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Satirizing politics and the media is just too easy, particularly in cinema. For one thing, there are countless examples of foolishness to work from--enough for the comedy to practically write itself. For another, there is little risk, other than pissing off the intended targets. If the audience's intelligence is insulted they won't know it; if they do, they are probably in on the joke. Most important, many people already dislike and distrust the government and the media. Political humor is like Bill Maher's horribly overrated show Politically Incorrect; so he reads the paper every morning and knows that Washington is filled with jackasses--tell me something I don't know. But satirizing media and politics with ingenuity is hard. Director Barry Levinson is up to the challenge with his new film, Wag the Dog. Levinson, who has rolled around in the sticky schlock of Rain Man, Avalon and his worst to date, Sleepers, apparently wanted to make a smart movie. He wanted to make a film that bucked Hollywood trends in speed (it was made in only 29 days) and budget (it cost a modest $15 million). Attempting the ingenuity of Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove or Lumet's Network, Levinson wanted to craft a sharp, acerbic tale. He did, but we can practically hear the self-important levity echoing through the picture, like the chortles of knowing laughter emitting from academic film hubs. Dr. Strangelove was absurd genius while Network was angry and earnest, but Wag the Dog is earnestly satirical: not a good combination. Which isn't to say the film is bad. To the contrary, it is often quite good, but brilliant satire? No such luck. The film's premise is clever and entirely believable. When political scandal threatens the American president's chance for a second term, an enigmatic clean-up man is called in to rectify the situation. That man is Conrad Brean (Robert DeNiro), a brilliant taskmaster who has the unflappable ability to manipulate politics, the press and the American people with the stealth of a ninja. Brean is able to swiftly deflect attention from the president's alleged follies with a teen-age Firefly girl (basically a Girl Scout) by creating a much more important conflict: a war not unlike Grenada or the Gulf War--a war with Albania. Understanding the value of show business in any government action, Brean and presidential aide Winifred Ames (Anne Heche) enlist big-shot Hollywood producer Stanley Motss (Dustin Hoffman), a man with a lot of hits, but, to his chagrin, no Oscar. Motss recruits some creative types to the cause, including trendsetter Fad King (Denis Leary), who serves to make the conflict more hip and exciting, and legendary country singer Johnny Green (Willie Nelson), who is to create a timely, patriotic song (think "We Are the World") that will galvanize the American people. After the war is leaked to the press, the group undertakes its next achievement: "proof." They masterfully create video footage of a young Albanian female dodging bullets while clutching a distressed kitty, a harrowing picture of innocence destroyed. Their triumph doesn't last long; after Green creates an anthem sure to win the hearts of all America, the war is declared over. But the team will not give up. Realizing that there has to be a human face, a ho attached to the atrocities, the group creates a prisoner of war left behind: Schumaker (Woody Harrelson), or "good ol' Shoe." Though Schumaker reaps some hilarious bits, this is where the film begins to break down. After a ridiculous plane crash where Brean, Ames, Motss and Schumaker are left stranded in a podunk town, ol' Shoe wanders off to molest a healthy farm girl with the reasoning "I love the night life, I like to boogie." This in itself is funny and Harrelson, who is one of the most talented and versatile actors around, makes a great over-the-top psycho, but not in this film. When his wild-eyed character enters the picture, the film's other characters suffer. Suddenly they don't seem as smart, their savvy is undermined. This should not happen--these people are masters at what they do. The witty script by David Mamet and Hilary Henkin is certainly superior to most Hollywood films of late, but it is the actors who really make the film work. Playing the grizzled, mysterious Brean, DeNiro makes a perfect "Le Samurai." He is friendly but all business, modest but fiendishly intelligent. He needs no recognition for what he does. DeNiro works excellently off Hoffman, who has not revealed his comedic abilities in quite some time. Playing the Robert Evans-like producer who futzes around in his white wardrobe, Hoffman is endearingly unctuous. As in his underrated performance in the similarly underrated Ishtar, his timing is impeccable, as is DeNiro's. Both actors understand the importance of how to play these men in terms of what the characters represent: Brean is the silent killer, Motss is the ostentatious sacrifice. The two never stray towards the obvious, never try to one-up each other and never rest on their laurels; they are acting, not playing icons. Their performances are, in fact, smarter and more perceptive than the film itself. But Levinson does make do. Wag the Dog ambles along in a strangely hypnotic manner that well matches the innocuous Mark Knopfler score. There is something icily friendly, even relaxing, about this film. It is a joy to watch all of these people and their behind-the-scenes shenanigans, and we are proud when they succeed. But since we never second-guess their likability, even with the film's inevitably dark ending, we never feel as disturbed as the film wants us to. Harrelson may be crazy, but he's no Peter Sellers desperately trying to keep his arm from saluting the Führer. And Mamet may have written a telling tale, even a prophetic one, but nothing Paddy Chayefsky didn't conceive of in his effectively annoying Network, a film that predicted the popularity of tabloid television. Wag The Dog will be met with an appreciative audience who will feel all the smarter when they leave the theater. They will get the satire, but will they really feel it? Regrettably, no. |
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