In some Scanners comments this weekend, we've been discussing various comparisons between George W. Bush and Richard M. Nixon, seeing as how Oliver Stone has now made made both failed presidents the subjects of Major Motion Pictures. Matt Zoller Seitz and Kevin B. Lee, in a series of visual and print essays at Moving Image Source about Oliver Stone's political portraits ("Born on the Fourth of July," "JFK," "Nixon," "Alexander" -- leading up to "W.") have been re-examining these films as part of Stone's cinematic autobiography-in-process. (I think all these films, for better or worse, say more about their maker than they do about their subjects -- though there's nothing exceptional about that.)
Nixon is a key figure in my life -- the center of many of my political disputes with my late father, who would not find it unflattering to be described a "redneck" from Catawissa, MO, which I think is a pretty accurate description. When I was 10 and studied the 1968 presidential candidates in elementary school, I decided I was for Hubert Humphrey. My dad voted Nixon (though sometimes I suspected him of actually going for Wallace -- a racist gargoyle who could not have terrified this young Seattle white boy more if he had actually worn a gown and pointed hood). To me, Nixon's resignation in disgrace represented the triumph of my morality over my father's. To him, the only difference between Nixon and any other politician was that "he got caught."
Now that I'm older than he was then, I think we both have our points. At any rate, the president the country chooses unquestionably reflects and defines that period in its history.
Which leads me to something Matt writes about "Nixon" (the movie):
A sprawling amalgam of "Death of a Salesman," "Citizen Kane," Freudian psychoanalysis, and 50 years' worth of headlines and transcripts, "Nixon" feels less like a biography than an autobiography, colored by Nixon's paranoia and self-loathing. [...]
It was assumed that Stone, a counterculture provocateur whose Vietnam service coincided with Nixon's rise to the presidency, would skewer the man as a panderer to red-state reactionaries, a man who pursued power for power's sake, and an enabler and exemplar of the military-industrial complex whose presence hovers over so much of Stone's filmography. Yet the movie is no hit job, as evidenced by the sequence that follows Nixon's strangely psychoanalytical China trip with a harshly editorializing account of the Christmas bombing of Hanoi that no early '70s broadcast news outlet would ever have allowed. This newscast, like all the newscasts in the movie--indeed, like the whole of "Nixon"--isn't supposed to be taken as a straight recreation of reality. This isn't the news. It's the naysaying chorus Nixon hears in his head.
In Robert Altman's film "Secret Honor," Philip Baker Hall plays Nixon in the throes of an all-night exorcism/confession -- alone, talking to himself and to God and Kissinger and the American People. It's a one-man show (from the play/monologue by Donald Freed and Arnold M. Stone), so Hall/Nixon plays all the parts -- including that chorus in Nixon's head. I still believe "Secret Honor" is by far the better film (the "American Experience" documentary on "Nixon," which you can see here, is also a great film; the 1994 Watergate doc even more important and compelling), but the above makes me want to try, at least, to watch "Nixon" a second time. (Nixon's notoriously smeary campaign tactics were disturbingly similar to McCain's.)
American presidents make for fascinating, puzzling, infuriating characters. We like to see them in Shakespearean dimensions: like Hamlet, Henry IV, Richard II... or maybe Bottom. But comparisons are often enlightening. The W. this country barely re-elected (if that's the proper term) in 2004 bears some terrible similarities to the Nixon re-elected (in a landslide) in 1972. Both were on the verge of being "found out," and both would suffer unprecedented public scorn and disapproval.
Both, too, have displayed an astonishing capacity for denial (or, at least, in the Nixonian phrase, "plausible deniability") -- whether as a symptom of their insularity, psychological vulnerability, or genuine conviction that they have behaved properly, or defensibly, or honorably. It's cucial to the understanding of Nixon that, as VP, he never got over being treated as something of a non-entity by his president, Dwight D. Eisenhower, the man who eventually coined the term "military-industrial complex." (BTW, Nixon didn't look nearly as bad in the 1960 debate with JFK as myth would have it.)
Not quite four years after Nixon resigned, the world was shocked when he (in-)famously told David Frost: "When the president does it, that means that it is not illegal." (You'll be seeing that again in Ron Howard's "Frost/Nixon," opening in December.) I believe Nixon managed to convince himself that was true -- though maybe not until after the fact. I do not believe Bush required any convincing, from himself or anyone else, to believe the same thing, because (despite Junior's daddy issues) I don't think he's capable of serious doubt -- of hearing, much less acknowledging, any disapproving voices. Perhaps that makes him more of a comic, lightweight, clueless character than Nixon, who is usually portrayed as tragicomical (I'll be interested to see how Stone plays W.), but the consequences have been no less catastrophic for the country, and the Constitution.
