BOB ROBERTS
In the interest of not only full disclosure but also as a means of boasting my own good taste, I admit that I would spend money to watch actor Tim Robbins breathe hard. As far back as 1984 when I first saw him appear as Officer Swann in the television program "Hill Street Blues," I knew Robbins was a man with a future in the dramatic arts. His character in the episode in question suffered from a stutter, as well as a predisposition toward clean living. He played a rookie who gets raped by a prostitute at a party in the back room of a bar. Unable to live with the shame, he commits suicide. Surrounded by tremendous talent both in front of the camera and behind it, Robbins had a shine that dwarfed everyone else involved in the episode.
His cinematic accomplishments since then have been inspiring, whether as Nuke in Bull Durham, as Griffin in Robert Altman's The Player, as Andy in The Shawshank Redemption, or as Dave in Mystic River. Tim Robbins grew from strength to strength while evoking a curious sense that he knew just exactly how good he really was. Nothing wrong with that. Ego is the essential juice that flows in and out of the vitals of any artist worth his or her screen time. If on occasion he came perilously close to giving away the fact that he believed himself as talented as we suspected him to be, well, that was just part of his charm.
Robbins' father Gilbert had been a singer with the folk group The Highwaymen. The senior Robbins had even managed the folk mecca venue The Gaslight in the village. With those kinds of influences, it felt like not that much of a stretch for Tim to dip his own toe in the musical waters for the Bob Roberts character he introduced on "Saturday Night Live."
That last bit of trivia strikes me as ironic because (a) I love the film Bob Roberts (1992) while loathing "Saturday Night Live," and (b) the movie goes out of its way to ridicule the program where the lead character made his name.
We could, I suppose, address the inventive way Tim Robbins (and his brother David) utilize elements of the Bob Dylan biopic Don't Look Back, with its cinema verite. We could, beyond doubt, salute the actor-writer-director for the brilliant plot twists within the documentary style. We could, I am certain, stand up and cheer for the way Robbins bites the ass of the news media for its callous approach to leading with what bleeds. We could talk about all those things and others and sway you with wit and erudition. But it will be more enjoyable to convince you that "SNL" is a batch of counter-revolutionary pig swill and that Robbins nails those cretins who slave beneath producer Lorne Michaels and the NBC network.
In a clear parody of the aforementioned TV program, "The Cutting Edge" gives Bob Roberts a stint as the musical entertainment for the week's show. John Cusack plays the guest host. Here is what the host says:
In the beginning, our great company provided appliances for the neighborhood. We heated your home, we refrigerated your food, and improved the quality of your life. We prospered, and you loved us. And we grew into a large multinational corporation. In fact, we own this very network. Our chief source of income, however, is... the arms industry! Yes, we rely heavily on those fat government contracts, to make these useless weapons of mass destruction. And even though we have been indicted and convicted for fraud several times, you don't hear too much about our bad side, because, well, we own our own news division. Chances are pretty slim that you'll hear reports of our environmental mishaps, or the way we bust those unions. We even have a highly-rated Saturday night show that the public buys as entertainment with a leftist slant.
Most of the other cast members object that the monologue isn't funny. Well, satire isn't necessarily funny, in the gut-busting sense of the word. Sometimes we smile on the inside. Sometimes we cry.
And pathos makes its presence known in this movie. While we may smile at the idea of a Bob Dylan style character becoming a right wing Senatorial candidate, the references to the bard of Greenwich Village do not lead to fits of laughter. At the same time, Robbins gives away his influences--This is Spinal Tap, Don't Look Back, Mad Magazine, the early days of National Lampoon and The Firesign Theater--which were, for want of a better word, occasionally obvious, often insane, and not without some challenging wit and hilarity.
The few people who have dealt harsh blows to this film have objected that its subject matter feels dated. After all, the first war against Iraq was such a long time ago and was, they say, a topical matter. What those critics choose to ignore is that we're still dealing with the issues from that time. And besides, folk music is often topical, which does not mean it cannot transcend the time in which it is germinated. Far more to the point, the mechanisms that induced people into falling for the lies of our time are still effective. Be it the oligarchical nature of the global news media with its vested interests in brainwashing the masses, be it the insatiable appetite for sub-sentient entertainment on the part of those among the great unwashed, be it the domination of the education system's a-historical approach to programming young people in the name of "core" principles, or be it the rationalizations of so-called prosperity churches to grab as much gold as you can get--these devices still affect the day to day lives of all the people on this fragile planet. Bob Roberts drops a slippery banana peel in the path of each of these trudging drones.
It must also be said that Robbins brought together a formidable cast, most of whom had what amounted to little more than cameo appearances, yet who collectively breathed life into every second they were on screen. Giancarlo Esposito as the "paranoid but correct" reporter Bugs Raplin, Gore Vidal improvising most of his lines as Senator Paiste, James Spader as a local news reporter, Fred Ward and Susan Sarandon as a team of disconnected media stooges, and most especially David Strathairn as the ex-CIA campaign manager who at one point excuses himself from reporters so that he can go pray--these players and the thousands of others overlap one another with such dexterity that the movie literally requires repeated viewings to catch all the dialogue and deeper meanings.
