Misunderstood Masterpieces 4.29.08: Bulworth

Posted by Will Helm on 04.29.2008

…or, Nothing More Than an Excuse for Warren Beatty to Dabble in Politics and Hit On Halle Berry

Eleven score and twelve years ago, our fathers set forth upon this land a new nation. Unfortunately, that didn't work out too well, so, thirteen years later, they all got together to write up a constitution which would document just how the government of the United States was to be run . . . annoying people for the past 219 years. Within this constitution, the founding fathers – everyone's favorite crotchety, rich, white landowners – outlined the processes for election of president and representatives for the United States government (senators, however, were to be selected, not elected). It is this electoral process that has transformed into the grueling two-year slog through scandals, campaign promises, and mudslinging ads leading that the nation knows today. So, in – sarcastic – celebration of the 2008 U.S. Presidential Election, I set forth upon this column a trio of politically influenced films tailor-made for the season.

First up is a 1998 film and brainchild of politically active screen legend Warren Beatty: Bulworth. Long an outspoken critic of the state of American politics, Beatty put his views to film and quite literally at that, as he is Bulworth's writer, director, and star. In addition to himself, Beatty also filled the film with more star power than a minor galaxy, probably calling in more than a few favors in the process. Unfortunately for Beatty, though Bulworth was lauded by critics for its honest and bravery, audiences didn't buy what Beatty was selling and Bulworth did not even earn back its $30,000,000 budget at the box office. Of course, when a film loaded with stars – and even in the politically volatile late ‘90s – can't earn a profit, that can only mean that it may just be a Misunderstood Masterpiece. Let's find out!

I suppose the concept of an honest politician must be science fiction, because the film begins with an expository scrawl explaining that Senator Jay Bulworth (D, Calif.) is facing a primary fight for his Senate seat. Dum-dum-DUM! Oh, wait; I don't really think that's a "Dum-dum-DUM!" moment . . . but oh well. Anyway, in a rainy Washington, D.C., Bulworth (Beatty) watches his campaign spots over and over again while pictures of very important people stare down at him. Bulworth, it seems, is in the midst of a nervous breakdown, but, before he can do anything rash, he's rudely interrupted by an angry phone call revealing that Bulworth lost a fortune betting on pork bellies. Well, I always knew that pork was important to members of Congress, but I think that's taking the analogy a little too literally.

The next day, a remarkably chipper Jack Warden arrives at Bulworth's office intent on giving Bulworth a pep talk; Bulworth, meanwhile, just watches television catatonically. Sometime later, Bulworth snaps out of his stupor long enough to have a terrible press conference and then, outside on the steps of the Capitol, his "loving" wife (Christine Baranski) shows up for a photo op and to patronize Bulworth's fake "family values" façade. She even reveals that she and Bulworth have a rebellious teenaged daughter . . . who never shows up ever in the film nor has any impact on the plot whatsoever. I guess I could chalk that up as an UNIMPORTANT PLOT POINT!

Back at the office, Bulworth meets with a doctor, who diagnoses Bulworth as more crazy than sick, which I suppose is a good thing. Somewhat ironically, Bulworth's next guest is a fat-cat insurance lobbyist (Paul Sorvino), who's probably glad that Bulworth isn't sick, as the insurance industry probably couldn't afford the bad publicity of refusing Bulworth coverage. Of course, Paul Sorvino, being a fat-cat insurance lobbyist, insults poor, uninsured blacks before offering Bulworth various types of insurance in return for a favorable vote in the Senate. Bulworth, cagey politician that he is, works Paul Sorvino for a discount on some life insurance and, once the right payout is agreed upon, Paul Sorvino garners the "good" Senator's vote. Sometime later, Bulworth meets with some other guy (Richard Sarafian) who happens to be a buddy of Jack Warden's . . . and who also happens to be a hitman. Bulworth, apparently not a stranger to very dirty politics, gives the hitman a little mission, but the hitman is a bit confused, as Bulworth is the quarry as well! Bulworth, like Elvis and Tupac, must have realized that death is a really great career move.