Once crucial difference: If Nixon had made the decision to invade Saddam Hussein's Iraq, he would never have publicly joked about not finding WMDs, as W. did. Nixon was fundamentally a serious man (and often criticized for his self-seriousness). His decisions may also have sent thousands of American troops to their deaths for dubious reasons, but he would never have presented himself, as president, laughing about it in front of "my fellow Americans."
To feel the full tragedy and absurdity of Richard Nixon's life and career, I recommend visiting the Richard Nixon Library and Birthplace in Yorba Linda, CA, a monument to denial and desperation -- and, of course, the only presidential "library" built entirely with privately donated (non-taxpayer) funds. It is one of the most astonishing places I've ever been, like Disneyland and the Taj Mahal rolled into one. There's a ceramic pumpkin with an Alger Hiss micofilm in it -- and the dark Hall of Watergate. More about that some other time. Meanwhile, I can only imagine what W. World will be like...
From the 3-hour American Experience doc:
John Ehrlichman: "The first thing he said to me was: 'When I went to sleep last night, I prayed that I would not wake up this morning.'" (W.? Not a chance.)
Elliot Richardson: "A secure Nixon, almost surely, in my view, would never have been president of the United States at all."
16 Comments
Jim, I'll admit it: I've relatively no interest in seeing W., but you've piqued my interest in Nixon.
FWIW it is interesting that both Stone and Hunter S. Thompson have both compared Nixon with Dubya, and found Nixon the superior man and/or president. Also, I still remember how one of my community college history professors-- an avowed, open liberal-- spoke about Nixon: he was always very careful to try and avoid caricature, highlighting both Watergate and Nixon's opening of diplomacy with China, as well as some of his relative liberal accomplishments (for instance, agreeing to create the EPA).
(Also, just FYI: you've got an unclosed tag there in your final paragraph.)
I'm not usually a fan of Oliver Stone's work (great ideas, poor execution IMO), but I was surprised how much I liked "Nixon", and how sympathetic it was. It was like the guy had greatness in his grasp, but was so paranoid and insecure that he couldn't help but hurt the country and destory himself. The top notch performances by Hopkins and Allen also helped elevate the film past Stone's usual level of mediocre hyperbole. I don't expect "W." to be as impressive, but I am interested to see it - hopefully soon.
NIXON is Oliver Stone's best film (saying something, as he has only a few times made somewhat disappointing attempts at ripping the lid off of a life or an institution - THE DOORS, ANY GIVEN SUNDAY, ALEXANDER, for example)... Am looking VERY FORWARD to seeing W. this Tuesday and will let you know what I think then. It sounds (from Ebert's review and some other - even the negative - reviews I've read) to be really very good, and I'm intrigued by the casting!
I hope you will give "Nixon" another shot Jim (and preferably the 210 minute director's cut "election year edition" DVD just out, that includes Sam Watterson's deleted scene).
I'm not old enough to remember the Nixon presidency.
But when I ask people to compare W.'s presidency and Nixon's presidency, the consensus seems to be, "No doubt, Nixon was a crook. But Bush is leaving this country is far worse shape than Nixon did."
Just food for thought...
"A sprawling amalgam of "Death of a Salesman," "Citizen Kane," Freudian psychoanalysis, and 50 years' worth of headlines and transcripts, "Nixon" feels less like a biography than an autobiography, colored by Nixon's paranoia and self-loathing. [...] It was assumed that Stone, a counterculture provocateur whose Vietnam service coincided with Nixon's rise to the presidency, would skewer the man as a panderer to red-state reactionaries, a man who pursued power for power's sake, and an enabler and exemplar of the military-industrial complex whose presence hovers over so much of Stone's filmography. Yet the movie is no hit job, as evidenced by the sequence that follows Nixon's strangely psychoanalytical China trip with a harshly editorializing account of the Christmas bombing of Hanoi that no early '70s broadcast news outlet would ever have allowed. This newscast, like all the newscasts in the movie--indeed, like the whole of "Nixon"--isn't supposed to be taken as a straight recreation of reality. This isn't the news. It's the naysaying chorus Nixon hears in his head."
