W. (Oliver Stone, 2008)
Oliver Stone’s W. is a solid dramatisation of George W. Bush’s life, but Stone has conditioned us to expect something that is both flashier and more incendiary. At his best Stone is an exceptional filmmaker – his earlier political drama JFK is one of the best films of the 1990s, whatever you might think of its central thesis – and with his reputation for shooting from the hip there is no doubt many expected W. to be an extended polemic. Instead, the film is traditionally constructed and fairly measured in its tone. Judging from some of the reviews, which have generally been lukewarm, Stone might have overestimated the willingness of the public to accept a fair-minded account.
I have seen some characterise the film as almost a defence of Bush. I don’t think that’s the case; some of the reviews seem to have set up a false dichotomy between “balanced” and “anti-Bush,” and suggested that because Stone’s film is the former, it can’t be the latter. But Bush is the kind of figure about whom a fair account can still be scathing. Stone is far from defensive of Bush, but he does humanise him and mostly avoids cheap shots. Why take cheap shots when the big picture provides such a compelling condemnation?
The film centres on the period shortly after 9/11, as Bush and his colleagues discuss the invasion of Iraq, with flashbacks filling in key elements of Bush’s biography. Josh Brolin is extraordinary as Bush, capturing the mannerisms and the swagger, and expertly depicting the continuity between the reckless younger Bush and the more driven later model. Drawing those threads together is ultimately the film’s big success: Stone, Brolin, and screenwriter Stanley Weiser make the extraordinary range of Bush’s experience, and the unlikely extent of his achievement, make sense. Brolin perfectly captures Bush’s against-your-better-judgement likeability, and the way in which his misspent early years inform his later period as commander-in-chief. The performance is a revelation, particularly seen so soon after Brolin’s totally different (and Oscar-nominated) turn as another politician in Milk; if W. had been better received Brolin surely would have challenged for acting honours in both acting categories.
The supporting cast is filled out with a range of high profile actors playing well-known political figures. Richard Dreyfuss dusts off his cartoonishly evil Republican politician act from The American President and finds it a perfect fit for Dick Cheney; Scott Glenn has fun with Donald Rumsfeld; and Jeffrey Wright brings a seething dignity to Colin Powell, the administration’s chief voice of caution. An expert makeup job has made Thandie Newton into an astonishing visual match for Condoleeza Rice, but I wondered in the early parts of the film why she hardly spoke: in the latter half, where she gets some extended dialogue, I found out why. Newton’s constipated, nasal whine just isn’t right at all, and is distracting at several key moments. James Cromwell, as George H.W. Bush, departs from the general approach of the rest of the cast by dispensing with impersonation and going purely for attitude, playing the elder Bush as a determined patriarch haunted by his son’s shortcomings.
Cromwell’s approach makes sense in the context of Stone and Weiser using the relationship between father and son as key to the structure of the younger Bush’s life. The elder President’s loss to Bill Clinton in 1992 is painted as a defining moment in which George W. sets himself as at once continuing his father’s legacy, but also reacting against his perceived failings. That father / son dynamic then informs everything we see about the decision to invade Iraq. A biopic such as this needs a simple structuring idea like this to impose narrative order on the chaotic events of a real life, and such approaches usually risk appearing too glib. Here, though, Stone benefits from the remarkable symmetry presented to him by real life: the son relives the father’s war, and wins the second term George H.W. Bush failed to receive.
The film has been criticised for this narrow focus, and for passing over some landmark events (9/11, the stolen election of 2000), but avoiding such tempting topics shows admirable discipline. The extended focus on the decision to invade Iraq keeps the focus of the film on both the pay-off to the father/son conflict, and also the key decision that will likely inform the place of both Bushes in history. The invasion debates are also inherently interesting as a battle of ideas and mismatched political power: I was reminded several times of the similar discussions in Roger Donaldson’s Cuban Missile Crisis drama Thirteen Days. There the debate about the merits of a military action turned on a President’s reluctance to take the course urged upon him, and the two films make fascinating companion pieces.
I have emphasised Stones’ fairness, discipline, and focus, and these are obviously not the traits he is best known for. Some will miss the more inflammatory aspects of Stone’s style here, and W. is a long way from the heights of his best work because it lacks the adventurousness of something like JFK. Yet it’s a strong, thoughtful piece of work, anchored by a remarkable central performance. It just isn’t the definitive, cathartic diatribe that many people wanted it to be.