Dave (1993)

Lightweight, moderately entertaining Capra-esque comedy about a shlubby presidential impersonator who, when the actual Commander in Chief has a mid-coital stroke, gleefully takes his place. The impersonator, Dave, is actually a full-time council worker who, predictably, is on the opposite end of the moral spectrum from the president's education-cutting, duplicitous administration. After the president is incapacitated, his power-hungry Secretary of State and a formerly idealistic advisor, played by Frank Langella and Kevin Dunn, respectively, immediately send the VP on a tour of Africa, while educating Dave in the ways and traditions of the Oval Office. While Dave initially goes along with them, making the rounds and giving their speeches, a meeting with his local friend and accountant (played by Charles Grodin), where he figures out how to "fix the books," inspires him to repackage the government or, at least, his administration. This catches the attention of his estranged, Hilary-Clinton-esque First Lady, played by Sigourney Weaver, and the purity and goodwill of the nation begin to take a backseat to White House balcony flirting and blind idealism.

When I say the film is Capra-esque, I do not just mean its "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington"-lite plotline; the dialogue, the performances, even the portrayal of the White House are all bathed in an anachronistic, hopeful light. While it differentiates the film from similar, more realistic portrayals of the White House, such as Aaron Sorkin's The American President and The West Wing, it also renders the film rather aimless and rudimentary; rather than deal with any contemporary political issues, Dave talks a lot about "returning" to "a good, strong America" without ever proposing how that is, practically, possible. The Capra-esqueness also extends to its cast; Weaver, Langella, Dunn, Grodin, a late appearance by Ben Kingsley, and, especially, Kevin Kline as Dave, all being pros, let the cornier aspects of the film dictate their performance, and find an ideal kismit with the material that overshadows its glaringly obvious plot holes (which I don't need to mention; this film's about a normal guy SUCCESSFULLY pretending to be the president). Ivan Reitman, amidst a run of family-friendly studio comedies that included Twins, Kindergarten Cop, and Junior (guess what: he's in this one too *hint, hint*), actually achieves a delicate balence between our realistic associations with contemporary Washington D.C. and the uber-hopeful tone of the script, and creates a political environment we can comfortably observe, if not truly believe in. In the end, while the forced love story and the hilariously broad portrait of the political system take their tolls, the film remains a cute, charmingly optimistic comedy with some great, professional performances (particularly from Kline, the delightfully and expectedly dry Grodin, and Dunn).

Recommended to fans of Frank Capra's political comedies and mid-90's studio-comedy optimism. I was pleasantly surprised at the cohesion and consistency of this film; a braver, less family-friendly draft of the script might have made for a marvelous update of pre-WWII cinematic idealism, but what is there is sufficient for a successful Kevin Kline comedy of errors.

Pizza Man (1991)

Funny and political, but nearly unbearably silly, this ridiculous faux-noir centers on a 30-ish pizza man (go figure) as he warily ventures deep into East Hollywood to deliver (*gasp*) a large anchovy and sausage pizza. The pizza man, Elmo, is played by Bill Maher in, from what I gather, what was his only real leading man gig, and much of the humor follows suit: along his journey, he encounters politicos such as Dan Quayle, Ronald Reagan, and, in the least dated touch, "Donnie," the lost, insecure former pizza boy. The whole story is relayed through a sort of neo-noir guise, with Maher delivering a consistent deadpan voiceover relating his pizza-oriented agenda like a cop walking his beat, complete with dispatch calls and a no-nonsense, "just the facts" demeanor. This element masks the true nature of the film's script, which is a then-contemporary political satire, and due to writer/director J.F. Lawton's clear knowledge of noir archetypes and cliches, it keeps the film chugging along right past its stuck-in-the-early-'90s satirical targets, such as Quayle's momma's boy idiocy and presidential candidate Michael Dukakis's shoddy speaking skills. Lawton shoots L.A. through Elmo's winshield like its Taxi Driver, and keeps the film simultaneously rooted in both light-and-shadow driven noir and neon-soaked L.A. nightlife imagery. The one aspect Lawton cannot cover up through sheer style is his budget; the shabby sets are reused, action scenes are ugly and hobbled together, and the supporting cast is filled to the brim with nobody celebrity impersonators, along with a game, but ultimately underwhelming femme fatale by ways of Annabelle Gurwitch. Bill Maher's acerbic wit (and particular political sensibilities) makes him a refreshing, ideally detached noir lead, and, while it is obvious why he didn't parlay this into a serious career as a movie star (see his oft-referenced and disastrous attempt at injecting irony into a nonsensical dance sequence), him and the material have the same bizarre, specific kismit that Dennis Miller was able to harness in the similarly noir-tinged Tales from the Crypt Presents Bordello of Blood. The infectious energy and cleverness Maher and Lawton invested in this film gives it a lot of momentum and many memorable lines and scenarios; its lack of big-budget professionalism takes turns working for and against the production, making it a relatively exclusive, yet fairly rewarding affair for its specific audience (for all those interested: this bad boy's impossible to find, save for on youtube).

Recommended for fans of Bill Maher, or the politically savvy with a particularly clear memory of the general goings-on circa 1991. This is a less fantastic, yet more pointed effort than Lawton and Maher's previous team-up, Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death; it wrings more mileage out of its noir setup than the latter's 50's B-movie trappings, yet fails to parade Shannon Tweed and Adrienne Barbeau around in jungle bikinis (a heinous crime if ever there was one).

