Mark votes for W.
Taking as its central platform the build-up to the invasion of Iraq in 2003 and the subsequent, immediate aftermath when cracks in the endeavour started to appear, Oliver Stones W. intercuts these scenes of the familiar president with a catalogue of moments and events that eventually led him to the White House. From hazing at the traditional Bush family fraternity of Delta Kappa at Yale, where he amusingly responds to a question about following the family into politics with a drunkenly unburdened hell no.., to his first step onto the political ladder as Governor of Texas we get W. the whole package. The directionless graduate who cant or wont hold down any job that Bush Senior arranges for him, the accompanying drinking problem (What are you, a Kennedy?), the struggle to find his own way out of his fathers shadow, and his lifelong love of the simplicity of baseball. The film even begins with, and continues as a motif, Bush in his presidential years dreaming of standing in an empty baseball stadium, participating in his own solitary and private game. Its all told with a surprisingly light, and more sardonic tone; as if Stone has taken a step sideways from his more serious and often heavy-handed projects, creating the comically odd step-brother to the darker intentions of his other presidential biopics, JFK and NIXON. And it is funny, not just because of the malapropisms that tumble unfortunately from Bushs mouth, and the genuine human fallibility of Josh Brolins superb central performance, but also due to the DR. STRANGELOVE quality of the Presidents own war room, the advisory brickbats flying between Colin Powell (Jeffrey Wright), Donald Rumsfeld (Scott Glenn), Dick Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss) and Condoleeza Rice (a scarily made-up, and accented, Thandie Newton). We laugh at the idiocy and smile uncomfortably at the foolishness, the foolishness that ends peoples lives. Half the enjoyment is watching with the benefit of such recent hindsight, the farcical metaphors for the farcical reality. At one point W. leads his fellow cabinet members, military and intelligence advisors on a walk and talk at his Texan ranch. As they try and figure out the case for war Bush pauses and realises that hes taken a wrong turn somewhere Of course as were dealing with a president whos still incumbent its difficult to get the real figure out of your head. The fleeting appearance of Ioan Gruffud as Tony Blair being corralled by Bush and Rice at the ranch does nothing to diminish it. Perhaps the slyly comic thread of the film contributes, as opposed to the straighter analyses of another contemporary biopic, Stephen Frears' THE QUEEN. Its almost a shame that Stone didnt pull off the conceit of having Michael Sheen take on the 5 minutes of Blairs military participation bewilderment. The film would be a far lesser animal without the cast that Stone managed to put together. Brolin is magnetic as W., turning the commonly perceived joke into an actual human being. His W. has charm, insecurity, a very familiar desire for focus and meaning, and not inconsiderable guile. Naturally his deficiencies are laid bare too, so that although you would be hard-pressed to call him an idiot, you can easily, and often, call him a fool. Elizabeth Banks has less to play with as Laura Bush but from our, and W.s, first glimpse of her at a BBQ theres an instant recognition of smarts and charisma, and yes, plain old good looks. She doesnt get to do much, but she does manage to persuade us that her anchoring presence in W.s life is vital for his eventual, albeit qualified, success. The rest of W.s cronies, from Toby Jones Karl Rove sprinkling his magic dust, to the bullish militarism of General Tommy Franks (Michael Gaston), all seamlessly add to the enjoyable whole. Stone reserves the only real character assassination for Dreyfusss Vice president Dick Cheney, and Dreyfuss plays him as the Devil on Bushs shoulder, making plans for Middle East empire building and the bald admission that everything comes down to oil, only tempered by Bushs own understanding that the average mans concern are more narrow and that theyre the ones that have to buy what the governments selling. The one surprising aspect of W. is that Stone never seems to place doubt on Bushs honesty, from his transformation to born again Christian to his presidential decrees. Hes a man cursed with a lack of self-awareness, but he recognises in himself the need to change his behaviour. As President his decision-making may be disastrous but, as has been argued before, you work with the tools you have. The hawks tell him what he wants, what he needs to hear, and Stone provides a portrayal of exasperation when it appears that apparently there arent any WMDs in the now broken Iraq. Theres anger, guilt after the fact, and fear of judgement. Of course this apparent honesty (or naivety if you prefer) is no excuse for working by wish-fulfilment. Stone knows it, W. knows it, we know it. You wonder who on earth would want to be in politics; hell no indeed. Towards the end Stone inter-cuts the manufactured drama with some actual news footage of the conflict, real shock and awe in his political pantomime. Almost as if in disapproval of his relative even-handedness, he gives us and himself a last-minute, legitimate and convincing reason for making this film. If that is the case then he should cut himself the same amount of slack as his protagonist; W. is uniformly compelling and one of the best films of the year. It may not be a political heavyweight but it showcases a rare skill, made fully possible by its canny casting and writing, in creating genuine humour, drama, and even pathos in one 2 hour sitting. Our last view of W. is back in the empty baseball field, back in his field of dreams. The ball is cracked towards the outfield and he loses it in the lights, staring upwards as it never appears. Where its eventually going to land is a question that Stone leaves hanging for his audience, and the world at large.