W. (2008)

W, Oliver Stone's so-called biopic of the 43rd President of the United States, is a bit like a veggie burger - it's somewhat enjoyable, but it's brutally unable to convince you that it's the real deal despite its distracting claims to authenticity.

Plot summary of a biographical film always seems a bit awkward, more like an attempt to tell you who plays who. Suffice it to say that it's the story of George W. Bush (Josh Brolin), from his college years to the final days of his presidency with all the sordid details in between (seemingly exaggerated for effect). There's a running conflict with his father George H.W. Bush (James Cromwell, who's not acting so much as he is standing around being tall) as well as the headbutting between V-P Dick Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss) and Secretary of State Colin Powell (Jeffrey Wright) over issues of the Iraq invasion.

First, the good news. Brolin is entertaining and turns in a plausible performance as Dubya, oscillating between pages from the books of Will Ferrell and Dennis Quaid (thanks, Dad!) but with the credibility of a more seasoned and serious actor. I'd heard Dreyfuss was "scary good" as Cheney, and while he's not a doppleganger for Cheney where voice is concerned he certainly looks the part and does a good job at being what this movie needs him to be - namely, a Vader-esque villain. As Karl Rove, the diminutive Toby Jones makes me giggle but only because I really enjoy his career choices, and Thandie Newton looks a heck of a lot like Condi Rice, even if she doesn't do much in the film other than frown.

That's the bad news - like Condi, I frowned a lot during this movie. Though Brolin delivers the famous "Bushisms" well ("Is our children learning?" or "Fool me once..."), eliciting chuckles when they crop up, they're out of place, forced, and decontextualized in order to more adequately lampoon the president. And so the film plays out a lot more like a Saturday Night Live sketch (love him or leave him, is the pretzel-choking incident really that significant in Dubya's life?) than a serious biopic; that the film tries to fob itself off as "the true story" is downright clownery. What's also patently offensive is its unequivocal partisanship, ladled on like so much maple syrup on a stack of pancakes; "POWELL SAINT!" the movie cries like Al Franken-stein's monster, stitched together in a lab somewhere near Flint, Michigan; "CHENEY DEVIL! DUBYA DUMMY!" Please, Mr. Stone; 1981's Caveman, starring Ringo Starr, was subtler.

Subtle? Certainly not. Entertaining? You could do a lot worse, but Stone's done better films. At least JFK had the dignity to present itself as merely a collection of theories. W, on the other hand, professes to straighten up and fly right, but - as Nat King Cole once sang - "Your story's so touching but it sounds just like a lie."
The MPAA rated W "PG-13 for language including sexual references, some alcohol abuse, smoking and brief disturbing war images." The sexual references weren't anything that I really picked up on, though the war images did indeed disturb when they appeared near the end of the film. As for substance abuse, get over it; the film depicts alcohol abuse as enough of a negative for me not to want to indulge myself without a rating box telling me what to think. Sorry, almost went off on a rant there.