Consider this to be a movie review - and a riff on Hollywood's longtime habit of drowning its political movies in gallons of syrupy gloop.
Swing Vote, the new Kevin Costner vehicle that purports to be a cutting-edge commentary on contemporary American politics, is a semi-decent summer diversion. It's amiable enough in shambling, inoffensive sort of way. I had heard some buzz about it, but after checking it out yesterday, I am here to report that maybe it's a respectable Netflix rental and nothing more. It has very little bite, except for a few pandering TV ads, and bite is mandatory in political satire. It has more corn than a '30s Frank Capra flick, and, particularly as it nears its predictable finale, it warms the heart in all the calcuated ways that the suits in Hollywood insist upon. (Those would be the same suits who live in terror that a movie with a tough political edge might get hurt at the box office.)
The theme is a big part of the problem. A wastrel drunk nicknamed Bud, played by Costner, is thought to have voted in his New Mexico precinct, but the authorities determine that his ballot has not been counted. And since the whole presidential election hinges on the verdict in New Mexico, and since the New Mexico results are tied, the future of the nation hinges on Bud, who knows and cares nothing about politics and spends much of the movie being jostled awake (repeatedly and tiresomely) by his predictably cute, precocious daughter. (Hollywood requires cute, precocious daughters.) The best assessment of Bud was delivered midway through the movie by Bill Maher - on his show, playing himself - when he declared, "Bud is a dumbass."
I didn't mind the far-fetched premise; if a movie has bite, it's not hard to suspend disbelief. Rather, it's the message that underwhelms: We all should vote. Every vote counts.
Gee, ya think? I can get that from a League of Women Voters public service ad. A political movie should deliver far more than the ingredients of warmed-over porridge. And this movie's message feels dated anyway; it seems to be pegged more to the cliff-hanger 2000 race than it does to 2008, a year that has already seen unprecedented voter participation, with more expected in November.
But fear not (consider this a spoiler alert), Bud predictably sees the light during the final act (mostly because he wants to bond with his precocious daughter, as the upswell of music reminds us), and, after cramming all night to master America's heaviest issues, he miraculously emerges in suit and tie to host a final debate between the incumbent Republican president and the Democratic challenger. He begins by asking a tough question ("If we are the richest country in the world, how come so many of us can't afford to live here?"), the president volunteers to tackle it...and the movie suddenly cuts to the next day, when Bud heads into the voting booth as his daughter beams, her faith in dad restored. End of movie.
How did the Republican president answer that question? What did the Democrat say in response? How did Bud's Everyman decide which guy handled it better? What did they have to say about poverty and health insurance and abortion and gay marriage and immigration, all of which were fleetingly addressed during the movie (with sufficient balance so as to avoid offending anyone in the audience)? In short, how did Bud, who supposedly embodies the low-information swing voter, finally make up his mind? Politically, which way did he ultimately lean?
It's not enough simply to vote; to vote is to choose. This film, like so many products of risk-averse Hollywood, is too timid to make a choice.
For what it's worth, here (alphabetically) are my top five favorite political movies, all of which have bite, any of which might fit the bill for a late summer night:
Being There (1979). A surreal comedy-drama starring Peter Sellers as a simpleton named Chance, whose every vacuous utterance is taken as wisdom by the Washington crowd.
Bob Roberts (1992). The liberal themes are a tad shrill, but Tim Robbins' tale of a scary yuppie who runs for the Senate in Pennsylvania, while ripping off Bob Dylan, makes great use of the mock-documentary format.
The Candidate (1972). Robert Redford's portrayal of Bill "All the Way" McKay, an anti-poverty activist forced to compromise while running for the Senate in California, holds up very well. Especially when he wins and asks his consultant, "What do we do now?"
The Manchurian Candidate (1962). This lacerating satire of anti-communist paranoia did lousy box office when it was first released, but its stature as a terrifying allegory is unassailable today.
Wag the Dog (1997). When Barry Levinson filmed this devilish piece, about a White House that fakes a war in order to divert attention from a presidential sex scandal, he never could have imagined that the real thing (Monica Lewinsky) would coincide with the film's release. A great meditation on political/media trickery.
Runners-up: Advise and Consent, All the President's Men, Charlie Wilson's War, Dave, The Best Man.
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Speaking of summer diversions, the John Edwards saga has all the ingredients of a beach mystery page-turner. Not to dwell on it much longer, but certain mysteries persist: If the baby definitively is not his, then why would Rielle Hunter's sister put out a statement this past weekend challenging Edwards to take a paternity test? Is it even remotely conceivable that Hunter could move out of North Carolina, and into a $3-million Santa Barbara house, without Edwards at least wondering how she managed to come up with that kind of money? If the affair was indeed over and done with in 2006, why was she tempted to spill the beans last fall - thus necessitating a secret visit from Edwards, seeking to persuade her otherwise?
Whatever. Here's the reason this episode remains relevent:
John Edwards collected tens of millions of dollars in campaign donations from Americans who believed in him. He attracted millions of followers who shared his belief that fighting poverty was important, that fighting the special interests was important. Yet he put all this at extreme risk by planting a time bomb in his own midst. He betrayed the underdogs that he purported to champion. And he put his party at extreme risk. If today he was the presumptive nominee, this scandal would be decimating the Democrats, undercutting (perhaps fatally) all that he and they have been working for, notably the opportunity to put George W. Bush's priorities in the rear-view mirror.
Democratic loyaltists nationwide probably owe a debt of gratitude to their brethren in Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, and South Carolina for ensuring last winter that this scandal would be a mere summer diversion.
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In the ongoing matter of the vice-presidential sweepstakes, that other seasonal pursuit, I occasionally receive emails from Republicans who want to boost Condoleezza Rice for the job of running mate. But she would be an absurd choice, not merely because she's a supporter of abortion rights (a non-starter for the GOP base), but because her role as an architect/messenger of the war in Iraq would focus too much attention on John McCain's ties to President Bush.
Now there's more: The other day, she was asked whether she would feel safe if Barack Obama was president. Her reply: "Oh, the United States will be fine."
Wrong answer, Condi. The McCain line, as crafted by the Karl Rove alumni in the McCain camp, is quite the opposite. Her refusal to sell the politics of fear should be enough to eliminate her from consideration.