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Pardon the fantasy. But how many movies sharpen their daggers and plunge them directly into the very gut of corruption that feeds them? Yep, even the fat cats back at the film studio, the ones who sign the checks. Co-writing the satirical epiphany with Jeremy Pikser, Warren Beatty directs and stars in one of the best political documents set to film in many a moon.
Given its mainstream movie origination, Bulworth catches you off guard. Its reeling, take-no-prisoners indictment of the American socio-political scene proves a scintillating outrage. But while delivered with the jaunty meter of a fast-paced farce, its revolutionary message is as serious as a heart attack.
In the opening scene, on the eve of the 1996 primaries, a severely disillusioned Senator Bulworth (Warren Beatty) is about to come undone. He sobs as lackeys feed him the latest upbeat poll numbers. They don't care that the political pundits have labelled their man an old liberal trying to pour himself into a conservative bottle. That's show biz. As for the Senator himself, every prepared speech he reads sounds like the same disingenuous baloney ("Today, we embark on...blah, blah, blah, and more blah). Bulworth can no longer stand his own, well, his own bull. To boot, his marriage is a sham.
Then comes the magic, the kind that used to populate films in less cynical times on a regular basis. Addressing the congregation of a church in South Central L.A., the weary politician finally lets loose his overly wound spool. Asked why he hasn't helped the black community in recent years, he commits the unthinkable. He tells the horrible truth. Indulging himself in a cathartic tirade, Senator Bulworth informs the crowd that their failure to buy his favour is all there is to it. Thing is, his lessons in political reality are articulated in the form of rap tunes: i.e. "One man, one vote. Now, is that real? The name of the game is let's make a deal."
His shocked staff is nonplussed. The C-Span crew, who will be following Bulworth throughout the campaign's final weekend, does a double take. But the tough black crowd takes notice, especially Halle Berry as Nina. The Senator's rap-delivered jeremiad is obviously liberating. The rejuvenated Bulworth also notices Nina, the dangerous love interest. He embraces her, as well as the ghetto.
After a wild night in a black after-hours club, the next stop is a wealthy film producer's manse. There, the born again liberal proves he is an equal opportunity offender, no less forthcoming with wealthy Jews than he was with poor blacks. He engages in insult, the painful kind that emanates from the mouths of babes, and lets the stereotypes fall where they may. His hosts are abashed.
But now, the same fickle press that was ready to paint the ho-hum politician as yesterday's news, suddenly decides to jump aboard Bulworth's loony bandwagon. Seeing the possibilities confirmed by the media, the Senator's beleaguered top aide, Murphy (splendidly played to worry wart perfection by Oliver Platt), does an about face and begins touting his boss' new persona.
Concurrently, the Senator does some fancy footwork in attempting to avoid the efforts of a contract killer. It seems that, among the handful of subtexts that keep this fast-paced, superbly edited film bubbling along, in his gloomiest hour the Senator had hired the hit-man; in his own little variation of Iran-Contra, Bulworth arranged for $10 million in life insurance in return for his stance on a bill favouring the haves over the have-nots. But with meaning reintroduced into his life, he'd now like to call off the killer. You know how that goes, but watch for a twist. And a no cop-out ending that seals the movie's profound importance.
Warren Beatty, hip hopping and rapping to a deliriously entertaining pitch, fashions a profoundly stylish outrage, an outlandish, heroic icon that quickly wins our empathy. Others who contribute substantially to his modern day morality play include, Don Cheadle (Devil In A Blue Dress) in a fine turn as the main ghetto gangsta, Paul Sorvino as big business incarnate, and Jack Warden doing his Runyonesque right-hand man.
None of this is to say that Mr. Beatty's surrealistic fantasy is without fault. Some mechanisms are clearly suspect and merely plot expedient. But most of it works, thanks in large part to fine editing by Robert C. Jones and Billy Weber, an energised score by Ennio Morricone (punctuated throughout with indigenous rap songs), and spirited cinematography from Vittorio Storaro.
That the audacious Bulworth, a fine, seriocomic example of the First Amendment in action, was even allowed to be made is astonishing in and of itself. That some moviegoers may not avail themselves of its courageous postulations would be sadly unsurprising.
1. In general, any brave reformist philosophy or movement.
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