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By Michael Atkinson
By Michael Atkinson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
If ever there was an "op-ed" movie--a movie destined to be written about in an "elevated" realm beyond just the movie pages--it's Primary Colors. Thanks to Monica Lewinsky and Paula Jones, the Hollywood/Washington nexus has lifted this new Mike Nichols picture, based on the 1996 bestseller by Joe Klein, into a higher stratosphere than it deserves. In much the same way that people mistook the "importance" of the movie All the President's Men for the importance of the actual events at its source, Primary Colors is being puffed up by circumstance. We are told in interview after interview, on TV and in the papers and slick magazines (including a Time cover), that Primary Colors is about "honor." But clear away all this state-of-the-union blather, and what Primary Colors is really about is the itch of office. What it's saying is: Our greatest presidents have jumbo libidos, and it's not an aberration--it's an integral part of who they are. You can't have one without the other. Get used to it.
Klein's novel, authored as "Anonymous" and published in February 1996, was a sharp, quick read--the work of a political reporter (New York, Newsweek and, currently, The New Yorker) who knew the intimacies of Clinton's Democratic primary campaign in 1992 and made his readers feel like "insiders." It's a roman a clef written by an outraged idealist, but because Klein--whose identity as the author was finally uncovered last year--brings his ambivalence about the quasi-Clinton character Governor Jack Stanton right into the mix, the book seems closer to our own conflicted feelings about politicians than the usual black-and-white portrayals of standard political pulp.
The movie Primary Colors, which was scripted by Elaine May, tries to be both wised-up and idealistic. It's at its best when it's just on the cusp of lampoon. But clearly, Nichols and May are aiming "higher." Hollywood has a habit of mucking up comedy with civic-minded goo, and about halfway through Primary Colors, the goo takes over. This is the stuff that will get the movie on the op-ed pages, but it doesn't do much for us.
In a way, I suspect that most audiences watching Primary Colors will be way ahead of it--not just in terms of the latest twists and turns in the Clinton-o-rama, but also in terms of their own moral savvy. After all, it's already pretty much been established that a large chunk of the American public could care less if Clinton has a well-oiled zipper as long as the economy is improving, crime is down, yadda yadda yadda. Because of its time lag in getting to the screen, Primary Colors seems dated, not so much because of its plot as because of its attitudes. It's preaching to the converted--or at least to the disinterested.
The film is refracted through the eyes of the author's surrogate--Henry Burton (the British stage actor Adrian Lester), a black Congressional aide whose grandfather was a civil-rights icon. Wooed by Jack Stanton, the governor of an unnamed Southern state who is lagging in the Democratic presidential primaries, Henry warily joins up and becomes a true believer.
He's a potentially fascinating character--the post-boomer political idealist. In an exchange with Susan Stanton (Emma Thompson), the president's wife, he says to her, "You had Kennedy. I want to be part of something that is history." Henry allows himself to be mesmerized by Stanton because he recognizes the good he is trying to accomplish. As the governor's se-rial sex scandals and dirty tricks pile up, he finds it increasingly difficult to remain enraptured, but he also comes of age. Henry isn't just the author's surrogate; he's ours, too. And his rite of passage is presented as a coming-of-age parable--he becomes an adult when he understands that his heroes have clay feet.
Henry's counterpart is Libby Holden (Kathy Bates), the governor's confidante and political troubleshooter, who once worked for McGovern and still has her counterculture credentials and her brass. She's the outraged idealist as '60s survivor. Beneath all her bluster is an innocence to match Henry's--she wants to work with someone who really cares. That's why she and Henry become soulmates.
But Henry, although well-played by Lester, doesn't occupy the movie's center. He's too blandly symbolic a character to take hold of our imagination; he represents the losing of an innocence we already lost. Instead, the center--if it exists at all--belongs to Stanton. John Travolta has chosen to play him with marked Clinton drawl and body language, and the result is a charming, eerie weightlessness (even though Travolta added twenty pounds for the role). By making the Clinton-Stanton connection so obvious, the performance takes on the trappings of revue-sketch impersonation. Stanton is a cartoon, a cartoon who feels pain and wants to help people. This is a promising touch: Because politics can hollow out even the best of politicians, maybe all we can expect from them is a kind of deeply felt charade. The shimmering unreality of Jack Stanton in Primary Colors makes more psychological sense than we might care to admit.
And yet for this movie to really work as something more than a sly spree, the governor, for all his messing around, also has to seem heroic to us. We need to be mesmerized right along with Henry, and we're not. I think that's because Nichols is such a slick cynic that he can't portray a world in which goodness really shines. The rubes in this movie remain rubes. At a Thanksgiving party at the governor's mansion, we see Stanton's cracker buddies swarming the vast lawn, and the sight is not pretty. Later, when Henry watches Stanton on television in a diner crowded with regular folks, the patrons seem stunted, unwashed. Nichols has made a movie about a politician with the "common touch," but he himself lacks it. Primary Colors looks like a movie about bleeding-heart liberals made by a Republican fat cat.
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