Let me start my saying that Oliver Stone is my favorite director. Quite simply, no other director puts more thought into making a film as Stone does. Oliver Stone tends to both benefit and to suffer from the buzz his movies create. Financially, his films benefit when people become interested in them beforehand. Critically, his films tend to suffer because people judge them beforehand. People come into films with certain expectations on what the film is about beforehand, and fail to judge it on its own merits. The jury pool is always tainted. I think few movie critics and fans have an accurate read on what makes Oliver Stone tick, and what's really going on on the screen.
Take a look back at Oliver Stone's filmography for his most enduring characters: Tony Montana from Scarface (written but not directed by Stone), Sergeant Barnes from Platoon, Gordon Gekko from Wall Street, and Pres. Nixon from Nixon. Even if you look at something like Alexander, the brutal Philip is the most thoroughly realized character, by far. Stone actually empathizes with Castro and Nixon more than Kennedy. Oliver Stone himself is portrayed as a bleeding-heart liberal, and yet his most iconic characters are all anything but. Oliver Stone himself was raised as a gung-ho, communist-hating staunch conservative. The after-effects of those origins permeate the entire body of his work.
The most common criticism against Stone is also the least valid: People say that he's always too one-sided. If you look at any one of his works, you'll not only find two sides, but you'll find dozens of different sides of an issue examined. Very often, you'll fine the right-wing side dominating. A completely sane person might see nothing of value in the worldviews of the Gekko's and the Barnes's, but Stone does see it. He sees a lot of value in it. Their way of thinking is the default position, what comes naturally to him. He writes and directs those characters with ease, because that's the way his mind works. Oliver Stone requires a great struggle, a monumental effort of conscience, to keep himself to the left of center. Stone's most autobiographical role is Chris Taylor from Platoon, who first idolized Barnes, but wants to be an Elias. Taylor himself needs to struggle to become Elias, because being a principled man does not come naturally.
In Nixon, Hopkins looks at a picture of Kennedy and says: "They look at you and they see what they want to be; they look at me and they see who they really are." That quote applies to Stone himself as much as it does to Nixon. Stone would like to be a Kennedy, or an Elias. He can't hide from his true self, but he can only battle against it and keep it in check. He aligns himself much more easily with Nixon, with Gekko, with Barnes, etc., even as he idolizes Kennedy and Elias and Carl Fox (Martin Sheen from Wall Street).
[It came as no surprise to me that in W., the most conservative member of the bunch, Dick Cheney, once again steals the show.]
Sean, that is probably the most astute analysis of the dual psychology at play in Stone's work that I have ever read. Well done.
Oliver Stone is, without a doubt, the worst filmmaker ever. Ever. I use such bluster and hyperbole because his films are nothing but bluster and hyperbole. He trusts his audience less than any filmmaker I've ever encountered. He obnoxiously pounds his message home with a mallet the size of Texas. Nixon: Mommy issues, Kennedy obsession, repeat for three hours. He has no interest in women, and badly fumbles every female role he's ever written. Who could waste Sissy Spacek? For several years, he was obsessed with the odious and childish Native American-as-mystical-symbol stereotype. Finds the actual Turkish people in the Turkish prison irrelevant but is appalled when Americans get mistreated, as Jonathan Rosenbaum has astutely observed. He has yet to make a film with a single recognizable human character, instead populating his films with boring ciphers who deliver nothing but cliched movie-speak and artless monologues that appear to have originated from the pen of a precociously earnest 14-year-old who's just discovered the existence of corruption and injustice and really wants to let you know all about it. And what's with all those clunkily obvious film titles? Wall Street. JFK. Nixon. The Doors. Salvador. World Trade Center. If he had directed "Jaws," he would have called it "Big Shark." I wonder if he pseudonymously directed "Snakes on a Plane." I'm not the biggest fan of Pauline Kael, but I will always love her response when asked about why she retired: "The prospect of having to sit through another Oliver Stone movie is too much."
Am I crazy? I can usually understand, or at least respect, the appeal of an admired filmmaker even when I don't find him or her very interesting, but I must admit to being completely dumbfounded that anyone over the age of 21 can take Oliver Stone seriously. I think Oliver Stone's and Ed Wood's reputations should be swapped. Seriously. Am I just missing something?
Not crazy Josh, but I don't get much insight in that spiel. For starters, in terms of his films being male dominated narratives, that only puts him in the company of about 90% of other directors. And he does have significant female roles in The Doors, Heaven & Earth, and World Trade Center (the last two getting their highest ratings from women on IMDb).
