RobertEmmet

By Bree Hocking

This is cross-posted.

If you are among the 25 percent of Americans who still approve of President Bush’s performance, Oliver Stone’s “W.” may not be a film for you. That said, the remaining portion of the U.S. population may leave the movie theater similarly vexed. A mix of satire, biopic and pop psychology, “W.” frequently is as flip and disconnected as its namesake is often accused of being. It’s also profoundly unsettling, contrived and at times surreal. Case in point: Bush and his merry band of yes men marching cluelessly in an open field at his Crawford ranch to the tune of “Robin Hood,” having lost their way; a blithely unaware Bush offering a maimed and bloodied soldier a T-shirt to thank him for his service.

Josh Brolin as W. is a determined fool, chomping bologna sandwiches while declaiming his “decider” powers to the tight-lipped Dick Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss), whining to Laura (Elizabeth Banks) about his father (James Cromwell) while on the pot, inhaling pretzels, sports shows and alcoholic beverages with a primitive glee, invoking God to justify his temporal lusts whether it’s the presidency or the ass-kicking of Saddam Hussein. He is Bush at his most crass, only magnified to an almost unbearable folly by the silver screen. For instance, in a recurring shtick, Stone places him in an empty baseball stadium listening to the applause of a non-existent crowd. In some ways, it’s a useful metaphor for the real-life presidency. Continue reading →