That Championship Season (1982)

Subtle, but powerful film about a state champion high school basketball team reunites as middle aged men to support one of them running for mayor. The four present teammates are played by Paul Sorvino, Stacey Keach, Martin Sheen, and Bruce Dern, and their coach is Robert freaking Mitchum. Most of the action takes place in and around Mitchum's house as the men drink, argue, and bond over memories of the champions they once were while facing themselves, for once, as the men they have become. The mayor (Bruce Dern) is an empty hand-shaker, Sorvino's businessman is a greedy lech, Keach's campaign manager is an obediant lackey, and Sheen is a wandering drunk. Mitchum coaches them on their personal lives well into their middle age, maintaining that as proud as he is of the championship cup that adorns his living room, "You guys are my real trophies." The film was written and directed by Jason Miller, Father Karras from The Exorcist, and the film feels very real and unrehearsed; the acting has a spontaneous, natural feeling to it, and the dialogue is both subtextual and immediate, always giving us, the viewer, more information than the stubborn, middle-aged former champions in the film. The house does not imprison the action, although it is there that the most interesting dynamics are allowed to take precedent once the backstories have been established. The old basketball game itself, which is the focus of the 1998 TV movie remake (with Sorvino as the coach), is less relevant here than the current mayoral election, which is driving the men to sacrificing their integrity for their ideas of success that have tortured them since their teens. The notion of looking back on the faded glory of youth and holding yourself up to the standard you sets for yourself as a child is the main idea here, and it is pretty extraordinarily conceived and executed.

Highly Recommended for fans of chamber dramas and once-location dramas. However, equal to this is the remake, which was made for Showtime, but still rivals this in terms of performance and production value. It is hard to single out a performance to recommend, but if Mitchum had the screen time of the others, his paternal, yet endlessly demanding nurturing of his boys' competitive urges would certainly take the cake.

Spartacus (1960)

Terrific swords-and-sandals epic by Stanely Kubrick about a slave, played by Kirk Douglas, who stands up to the Roman Empire, headed by Sir Laurence Olivier. The central theme of overcoming human adversity and achieving self-worth in the face of enslavement is effective, but tacky; the 3 1/2 hour film would be crushed under the weight of its own self-righteousness, were it not for the deft, professional craft of Kubrick a true master of his craft. Through his camera, we do not view the action from the most obvious or traditional of methods, but instead are treated with odd angles, huge, mind-blowing use of the 70mm camera, and shockingly subversive and nuanced acting. The film earns its "epic" title without exploiting the money and production values involved, but rather by heightening tension and conflict to the largest levels possible. The attempts of Spartacus to lead his escaped slaves out of Rome are paralleled by Olivier's effort to gain a dictatorship over the Empire; they are both self-righteous and justified, but Spartacus's ideals are more practical and realistic than Olivier's bourgeois plans to take power over Rome. The decision to cast Olivier, rather than some hammy villain, does much to complicate matters, for his internal logic and reason seems to be thoroughly evident and fully fleshed out, making his scenes just as interesting and dramatic as Spartacus' expansive rebellion. His clearly erotic relationship with his slave, played by Tony Curtis (with his NY accent intact), wholly evoked through glances and line deliveries from Olivier, makes his hatred of Spartacus very real and human when Curtis runs away to join Spartacus' army. Douglas' performance is strong and stoic, even for him, but nothing revolutionary (no pun intended); while he, as exec producer, ran the show and this is, ostensibly, his, rather than Kubrick's, production, I still prefer his more risky, morally ambiguous turns, such as Billy Wilder's Ace in the Whole, to his impermeable nice guy image. The supporting cast is aces, with Curtis, Jean Simmons, Charles Laughton, Herbert Lom, and, especially, Peter Ustinov making distinct impressions, despite their stock roles. Every performer seems to have subtext in their work, and this is, no doubt, due to Kubrick's input. The corniness level is, thankfully, at a minimum throughout, even during the melodramatic ending that justifies itself through emotion, rather than action. The script by blacklisted writer Dalton Trumbo is filled with wit and insight, without ever sacrificing the Ancient Rome environment.

Highly Recommended for fans of epic cinema, Stanley Kubrick, Kirk Douglas, or Laurence Olivier. I did not expect to be as enthralled by the 220 minute film as I was; Kubrick proves his everlasting steel grip of the balls of cinema once more.

In The Loop (2009)

Funny, if a tad dry satire of modern politics, both in the U.S. and Britain. The premise involves an English minister of communications who accidentally lets some information about an impending war slip a little too early, causing PR problems on both sides of the pond. However, this is more All The Presidents' Men than Strangelove; many of the characters are journalists or PR reps, and the main issue is the public image, rather than the state of the nation(s). This allows for Peter Capaldi's PR wizard to be a savage, Ari Gold-esque character, viciously and profanely tearing apart all those that annoy him, even in the most minor sense. His is the most interesting character in the film, and one of the few that manages to transcend the intricate, politics-heavy plot. Other standouts are James Gandolfini, turning in a great, low-key supporting performance as a peace-advocating general, and Tom Hollander as the loose-lipped, but somewhat composed communications minister. It was also pleasant to see My Girl herself, Anna Chlumsky, doing some background work as a befuddled secretary; she has a very open and endearing face, and deserves some grown-up work to complement her childhood repertoire.

Recommended for fans of political or British humor. The success of this one hinges on your interest on the subject matter; this is not ideal for casual viewing.