By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
By Claire Lawton
By Kiernan Maletsky
By Anna Merlan
Although Bening's screen work has languished some since then (her performance in Bugsy was eclipsed by the publicity surrounding her marriage to Warren Beatty, and her role as the doting wife in the dreadful drama Regarding Henry was merely perfunctory), she delivers a radiant performance in The American President. The movie isn't much--occasionally funny, but mostly a routine, passionless comic romance--but she transforms what could have been a window-dressing role into a complex character, full of the very life and energy and humanity that the movie itself strives for but never convincingly achieves.
Bening plays Sydney Ellen Wade, a Washington environmental lobbyist who catches the eye of the most eligible bachelor in the country, President Andrew Shepherd (Michael Douglas). They begin an awkward courtship, and as Sydney slowly cures herself of the initial discomfort attendant on being famous for sleeping with the chief executive, his career suffers from their relationship.
The premise of the film--whether a widowed president could go out on a date (or, God forbid, actually have a girlfriend) without suffering severe political backlash--has the veneer of being fresh and intriguing, but it quickly devolves into one baffling cliche after another. When first we meet President Shepherd, he's a savvy and cynical politico; despite his 63 percent approval rating, he prudently shies away from promoting two controversial bills, opting instead for the safe, populist approach of an election-year incumbent. How is it, then, that he so blindly refuses to defend himself when conservative Kansas Senator Bob Rumson (Richard Dreyfus) attacks him for his relationship with Sydney?
Shepherd's conflicting attitudes over his public life are at the heart of Aaron Sorkin's puzzlingly schizophrenic screenplay. Shepherd's consultants, from his chief of staff (Martin Sheen), to his domestic policy advisor (Michael J. Fox), pollster (David Paymer), and press secretary (Anna Deavere Smith), insist upon an official White House policy regarding Sydney, but Shepherd refuses to dignify the innuendos with a response, even as his public approval plummets. Suddenly, he isn't making the calculated, decisive choices of a seasoned hack, but the loopy whims of a schoolboy with a crush. You wonder if the whole affair started as a reaction to his press secretary's comment that they never had trouble "selling you as the sad widower," since in the context of the rest of the film, Shepherd's actions just don't make sense. (In the film's capstone scene, Shepherd finally delivers the kind of speech everyone has wanted him to make from the beginning. The reason Shepherd behaves so incongruously until then is the bugaboo of the idiot movie plot: if characters didn't act like idiots, the movie would be over in 15 minutes.)
If the only obstacle was the film's naive treatment of the complicated issues of the presidency, you might overlook them. The flaws are unavoidable, though, precisely because the screenplay fancies itself as canny and realistic. It's so persistent about showing the trappings of modern politics that it invites an evaluation of how it handles political issues.
The movie only floats on the surface of actual politics; it wants you to believe that high-level staff meetings are as slick and fast, as meaningless and lightweight as they appear here--that despite the occasional unpleasant duties (like bombing Libya), a good, well-meaning, liberal president who exudes authority will breed devotion and loyalty. (You've got to smile at the ballsiness of a script that names the president "Shepherd," as though everyone in the free world will flock toward him.)
Unlike Dave, which took a mostly warm, lighthearted look at governing, The American President is veritably glum with self-importance. Despite a number of humorous lines, there's no real air of levity or honest enjoyment; everything about the movie seems so damned presidential, you just wish someone would break out into song or tell a dirty joke just to be sure these people are really alive.
That's mostly director Rob Reiner's fault. Reiner's directorial voice is probably the smoothest, least distinctive of any major director. His pictures are largely without individual character, vanilla-flavored snow globes of good taste and social consciousness. His obsessive craftsmanship is the impediment that keeps The American President from seeming vibrant and alive. Reiner's conception of politics is superficial; his camera lingers on the props of the presidency--from the dinner settings to the Marine Corps Color Guard--and the story lacks emotional resonance as a result. He doesn't direct the movie so much as stage the photographing of the sets; on the occasions when he finds it necessary to make a point, Marc Shaiman's intrusive score does it for him. (Shaiman never misses an opportunity to broadcast the content of every scene.) Reiner's clearly trying to foster a Capra-esque tone, though he doesn't approach the fluid corniness that the film Hero managed so effortlessly. Reiner just doesn't have his heart in it.
Join My Voice Nation for free stuff, film info & more!