After a near eternity of meetings, Bulworth finally leaves his office and heads back to his home state, drinking on the plane during the entire journey. Bulworth arrives in Los Angeles, ready for assassination, but, alas, a crew from C-SPAN – tasked with following Bulworth for the next two days or so – ruins that plan. With the C-SPAN crew in tow, Bulworth and his assistants (Oliver Platt and Joshua Malina) drive down to South Central Los Angeles because Bulworth plans on getting jiggy inside an inner-city church. Or just making another dull campaign speech. Probably the latter. Anyway, inside the church, while Halle Berry respectfully sucks on a lollipop, Bulworth takes the pulpit and, after a few moments of trepidation, he scuttles his speech and starts shooting from the hip . . . figuratively. Bulworth, unwisely, takes some questions from the audience, so they grill him on race relations and urban decay and so on; Bulworth responds with the overly honest truth . . . or he's doing stand-up influenced by Michael Richards.

After the very "interesting" meeting, Bulworth leaves the scene hastily, though he does take some time out to hit on Halle Berry for a bit. Before Bulworth can get his freak on, he freaks out because he thinks a motorcycle is shooting at him and then Bulworth's main assistant (Platt) has a conniption and leaves the scene, heading for Bulworth's next stop in Beverly Hills. While Bulworth's assistant does damage control at Beverly Hills party, Bulworth – with two lovably "urban" chicks along for the ride – stops at a KFC for some chicken. Ah . . . there's nothing better than reveling in stereotypes . . . and turning them into product placement. Bulworth takes the chicken to Beverly Hills and, once at the party, he criticizes Hollywood films – in a room full of producers. Hmm . . . I do have to question the logic of using a film to state just how bad Hollywood films are, Mr. Beatty.

After the party, Bulworth picks up the "urban" chicks outside – who were working as valets at Bulworth's behest – and, strangely, Halle Berry is with them, even though she wasn't with them when Bulworth arrived. Hmm. In the limo, while Bulworth's assistants again try to spin his erratic behavior, Bulworth listens in on a bit of gossip about Arsenio Hall. Wait . . . was Arsenio Hall even relevant in 1996? In addition, Bulworth pays attention to the patois, learning a few new vocabulary words in the process.

For no reason in particular, the "urban" chicks take Bulworth to an inner city club, outside of which some remarkably wise homeless guy (poet Amiri Baraka) pontificates in Bulworth's general direction. Bulworth largely ignores the remarkably wise homeless guy – because I guess poetry really can't pay the bills after all, and he, with Halle Berry by his side, goes inside the club; of course, the "urban" chicks and Bulworth's assistants follow. Once inside, while the assistants freak out at the rabble of "urban" humanity flaunting their white-bread sensibilities, Bulworth smokes a blunt. No, really. As, unfortunately, Washington isn't hip to marijuana usage just yet, Bulworth's assistant scolds his boss for his impetuous petulance.

Sometime later, the proprietors of the club, for no reason in particular, mistake Bulworth for Clint Eastwood and George Hamilton. Bulworth is entertained, but not as much as when he starts watching Halle Berry on the dance floor. Bulworth, interested in learning a few new moves from Halle Berry, joins in, but her overly protective brother breaks up the fun. Before Bulworth can explain himself, Halle Berry and her brother leave quickly when local drug lord Don Cheadle shows up at the club. Because when I think "local drug lord," I think "Academy Award-nominated actor Don Cheadle." Then again, maybe local drug lords are noted for their gravitas. Anyway, though Halle Berry's brother gets away, Halle Berry isn't so lucky, as she is forced to meet with Don Cheadle for a bit of exposition, as it's revealed that Halle Berry's brother owes Don Cheadle money – in yet another wonderfully stereotypical plot element; Halle Berry assures Don Cheadle that she's going to have the money soon. Oh great . . . she's a hooker with a heart of gold.

Perhaps that's so, as, after Bulworth wanders through the club in a marijuana fueled haze, he finds Halle Berry on the dance floor and they cut a rug together . . . rather graphically. Seriously; there's way too much inexplicable tongue flicking going on. Outside the club, an assassin waits patiently throughout the night, just because the club doesn't allow his kind in. Assassins, I guess. The next morning, Halle Berry leaves while Bulworth DJs at the turntables. Meanwhile, Bulworth's assistant freaks out because Bulworth is late for another important speech; then again, considering the condition that Bulworth is in, perhaps him being late – or not showing up at all – would be a good thing.

