Talk Radio

I guess enough years have passed to admit that I once wote a short story called "Dead Air". It's one of those early embarrassments that is best left to brown in a musty desk drawer. Written for an undergrad assignment, my shamelessly unoriginal story focused upon a radio talk show host, a "shock jock" who spewed left-wing venom nightly to a rabid gaggle of listeners. A really nasty guy, at least on the air. Was it just an act, a fittable persona, a contrivance? One night, an elderly former mayor (or some sort of local politician, can't remember, and I don't feel like pulling the thing out) is his guest. He's invited on to provide conservative counterpoint, and he's everything the jock is not: dignified, careful with his words, a good listener. They begin to spar. The guest never raises his voice. Just as the debate hits some sort of stride, the old man expires, right in front of his microphone. Silence. Get it, "dead air"? The host is aghast, pauses, then in an instant rethinks his whole schtick and m.o. He delivers a heartfelt closing speech that, even as I wrote it, rang entirely false. The End. The story was as trite and unconvincing as its protagonist. Not especially well drawn or thought out. "This story reminds me too much of TALK RADIO" one of my classmates in the critique circle stated. 

I had just seen director Oliver Stone's 1988 film adaptation of writer/star Eric Bogosian's play the weekend before, so she was partially right. I also largely based the central character of "Dead Air" on several of the radio personalities I was listening to at the time: Neil Rogers, Steve Kane, Jack Cole, Stan Major, that bunch. I additionally heard snippets of then-new Rush Limbaugh at that time, but even with a strong stomach, I found him tough to take for very long (and I was a die-hard GOPer in those days, too). It was no wonder that my creativity at that moment was colored by TALK RADIO, with its incisive script, intense performances, and nimble direction. About the latter I must first address: this is some of Stone's finest work. His camera is always hyperactive in his movies, but here it moves with a fluidity that suits the action, mostly confined to a studio. That inherent claustrophobia is an asset here, as the story itself becomes a tightening vise all the way to the finale. Stone's moves never seem flashy or self-conscious. The director and DP Robert Richardson have a real handle on converting the theatrical to the cinematic, in my opinion. A play-to-film with a high degree of faithfulness to its source can tend to be static. 

Not here. Bogosian adapts his play, but this movie is also based on a real life radio personality named Alan Berg, who in the 1980s was murdered in his own driveway by a some right-wing whack jobs he irritated with his show. Bogosian's character is named Barry Champlain, and he's a left-wing whack job. At least, that's how he comes off on his show, and people love it, can't turn it off. At an appearance at a basketball game, he's confronted by a fan who interrogates him, and he correctly diagnoses her situation. "You need me," he says, going on to explain how his antagonism to her (apparently) entire belief system and very being is necessary for her to even get out of bed in the morning. She requires a yang to his yin, or something. Can evil exist without good, and vice versa? If she had nothing to be outraged by she'd likely cease to have purpose. Isn't life a constant fight? That's how Neil Rogers' fans were. I profiled him here last year. I listened regularly in the late 80s/early 90s.

You'd hear the same voices week after week, calling in to express their disgust with his "offensive" views, his outrageous comments and caricatures. Champlain does the same thing, firing the imaginations of his Dallas listeners with barbs against the Establishment, minorities, hate groups. He truly is the equal opportunity offender. Most just enjoy the theater; others take it too seriously. Why else would someone send a swastika flag wrapped around an animal carcass to him? Maybe that's part of the joke, too. Barry can't be sure, and neither can his station's management, led by a perpetually frustrated GM (Alec Baldwin, winning in a smallish part). The tension is even thicker as there is interest from a company in national syndication for the program. While a rep (John Pankow) hangs around and listens, though, Champlain begins to unwind, perhaps to his doom. 

TALK RADIO keeps most of the action in the studio, wisely. In a way, watching this film is like attending a cerebral wrestling match. Champlain is in his element in the relative safety of a high tech fortress, never face to face with his opponents, er, callers. His probable spinelessness would observe an avoidance of "real life" confrontation, but in this manufactured radio world, the gloves are off. "Hit me," he repeatedly goads his audience. Who is real, here? Are the callers just manufacturing trouble (like the host, hmmm) because they're bored and/or addicted to the program? Are the disagreements over political philosophies, religious views, the Constitution just excuses to fill some fractured innate desire to fight? A lack of contentment with self? The same thing that drives individuals to fight wars? That's what I've always gotten from these types of shows.

It's only gotten more intense and polarizing 20 + years after TALK RADIO, with irritants like Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Randy Rhoades, and others. Thoughtful discourse does not get the ratings, the advertising dollars. Why be articulate and logical when inflammatory words and barnyard grunts (remember The Mort Downey Jr. show?)can be expressed? Even if it is all just pretend. I enjoyed the scene in Woody Allen's CELEBRITY, where we go backstage of a tawdry talk show. At the caterer's table we hear good natured banter: "The skinheads take all the bagels!" from the other guest, a Jewish man. But the controversy gets out of hand for Barry Champlain. With each call, his self-destruction becomes more complete. Show business, sure, but the showman is cracking. The corporate types notice, and worry for their Deals, their revenue. Let the wild animal growl, but keep him on the chain, dammit. It can't hold him anymore. The gestating tsuris affects his attempts at relationships too, but the movie keeps its wild but unwavering eyes fixed right on Barry, who eventually does have to leave the building and walk to his car.......