W.

These history-making, dark days in which we live, tragic figures seem to almost be a dime a dozen. Names we hear daily for periods of time, names that live in infamy. Dubious legacies of failed economies, broken diplomacies, gross fiscal mismanagement, abuse of power. Many names. But one name in particular (depending on who you ask, though it hardly seems debatable to me) seems to embody all of the above. W., a new biopic about our 43rd President, George W. Bush, presents this tragic figure as a regular joe who just wanted to please his pa. And it was largely because of Bush Sr. that Jr. finds himself on a FORREST GUMP-like journey from drunken frat hazings all the way to facedowns with Prime Ministers and Secretaries of Defense.

He is privileged enough to attend Harvard and Yale even though his grades are subpar and his discipline is nil. But Jr. is eventually quite aware of what he wants. What he seemed to lack in intellect he made up for in sheer tenacity. After a string of failed attempts at respectability, W. finds his purpose, through God and politics. Even with that, he still struggles with pleasing his dad. Bush Sr. had diligently climbed the ranks as a soldier, congressman, CIA Director, V.P., and President. He believed in hard work and strict discipline. Perhaps that's why he seemed to favor one of his other sons, Jeb, so much. W., on the other hand, was a carousing lush who needed constant bailing out and a series of dress downs, none of which seemed to correct his aimlessness. 

When he finally pulled himself together, even reaching the highest position of power in the world, it didn't seem to quite be enough for dear old dad. Did Bush Jr. aggressively attack Iraq because Saddam (whom dad explains that he pronounces by emphasizing the first syllable: “It means ‘Little boy who shines old men’s shoes’”) had bested his father? Was it merely an immature vendetta? Was the Texas cowboy acting on unchecked emotion? Director Oliver Stone and his longtime writer/collaborator Stanley Weiser take us into the back rooms to witness the genesis and germination of the elaborate plot to invade a country that the President and (most of) his staff believed was linked to Osama Bin Laden. Or did they? Certainly Colin Powell (Jeffrey Wright) was skeptical, enough so to be in dissent with Condoleeza Rice (Thandie Newton), Donald Rumsfeld (Scott Glenn), Paul Wolfowitz (Dennis Boutsikaris), and most tellingly, Dick Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss). 

But Jr. had thousand watt charisma. Could charm the birds right out of the trees when he wanted to. Just ask Tony Blair (Ioan Gruffudd). Everyone fell in line. Perhaps they were subtly bullied. Well, not everyone. France and Germany rather ceremoniously opted out of the ally pool. It makes me ill just just thinking about the anti-French and German sentiment that infected this country at the time. "Freedom fries"? Local restauranteurs pouring German and French wine into the street in protest in front of television cameras? Ugh. Nonetheless, In March of 2003, history was made. There are weapons of mass destruction, dammit, and they will be found. Over 4000 fallen soldiers later, no such weapons were located. No link to Bin Laden's camp ever proven. 

We get a later roundtable where everyone points fingers and denies culpability. Could it be that even General Tommy Franks played the old "it's not in my job description" card?? The President just paced in awe. R.E.M. sang about it long before he ever took office: This is my mistake. Let me make it good. (from 1989's "World Leader Pretend"). A deadly legacy. A tragic figure. W. takes pains to also show how instrumental Cheney was to the Iraq war battle plan. Stone portrays a lighted map of the Middle East, with flashing icons representing bastions of troop presence. And oil. There's a lot of oil in Iraq. Iran, too. Dreyfuss plays the V.P. with just the right quiet malevolence. He practically salivates over that map. In another scene, while W. is stuffing his face (again), Cheney explains the "methods" (not torture, natch) of information retrieval from detainees. We all know the outcome of this.

These scenes are speculation. Weiser did not adapt a former staffer's tell-all. It's fiction, but based on what we think went on. Only the key players know for sure. What the world knows for sure is that things went horribly wrong. The fact that Stone made this film now, and that it was released while the President himself is still in office, raised an eyebrow or two, including mine. It seemed reckless. Aren't you supposed to wait until they're dead? Additionally, given Stone's not-exactly-hidden left leaning point of view, how would W. be treated? The poor shmuck is already castigated every night on Letterman and all the rest for crying out loud. I was half-expecting a two hour smear, a greatest-hits of Bush bufoonery. Stone instead takes a pleasantly surprising middle road, presenting a simple guy with some complex internal dynamics. Sort of like the subject of a previous Stone presidential bio, NIXON.

W's brain is churning all right, even if the words often come out a little, um, inarticulately. The Bushisms that we all have come to know are kept to a minimum in Weiser's script, though two of the more infamous ones ("Fool me once, shame on, uh...") are transposed from a public forum to a private roundtable. I was thankful that we were treated to a more even-handed examination. W.'s conversion to Christianity was also handled with some modicum of respect, another surprise. Weiser's script is well structured, jumping around in time to elucidate W.'s progression, then going back to further enlighten the viewer by showing the earlier version of the flawed man. Knowing where a character will eventually end up gives the nostalgic scenes a certain poignancy, and even narrative drive. 

The most recent trilogy of STAR WARS films were somewhat saved from total decay with this device. The cast is filled with fine actors. I especially liked James Cromwell's forceful portrayal of Sr., all grit and bluster. Elizabeth Banks is very appealing as Laura, who would become Mrs. W. Ellen Burstyn's Barbara Bush was convincingly sharp. Toby Jones' Karl Rove is seen as a shadowy, crafty engineer never too far away from the action. Josh Brolin's solid performance as W. not only anchors the film, but brings some square jawed conviction to it. He really carries this movie. There are some missteps, too. Glenn is underused as Rumsfeld. The script really doesn't paint a clear picture of such a key player. Strange. Even stranger is Newton's Condoleeza. Her jerky, caffeinated performance was often laugh out loud funny. And the voice! She sounded like Diane Rehm on helium. Too broad. A caricature. What was Stone thinking to allow this? If the film was a spoof (which it is not), this performance would've been appropriate. I wasn't expecting a Saturday Night Live-esque portrayal. Even Tina Fey's Sarah Palin is less spasmodic. W., of course, had earlier failed awesomely as a baseball team manager ("I traded Sammy Sosa..."). W. begins and ends on a mythical ball field, a haven of peace for the weary son. The pitch. The crack of the bat. The ball is lost in the sun. If only he could catch it. Dad would be proud. The old son-of-a-bitch would finally show some pride.