Alas, Bulworth's assistant wins out, so Bulworth heads to a fundraiser, where he carouses with the audience before taking the stage with his "loving" wife. Bulworth, much to his assistant's chagrin, takes the stage for a speech, but, just as the night before, he gives up on the speech when, somehow, Halle Berry shows up. For a random, anonymous inner-city girl, Halle Berry has an awful lot of access to political events. Bulworth, perhaps influenced by Halle Berry's presence, starts rhyming on stage, and it segues into a rap about lobbyists . . . in a room full of lobbyists. While Bulworth breaks it down old school, some unknown entity sabotages the champagne and balcony in Bulworth's hotel room. Dum-dum-DUM!

After the "speech," Bulworth and Halle Berry retire to a closet to make out a bit and she proposes they go upstairs – probably so she can earn her brother's debt; unfortunately, no one has the key to Bulworth's sabotaged room. Bulworth, impatiently – probably due to the fact there's a HOT CHICK that wants to get it on with him, retreats outside with Halle Berry in tow; once there, the remarkably wise homeless guy shows up again to dispense a few more profound words. Bulworth, then brings Halle Berry to his limousine, where he makes a few calls because now he wants to call off his assassination.

Before Bulworth and Halle Berry can get it on, they head over to a very white Catholic church for another speech, but, before Bulworth can give up on that one, he bugs out when he sees his would-be assassin in the audience. Dum-dum-DUM! Bulworth and Halle Berry retire to the limousine once again and Bulworth drives away to safety. Once in hiding, Halle Berry and Bulworth bond when Halle Berry reveals herself to be a political genius and urban economist. Bulworth, meanwhile, just compares their ages; he probably just wants to make sure she's legal before they get it on. Alas, Jack Warden interrupts and meets with Bulworth; in the interim, Halle Berry calls the hitman . . . because she's working for him! Ah . . . so she's an assassin with a heart of gold and a bachelors in political science. Gotcha, movie. Unfortunately for Halle Berry – and Bulworth, she doesn't find out that Bulworth called off the assassination because the hitman dies before calling his associates. Dum-dum-DUM!

Bulworth, invigorated now that he knows he's not going to die, drives over to a debate with his younger, more charismatic opponent. Once there, Bulworth messes with the moderators while talking down on network television and then he starts drinking. I guess the weed wore off so he needed something to take the edge off. Apparently, Bulworth's assistants feel the same way, as they snort coke in a closet together while Bulworth jive talks at his opponent during an impromptu – thanks to Bulworth's assistant – blackout. In the periphery, Larry King stews . . . which makes sense, because, at his age, that's the only way the meat will be tender. Or not, as Larry King then meets with Bulworth's assistant and books Bulworth for his show – because he has that kind of behind-the-scenes power at CNN – because he admires the Senator's honesty.

After the debate, Bulworth finds out, via Jack Warden, that the hitman isn't really dead at all . . . but the job hasn't been cancelled after all. With this in mind, Bulworth, probably with a bit of marijuana-fueled paranoia in his system, starts seeing assassins everywhere . . . so he steals the limousine again. Meanwhile, Bulworth's assistants yell at someone, just because they can . . . and they're hopped up on nose candy. That evening, Halle escorts Bulworth to the ‘hood (for safety) and, once there, Bulworth's assistant calls, inquiring about Bulworth's whereabouts. Bulworth doesn't answer as, instead, he goes over to Halle Berry's house to have dinner with her family. Wow . . . I didn't know they were that far ahead in their relationship.

After Halle Berry leaves early to head to the "cleaners" and "check on Bulworth's suit," Bulworth gets dressed as an inner-city stereotype – or just Trailer Park Boys' J-Roc – and heads out in search of Halle Berry. No word on whether or not he called Leonard Nimoy beforehand. On the streets, some kids try to sell Bulworth some crack – I honestly should start up an "Inner-City Stereotype Counter," but I'm too lazy; Bulworth responds by buying the young scamps some ice cream. Remember this for future reference: Cookie Puss > crack. Tom Carvel would be proud . . . until a pair of obviously racist cops drive up, curious about the origins of the scamps' ice cream. Well, first it takes cream, egg yolks, sugar, flavorings . . . oh, he meant figuratively. Anyway, the eldest scamp backtalks one of the racist cops, causing a ruckus . . . until Bulworth swoops in to beat up the cop with his ice-cream cone. The racist cop freaks out, but the other cop, Officer Fake Chris Cooper (Chris Mulkey), discerns that the mysterious white guy is actually Senator Jay Bulworth in disguise. This remarkable revelation defuses the situation and the Senator makes peace between the racist cops and the inner-city scamps.

