Review: Bulworth
Released in 1998 and nominated for an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay (Warren Beatty, Jeremy Pikser), Bulworth is a film about a politician in the 1996 elections running for the Senate in California. Dismayed by horrible stock market moves, a cold wife, and a (comically) repetitive campaign and political life, Senator Jay Bulworth decides to kill himself — by hiring a contract killer so that his daughter can get a huge life insurance payment (actual suicide, as you Willy Lowman fans remember, negates your policy). His imminent death, along with a lack of food and sleep, makes him delirious and…talkative.
This is a good, solid film. Look hard enough, and you’ll find plenty of holes. When all’s said and done, though, it is entertaining and a slight work of art from the standpoint of cultural commentary. This is by no means an art film, however, or a “prestige” film as one writer for The New York Times called them (and the term I’m now going to use). It is primarily for entertainment because its satire relies too heavily on comedy rather than criticism. Obviously, a good satire needs both, and Bulworth has plenty of each. This is a hilarious film; maybe too funny for the underlying message.
Which is, the political system is broken. Sometimes I wonder if it’s actually broken or if this is just the way it’s turned out, and we only call it broken because when we stop and take a look at it (most of the time, we don’t), we realize we don’t like it. “Ugly” is probably a better term than “broken.”
Speaking of ugly, how about Warren Beatty’s rapping? Funny at some moments, such as during a benefit breakfast, bad at others, such as during every other scene. I’d like to hear what black people think of this movie (or “colored” people, as the film refers to them on at least one occasion). The film seems to have good intentions, breaking down color, ethnic, and economic barriers, but at the end of the day the hero is bravely striding back into the upper echelons of white Euro-centric power, clad in a crisp suit and tie, mirroring his return to sanity. Sure, he gets the ghetto girl, a union of the hero’s world and the underworld, but he’s dragging her into his; it’s not equal.
But did I mention the film is funny? So laugh it off and don’t think too hard. It distracts by shouting (rapping) truths and misconceptions about politics and the U.S. in general, declamations that any left-leaning citizen/revolutionary will love. But it’s too sugar-coated, too many smiles, too many tongues stuck in cheeks. Where’s the anger? Where’s the outrage? Beatty had a great chance to show some real fire; instead, he’s a sparkler, a pleasantly fizzling diversion in a dark, dark night.
Camera work is shoddy and almost amateur (some bad pans, terrible blocking in several shots, and awkward zooms make some scenes look like a Pink Panther movie). But just leave the camera on Halle Berry every once in a while, and we’ll forget all of it.
