Politics, pinstripes, and prodigious pomp
Period-piece All The King’s Men oughta be impeached
DYLAN FERGUSON
PHOTO: COURTESY OF COLUMBIA PICTURES
Sean Penn, Jude Law, Kate Winslet, Mark Ruffalo, James Gandolfini, Anthony . . . excuse me, Sir Anthony Hopkins. You’d think a movie that could attract a cast of this calibre would be good. Trust me — it ain’t.
All The King’s Men is based on the book by Robert Penn Warren, which was itself loosely based on the rise and fall of Louisiana governor Huey Long. The book was written in 1949 and that same year was adapted into a film by Robert Rossen, a film which, despite sweeping the Oscars, is now all but forgotten. The new version, written and directed by Steven Zaillian (Searching for Bobby Fischer, A Civil Action) will soon be relegated to the same fate, though more deservedly.
Sean Penn stars as Willie Stark, a bombastic grassroots radical who orates and gesticulates his way to the governor’s office, before his new power corrupts, corrupts absolutely. Penn is one of the most intense — and occasionally brilliant — actors to ever grace the screen. But here, as Stark, he takes it right over the top into apish parody. He wears unconvincing fake flab, he screams hoarsely, and flails his arms wildly every time he talks, tilting his head from side to side and reeling about. He looks like an overstuffed puppet controlled by a man having a seizure. An’ I do deeclare, that Suthin drawl is jes’ a tad ovahdone.
Well, at least Penn really throws himself into his part. Jude Law, as the narrator of the movie, journalistturned- Stark-lackey Jack Burden, just seems uninterested. Sure, his character is supposed to be slipping into drunken indifference. But the fact that Law’s pathetic attempt at a “down South” accent changes from scene to scene — sometimes even within a scene — kind of undermines him. Most of the A-plus-list actors seem to have only an impartial grasp of what they’re supposed to do with their characters. The only one I could really enjoy was Sir Hopkins as a strong-willed judge. He alone seems relaxed, and, bless him, he doesn’t even bother attempting an American accent.
The storyline, which has been inexplicably transplanted from the ’30s to the ’50s (better costumes?) follows Jack Burden as he follows Stark’s rise to power and descent into decadence. Burden first meets Stark as he tries to protect the hicks of Mason City, Louisiana from big business and refuses to drink liquor — ’cause it don’t agree with the wife. Then a shady political dealer, Tiny Duffy (James “don’t-call-me-Tony-Soprano-or-I’llwhack- you” Gandolfini) gets Stark to enter the gubernatorial race for his own purposes. Only ol’ Willie Stark
Directed by: Steven Zaillian
Now Playing
♥ out of 5
gets so popular with the poor, he wins it. After that, it’s not long before Stark is getting drunk, going to strip clubs, and ordering Burden to dig up dirt on his godfather, Judge Irwin, so he can avoid an impeachment in the Senate.
We understand how Willie Stark is supposed to be a tragic parable. Apparently, he’s an upstanding, passionate man corrupted by his appetites and new-found power. Problem is, Penn’s Stark never comes off as more than a loudmouth. First he’s a loudmouthed bumpkin, then he’s a loudmouthed politician, then he’s a loudmouthed asshole.
And no amount of Shakespearian aspirations in the dialogue or crucifixes symbolically shoved into the foreground of the frame can add any depth or strength — and certainly not realism — to what is essentially a bland, obvious movie.
Subject matter not working? “Why not crank up the pomp?” says Dr. Hollywood. Zaillian handles every shot with unoriginal selfimportance, and composer James Horner does more than his share by throwing in “rousing” brass fanfare, and adding a melodramatic timpani roll to the end of almost every scene. Honestly, I’m getting damn tired of Hollywood using a musical score as a band-aid for shitty filmmaking.
I hardly need to point out that America could use a good movie about the failings of our leaders right now. But a simple, overwrought bit about the perils of power isn’t going to cut it. As the always delightfully cynical Jean-Luc Godard once shrugged, “if you make a disastrous movie about Hitler, you’re only helping Hitler.”
I also couldn’t help wondering why the plot of the film is made out to be such a big deal. About half it’s running length deals with Jack Burden’s attempt to stain the reputation of one judge. In the twisted, complicated, filthy world of American politics, is this really that important? Oh wait: the timpani. Right, right, it is important.