After the cops leave, local drug lord Don Cheadle drives up to pick up Bulworth and his army of scamps. He takes Bulworth back to his office, where he thanks Bulworth for the assist, since local drug lord Don Cheadle is a businessman who cares about his workforce. I wonder if he offers competitive benefits and a 401(k). Anyway, Bulworth just wants to know where Halle Berry is, since he's a man obsessed . . . with getting it on. Local drug lord Don Cheadle isn't interested in Bulworth's lustful wants, as he's too busy with a dramatic monologue about the state of inner-city economics and labor to care. Bulworth again starts rhyming, as perhaps he believes this is the only language that inner-city types understand . . . and then he steals local drug lord Don Cheadle's car.

While some guy lectures Halle Berry about something, local drug lord Don Cheadle discovers that the crazy white guy he was just talking to – and who stole his car – is actually Senator Jay Bulworth. Hilariously, local drug lord Don Cheadle has the last laugh as Bulworth can't figure out the car's hydraulics. Aren't inner-city stereotypes hilarious? Nonetheless, Bulworth drives over to an interview and the interviewer is mystified by Bulworth's dress and demeanor. Join the club, honey. While local drug lord Don Cheadle and Halle Berry inexplicably lurk in the periphery, Bulworth starts testifying in rhymes totally breaking down the American political system and race relations . . . until he proposes a system of eugenics and the set explodes.

Bulworth, still paranoid due to his impending assassination, freaks out and retreats, while the would-be assassin and Halle Berry give chase. Somehow, Halle Berry and Bulworth end up trapped together and the would-be assassin turns out to be . . . a press photographer in the employ of Nora Dunn! Damn you, Nora Dunn! Damn you! Bulworth, doing what he does best, runs away again, but, this time, Halle Berry picks him up in the limousine. Halle Berry spirits Bulworth to safety and, once there, Bulworth confesses his hare-brained assassination scheme. In response, Halle Berry confesses that she was the would-be assassin after all . . . and she gives Bulworth her ridiculously massive gun to prove her trust. Bulworth, touched that Halle Berry would forget about killing him, makes out with her and then he falls asleep on top of her. Umm . . . that's a little icky.

The next day, Bulworth's assistant panics at the office while trying to control the damage of Bulworth's maddening breakdown. Meanwhile, Bulworth just naps at Halle Berry's house . . . and he even sleeps through his primary as well. Somehow, the assistant discovers that the victorious Bulworth is at Halle Berry's house; in the meantime, local drug lord Don Cheadle goes straight and recruits Halle Berry's brother for an undefined job. Later that evening, Bulworth finally wakes up and dons his suit as if nothing happened the past few days. Bulworth's assistant proposes a plan for Bulworth to parlay his newfound popularity into an independent run for president, but Bulworth's just interested in getting it on with Halle Berry, so he sticks around for her to join him. Once outside the house, they argue for a bit, but then they make up and make out once more . . . and then Paul Sorvino assassinates Bulworth. Dum-dum-DUM! In the aftermath, the remarkably wise homeless guy tries to give Bulworth a pep talk, but it's all for naught as the dead have little to no pep. Unless they're zombies. And zombies can't run for president . . . yet.

I can appreciate what Warren Beatty was trying to accomplish in Bulworth; it's a very profound little thought experiment based on the question of what would happen if a politician started telling the whole truth. Unfortunately, Bulworth is fatally – no pun intended – flawed, totally undermining the conceit of the film. Most significantly, the film depends too much on inner-city stereotypes to highlight the differences between Bulworth's world and Halle Berry's world; it's especially ironic considering the later crux of Bulworth's argument becomes the fact that there's really little actual difference between whites and blacks. As well, I have to wonder why no one in the movie questions just why Halle Berry's character keeps showing up in the most unlikely and exclusive places, particularly the lobbyists' fundraiser. That's certainly a bothersome and largely unexplained plot hole. The ending leaves little to be desired as well, not because it comes out of nowhere and is quite a downer, but because it's really expected throughout the entire movie. A good deal of the film is spent waiting for Bulworth to die, because it's, sadly, the only way the story can end. Finally, this dark veil over the entire film clouds any humor within the film, and more than anything else, Bulworth ends up a very boring dark comedy, ruining any impact the humor or message of the film may have. Alas, Bulworth is just nothing more than another Misunderstood Masterpiece.

Join me next week as Robert DeNiro and Dustin Hoffman declare war on your movie sensibilities! See you then!