coalition of the willing: “We got Stankonia gonna drop bombs over Baghdad”). That skit was no more than 8 minutes long and totally over the top, yet it managed to reveal far more about the state of our country and the real George W. Bush than all of the entire 131 minute running time of Oliver Stone’s latest presidential biopic, W.

Stone has really fallen off the filmmaking map. In the days of Platoon, Wall Street, JFK (his best film) and even the flawed but provocative Natural Born Killers he was a fearless and contentious director—highly stylized but often in service to theme and a gripping story. Nowadays his films come off as punishment for the audience, either annoyingly gonzo in their visual grammar (U-Turn, Any Given Sunday) or dull and lifeless true stories wrapped in faux-controversial clothing (Alexander, World Trade Center), the kind of movies a wannabe hack aspiring to be Stone would make. W. falls more in the latter, but certainly has elements of the former, making this one of Stone’s most perplexing and weakest efforts to date.

Bush is played with fervor and grace by the now hot Josh Brolin, who gave two great performances in last year’s exceptional No Country for Old Men and Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror (the hilarious, but lesser half of Grindhouse, a theatrical experience I enjoyed above all others last year). His performance is solid here; he nails Bush’s voice and Texas swagger, and never descends in to caricature. The same can not be said for the rest of the cast, who at best come off as pretty believable and restrained (Richard Dreyfuss as Cheney and Toby Jones as Rove). The worst performances come from the actors who try too hard to impersonate their characters (Thandie Newton’s take on Condoleeza Rice is so agonizing to watch and hear, and Stone does her no favors by focusing on her grimacing face far too much). Mostly, this film is terribly miscast (James Cromwell as George H.W. Bush? What the hell?).

So is this film a black comedy? Love story between George and Laura? Straightforward biopic? Really, it’s an otiose attempt at all of them, like watching a bad Saturday Night Live skit that is partially serious. Stone gives us nothing new, glossing over all the highs and lows from Bush’s college days to his failings as the president. His main point seems to be that Bush has lived in daddy’s shadow his entire life. Is this supposed to be a revelation? This film confused me to no end. Stone never convinces that this film had any business being made. It feels rushed. Making a biopic about a major figure in history before history has even weighed in yet is gutsy, but that ambition is the film’s undoing. There is no ending to this film. Instead Stone opts for a laughable baseball metaphor in an attempt at artful open-endedness.

Poor pacing makes two hours feel like three. Tired music choices add nothing (“Spirit in the Sky” huh? Never heard that in a movie before). This is the Cliff Notes version of Bush’s life, if you know nothing of the man’s past or his two terms as president, then you may get something out of this glorified TV movie. I’d rather watch Chappelle Show again.