Slate.com brilliantly takes Hollywood to task for habitually not giving Bush the skewering he deserves. http://www.slate.com/id/2202216/
Dan,
Though I mean every word I say, I meant it as a humorous rant. It's hard to have insight when writing about someone who doesn't have any. I just want to clarify something. I don't have any problem with male-dominated narratives. I do have a problem with badly botched female characters or a director simply including them in generic prop roles. Stone's women are usually prostitutes, doting mothers, doting wives, worried mothers, or worried wives. And boring ones, at that. These women seem to be written by a guy with no interest in, curiosity about, or affinity for women. I haven't seen Heaven & Earth and World Trade Center, so he could be doing something there I haven't seen him do before, though I'm skeptical. The female characters in The Doors are much more independent than Stone's women usually are, but I find them just as badly and woodenly portrayed as ever.
Josh, if you'd really compare Stone to Ed Wood, then I suggest watching the video essays at Moving Image Source, linked to this article. If you only watch one of them, I would recommend the Nixon or the JFK piece. It's a shame that you only saw 'mother issues, Kennedy obsession' in Nixon, but many people saw a whole lot more.
While you might have a preference against Stone's style or content, I don't think there is anyone that would call him a hack justifiably. He is one of the only true American auteurs.
Sean,
I watched the Nixon piece. I think the case the site makes for the film is more interesting than the film itself, and the compressed version of Nixon is a much more succinct film than the three-hour chore Stone made. The Moving Image Source leaves out the grinding, unceasing repetition of Big Themes, but they do show one of my biggest Stone pet peeves -- dialogue like "They look at you and they see what they want to be; they look at me and they see who they really are." Stone's characters often speak this way, to my frustration. I feel like he doesn't trust his viewers enough to let his images tell the story (though I could do without the incoherent barrage of angles and film stocks as well). He's your favorite filmmaker and my least favorite, so we're never going to meet anywhere close to the middle. However, I agree that he's not a hack. If he was a hack, he wouldn't bother me so much. He's a distinctive filmmaker, with passion and intensity. However, that passion, intensity, and distinctiveness aren't enough. He lacks nuance, subtlety, and a feel for the way real people act and speak, even though he constantly picks subjects that require these qualities.
By the way, could you elaborate on your description of him as "one of the only true American auteurs"? I don't understand that statement. I can think of plenty off the top of my head who have a lot to say about American life, including Buster Keaton, Preston Sturges, Tex Avery, Chuck Jones, Bruce Conner, Stan Brakhage, Howard Hawks, John Ford, John Cassavetes, Elaine May, George A. Romero, Robert Altman (I'll take Secret Honor over Nixon any day), Martin Scorsese, Monte Hellman, David Lynch, Mark Rappaport, Charles Burnett, and on and on. These were just the first that came to mind today. Yesterday or tomorrow the list would have been different, but at least as long. I'm sure every other cinephile can plug in a list of his/her own, too.
"Oliver Stone is, without a doubt, the worst filmmaker ever.”
“His films are nothing but bluster and hyperbole.”
“I’m completely dumbfounded that anyone over the age of 21 can take Oliver Stone seriously.”
“I think Oliver Stone's and Ed Wood's reputations should be swapped. Seriously.”
“He trusts his audience less than any filmmaker I've ever encountered.”
“He obnoxiously pounds his message home with a mallet the size of Texas.”
“He has yet to make a film with a single recognizable human character”
“instead populating his films with boring ciphers who deliver nothing but cliched movie-speak and artless monologues that appear to have originated from the pen of a precociously earnest 14-year-old who's just discovered the existence of corruption and injustice and really wants to let you know all about it.”
First, off, Josh, I want you to take a look at your own language here. I don’t think you’re showing much respect for any fellow readers who might disagree with you. You’ve insulted the intelligence of anyone who feels differently. You have made several definitive statements, many opinions presented as if they were objective claims. These practices are all too common in film criticism: presenting your subjective experience as the definitive one, and reducing potentially valid claims into a childish insult contest (see: Rex Reed). I don't think it strengthens your claims or makes anyone more likely to agree with you. In talking about any film, I think it's always best to try to respect the amount of work that goes into making a film, and to suggest different decisions you would have made rather than to insult work outright.
It’s very difficult for me to even want to reply to something like this. I just want you to know that you have in effect accused me of being both immature and stupid, and those are accusations that I don’t appreciate and don’t take lightly.
First, a few side points:
“He has no interest in women, and badly fumbles every female role he's ever written.”
