Film

He is arguably the single most divisive commander in chief in our nation’s history. So when documenting the life of George Walker Bush, one question prevails: Do you portray him as the bold leader our country deserves or the quintessential ugly American? Remarkably, Oliver Stone has opted for neither extreme; he may be a filmmaker of rage and righteousness, but the director of Nixon has made a biopic that doesn’t bury or praise our 43rd President. W. is his crack at examining Dubya’s checkered past, rise to the pinnacle of power and “plan” for war with as much objectivity as humanly possible. The bigger surprise: Stone has damn near done it.

Oh, there’s plenty to debate: As played by Josh Brolin, this is a Bush who’s nakedly ambitious, an out-of-touch bully and no friend to the English language. Yet even advocates will admire how Brolin never relies on parody; the chimp-like chuckle and the condescending smile are present but muted. That the film treats the President with some sympathy—Bush is oedipally obsessed, perpetually trying to please “Poppy” (Cromwell)—will piss off those who feel his policies are glossed over while, outside the multiplex, Rome burns. Indeed, W.’s Freudian overview occasionally dominates the proceedings to a fault. Selectivity regarding your subject is one thing; simplistic Daddy-love-me reductionism is another.

But credit Stone—and a cast devoted to performances over impersonations (both Jeffrey Wright and Thandie Newton, as Colin Powell and Condi Rice, deserve statues)—for pulling off something that seemed impossible. There’s no lack of panache in the film’s portrayal of contentious history—it’s a movie that fans of Candide, Dr. Strangelove and Eugene O’Neill can all claim as their own. Yet W.’s black comedy and familial drama do ultimately serve a substantial single goal. Stone searched for an inner life within a public figure who’s only scrutinized in opinionated sound-bite punditry; endeavors this even-handed and entertaining shouldn’t be misunderestimated.