A great film, well executed.
His cinematic accomplishments since then have been inspiring, whether as Nuke in Bull Durham, as Griffin in Robert Altman's The Player, as Andy in The Shawshank Redemption, or as Dave in Mystic River. Tim Robbins grew from strength to strength while evoking a curious sense that he knew just exactly how good he really was. Nothing wrong with that. Ego is the essential juice that flows in and out of the vitals of any artist worth his or her screen time. If on occasion he came perilously close to giving away the fact that he believed himself as talented as we suspected him to be, well, that was just part of his charm.
Robbins' father Gilbert had been a singer with the folk group The Highwaymen. The senior Robbins had even managed the folk mecca venue The Gaslight in the village. With those kinds of influences, it felt like not that much of a stretch for Tim to dip his own toe in the musical waters for the Bob Roberts character he introduced on "Saturday Night Live."
That last bit of trivia strikes me as ironic because (a) I love the film Bob Roberts (1992) while loathing "Saturday Night Live," and (b) the movie goes out of its way to ridicule the program where the lead character made his name.
We could, I suppose, address the inventive way Tim Robbins (and his brother David) utilize elements of the Bob Dylan biopic Don't Look Back, with its cinema verite. We could, beyond doubt, salute the actor-writer-director for the brilliant plot twists within the documentary style. We could, I am certain, stand up and cheer for the way Robbins bites the ass of the news media for its callous approach to leading with what bleeds. We could talk about all those things and others and sway you with wit and erudition. But it will be more enjoyable to convince you that "SNL" is a batch of counter-revolutionary pig swill and that Robbins nails those cretins who slave beneath producer Lorne Michaels and the NBC network.
In a clear parody of the aforementioned TV program, "The Cutting Edge" gives Bob Roberts a stint as the musical entertainment for the week's show. John Cusack plays the guest host. Here is what the host says:
In the beginning, our great company provided appliances for the neighborhood. We heated your home, we refrigerated your food, and improved the quality of your life. We prospered, and you loved us. And we grew into a large multinational corporation. In fact, we own this very network. Our chief source of income, however, is... the arms industry! Yes, we rely heavily on those fat government contracts, to make these useless weapons of mass destruction. And even though we have been indicted and convicted for fraud several times, you don't hear too much about our bad side, because, well, we own our own news division. Chances are pretty slim that you'll hear reports of our environmental mishaps, or the way we bust those unions. We even have a highly-rated Saturday night show that the public buys as entertainment with a leftist slant.
Most of the other cast members object that the monologue isn't funny. Well, satire isn't necessarily funny, in the gut-busting sense of the word. Sometimes we smile on the inside. Sometimes we cry.
And pathos makes its presence known in this movie. While we may smile at the idea of a Bob Dylan style character becoming a right wing Senatorial candidate, the references to the bard of Greenwich Village do not lead to fits of laughter. At the same time, Robbins gives away his influences--This is Spinal Tap, Don't Look Back, Mad Magazine, the early days of National Lampoon and The Firesign Theater--which were, for want of a better word, occasionally obvious, often insane, and not without some challenging wit and hilarity.
The few people who have dealt harsh blows to this film have objected that its subject matter feels dated. After all, the first war against Iraq was such a long time ago and was, they say, a topical matter. What those critics choose to ignore is that we're still dealing with the issues from that time. And besides, folk music is often topical, which does not mean it cannot transcend the time in which it is germinated. Far more to the point, the mechanisms that induced people into falling for the lies of our time are still effective. Be it the oligarchical nature of the global news media with its vested interests in brainwashing the masses, be it the insatiable appetite for sub-sentient entertainment on the part of those among the great unwashed, be it the domination of the education system's a-historical approach to programming young people in the name of "core" principles, or be it the rationalizations of so-called prosperity churches to grab as much gold as you can get--these devices still affect the day to day lives of all the people on this fragile planet. Bob Roberts drops a slippery banana peel in the path of each of these trudging drones.
It must also be said that Robbins brought together a formidable cast, most of whom had what amounted to little more than cameo appearances, yet who collectively breathed life into every second they were on screen. Giancarlo Esposito as the "paranoid but correct" reporter Bugs Raplin, Gore Vidal improvising most of his lines as Senator Paiste, James Spader as a local news reporter, Fred Ward and Susan Sarandon as a team of disconnected media stooges, and most especially David Strathairn as the ex-CIA campaign manager who at one point excuses himself from reporters so that he can go pray--these players and the thousands of others overlap one another with such dexterity that the movie literally requires repeated viewings to catch all the dialogue and deeper meanings.
A great film, well executed.