You could make this same criticism about a wide number of directors. Female characters do tend to be marginalized in his films, but no more greatly than the majority of male directors. Gender equity among characters is not a prerequisite for film quality.
“And what's with all those clunkily obvious film titles?"
Does a film title have any bearing on the quality of the film? Do we penalize MASH or The Godfather or Barry Lyndon for not coming up with more creative titles? I also don’t think that the titles of Stone’s films are anywhere near as simple and unambiguous as you’re implying. Take the presidential trio of JFK, Nixon, and W., for example. It’s very important that those seemingly similar titles are attached to those three remarkably different works. JFK is not about the man himself, but about the aftermath of his death. The title of Nixon refers to the idea of ‘Nixon,’ a divided self in which there is a disconnect between the man and his reputation. W. not only implies that the film explores the difference between the two Bushes, but also the connotation of an incomplete human being.
“He lacks nuance, subtlety, and a feel for the way real people act and speak, even though he constantly picks subjects that require these qualities.”
Some writers choose to try to duplicate human discourse, and others do not. Many writers experiment with different shades of realism. There is no direct correlation between the ability to mimic real people and the quality of the writing. For instance, two trashy recent films, Superbad and Cloverfield, actually did an excellent job of replicating the dialogue of its subjects in the real world. The result, to me, is painfully boring. If I want to hear a bunch of young losers talking, then I can just go find them anywhere on a college campus or Internet message board.
The vast majority of Stone’s work is either an intentionally exaggerated satire (in the vein of Talk Radio, Scarface, U-Turn, Any Given Sunday, Natural Born Killers) or more of a mythological remembrance/re-imagining of historical events (Platoon, Born on the Fourth of July, JFK, Nixon, Alexander, W.,). World Trade Center was his only film that even attempted to replicate realistic dialogue, and the results were quite good in that respect, even though universally regarded as less interesting.
I would disagree with your approach for one of two reasons. First, you may have misconstrued the intention of the work, and assumed that it does purport to be realistic. The visual stylistic choices in each of those films should have been a key indicator to the contrary. Alternatively, you could have entered with the false presumption that all good dialogue must mimic actual speech. It might be a personal preference for some people, but it is absolutely not a requirement for good writing. By the way, two of the contemporary directors you mentioned positively, Martin Scorsese and David Lynch, very often include dialogue that is anything but realistic, and for essentially the same artistic reasons.
“dialogue like "They look at you and they see what they want to be; they look at me and they see who they really are." Stone's characters often speak this way, to my frustration.”
First off, was that particular bit of dialogue out of character for Nixon? I don’t think it was out of character at all, but it was entirely believable in the context of the man. Nixon was a very introspective and self-aware individual, prone to paranoia. Contrast that scene with a similar scene from W., a press conference in which Bush is asked to reflect on his mistakes and his place in history. Words that came easily to Nixon, do not come at all to Bush, and he refuses to answer the question. Again, that response (although vastly different from Nixon’s words) is completely consistent with the character, a man without eloquence and without the power of self-reflection. It would have been dead wrong to have Bush make that type of statement, but it would be equally wrong for Nixon to be unable to come up with an excuse for himself.
More importantly, though, what does that line of dialogue mean to you? You seem to imply that the line is meant to be taken at face value. If it’s such an ‘obvious’ and poorly written line, then interpretation of this line should be very easy. It isn’t, though. Does the film agree with Nixon’s statement, or is the statement merely a reflection of Nixon’s paranoia and desire to shift the blame outward? If the statement is true, then does it only apply to Nixon himself, or does it apply to other figures, including Stone himself? To what aspects of his identity and Kennedy’s identity and the identity of the American people is he referring here? Is the statement even about Nixon at all, or is it actually intended as a comment about America (after all, if we ‘really are’ him, then what does that say about us)? These and many more questions of interpretation are left in the hands of the viewer.
In fact, the line is very ambiguous, and there are many shades of interpretation to consider. Stone often includes what seem to be very direct statements, but it’s a huge mistake to equate the literal meaning of what a character says with the film’s intended meaning. As a writer, Stone is keenly aware of multiple meanings. Never assume that he has not contemplated different interpretations of each word, because he does (both for himself and in his general analysis of other forms of media).
