The most intriguing project of the year turns out to be a brilliantly funny tragicomedy largely carried by Josh Brolin’s deft, uncanny portrayal of the outgoing US president.
Director Oliver Stone’s fine, uncluttered film – his best and most restrained work since the 1980s – is a broad, amusing and cunning biograph, underscored by sly musical barbs; ‘Robin Hood’ and ‘Yellow Rose Of Texas’ are often sneaking about on the soundtrack. The first hour is genius and not unlike the best episodes of Dallas. As the young, spoiled George Jr. comes of age, it’s Bloody Mary for breakfast, Jack Daniels for lunch, choke on the pretzel for teatime.
His early hazing fraternity days never really seem to leave him; long after he forswears booze and accepts Jesus as his personal Lord and Saviour, he’s still treating his war room like it’s Animal House, addressing each of his sinister accomplices like he’s throwing them a baseball. Hey Rummy! (Donald Rumsfeld) Hey Pal! (Condoleezza Rice) Hey Vice! (Dick Cheney) These folks, are, by Mr. Stone’s account, far more monstrous than Dubya himself whose entire life has been burdened by an insatiable need to prove himself to Daddy (Cromwell, in an excellent performance).
This Oedipal soap opera lends Bush the Younger a humanity that hangs around after his rather more roguishly charming younger self, a total screw-up, but a likeable one, has disappeared. This is crucial in a film that can play like a Greatest Hits compilation. The best Bushisms are all here – “Can we really say our children is learning?”, “They have misunderestimated me” – but neither Mr. Brolin or Mr. Stone is prepared to treat their subject like a complete idiot.
Inevitably, after the rise comes the fall and a series of unfortunate events which Bush is shown to lament almost as much as the rest of us. Brolin switches gears with artful ease. If only all of his co-stars could also stay on message. There are great supporting turns here – Richard Dreyfuss’ sulphuric Cheney, Toby Jones’ lickspittle Karl Rove – but there are also strange missteps such as Thandie Newton’s bizarrely accented Condoleezza.
No matter. W is never less than entertaining even if we do know how it all plays out.