I remember I had a discussion in which someone complained that a critical line at the end of Platoon was ‘too obvious,’ but when I pressed them they could not even explain what the words meant. I offered about a dozen different interpretations of the language, and he could not offer one. There is a tremendous degree of subtlety and nuance in the meaning of the text. Ambiguities, different shades of meaning, different levels of interpretation, and connections within the text can all be found everywhere. Many viewers are willing to engage that task, but some just dismiss it entirely. I would make the exact opposite claim that you do: there is no director who respects his audience more than Oliver Stone, and certainly no one who expects more active thought from the viewer.
I also think you might be committing a more general fallacy in your treatment of Stone’s work. You’re making a false assumption about the relationship between text and subtext. You’re mistakenly treating it as a zero-sum game. You assume that, because there is a great deal of text (a barrage of words and images), then there must automatically be very little subtext. That assumption is quite simply not true, and there are no better counterexamples than labyrinth works like Nixon and JFK. I prefer works that present a great deal of surface information, in addition to a great deal of depth under the surface.
My favorite book of all time is Thucydides History of the Peloponnesian War. Thucydides was a fifth century historian from Athens, who wrote about the conflict between the Athenians and the Spartans as it was happening. (There has never been, and never will be, a more intelligent individual on this planet than Thucydides.) His historical narrative included speeches from people, which were sometimes based on first-hand accounts but sometimes the product of his invention. Uncovering the facts of the situation was less important than revealing the truth of the events. Thucydides did not put a premium on ‘realism’ in those speeches and dialogues; he wasn’t concerned with ‘how real people talk,’ because he had much larger issues to address. He was more concerned about the quality of his own dialogue with the reader than duplicating the words of the subjects. Stone’s historical works work in a very similar fashion.
Another great analogy to Stone’s work is the work of William Shakespeare. It’s no secret that Stone often models many aspects of his work after the bard. The dialogue of Shakespeare’s characters is anything but realistic and characters are often expressive far beyond their means, but that element never detracts from the quality of the writing. The dialogue sacrifices believability in favor of ambition and ideas, and there are always several layers of interpretation. Shakespeare’s work has a strong, direct influence of many of Stone’s films; Scarface adapts many elements of Richard III, JFK connects with Julius Caesar, Natural Born Killers is akin to Titus Andronicus, Nixon parallels Macbeth and King Lear, and W. corresponds to Richard II and Henry IV. (Hmm, seems like the Bard used some ‘clunkingly obvious’ titles too.) I can’t name any modern director with a more Shakespearean body of work than Oliver Stone, on the levels of psychology, politics, and tragedy. Nixon, in particular, is the most Shakespearean film I can name. I’m not suggesting that the language is equivalent to Shakespeare, because no writer can match Shakespeare’s mastery of language; however, many of Stone’s works do achieve a level of visual poetry with the equivalent effect.
For me, Stone successfully combines many of the best aspects of Thucydides as a historian, Shakespeare as a dramatist, and many classic directors as a visual artist. He also has a style that is uniquely his own and a content focus that is centered on America today. Too many modern directors experience life only through films, lack an appreciation for or even an interest in history and future world events. Stone expressed more about himself, about history, and about America in a single work (such as Platoon, JFK, Nixon) than most directors do in their entire corpus.
By the way, the majority of your comments were not criticisms of Stone as a director, but instead criticisms of the writing in his films. There is one comment about direction:
“I could do without the incoherent barrage of angles and film stocks as well.”
I think very few people would regard the director’s choices of camera angles, film stocks, and montages as ‘incoherent’. Every single one of those choices is intentional, conducted with painstaking forethought. Nothing is random, and even the most chaotic moments are carefully ordered. If anything, those visual choices are too effective. The audience almost always feels the intended emotional effect, or understands the visual association being created. There are times when the effect works at an almost subliminal level, but the effects are always the product of design and never of accident.
Nixon was living disproof of the classic Greek paradigm that only greatness can rise high enough to fall far enough to be tragic. RMN was a small man who wanted the Presidency more than anyone in history, won it after more travail and heartbreak than anyone in history, and lost it more ignobly the same way. I won't see "W" because I did see "Nixon." I don't like Ollie Stone when he's doing someone he hates because he tiptoes so carefully around his true feelings he stops being Ollie Stone. About all I can say positive about "Nixon" is the acting was magnificent--Joan Allen inhabited Pat Nixon and within 10 minutes Anthony Hopkins made me forget he looked nothing like Nixon. You can't compare Shrub (pace Molly Ivins) with Tricky D, Nixon had character and felt himself too deeply, and Shrub is barely one and doesn't feel himself at all.
Elliot Richardson: "A secure Nixon, almost surely, in my view, would ever have been president of the United States at all."
Ever or never?
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