'W.': Oliver Stone on a Needed Leash

I was afraid my friends would abandon me when I told them I wanted to see Oliver Stone's "W." (Somehow I got three people to go with me.) And I read all the bullshit. Some Democrats thought Stone was too soft on Bush. Some Republicans thought he was too harsh on Bush. The majority of comments I read about "W." stemmed from the commentators' own previous evaluations of the president. In other words, they weren't talking about the movie but sharing their better wisdom.

Rolling Stone movie critic Peter Traver's review puzzled me. He implies the film has no balls, that Stone censors himself. But isn't the opposite Stone's fucking problem? I don't know about Travers, but the last thing I needed in "W." was Stone's balls. The director has a serious illness of letting things go too far, not being able to pace a film, his completely insane tendencies hanging over the viewer's head like 20 savage dicks ready to pound one person's face. I wonder if any humans can watch "JFK," "U Turn," "Any Given Sunday," and "Alexander" in a marathon of madness and come out of the experience without feeling like an elephant hasn't defiled them.

Not counting his documentaries (I haven't seen any of them), this is Stone's second restrained film in a row, though no form of desperation has yet led me to view Nicolas Cage among the wreckage of "World Trade Center." Like the overlooked 1987 film, "Talk Radio" (highly recommended), "W." is short on preaching and therefore actually enjoyable.

The cast is the drawing point. Josh Brolin was the reason I gave the film a chance, and he nails another great good ole boy performance (the other being his role in "No Country For Old Men"). Brolin's portrayal of Bush isn't copycat acting. It's surprising how much dimension he brings to a character we thought we knew. James Cromwell does the same for George H. W. Bush, and when Brolin and Cromwell share the screen, the film really works. The other cast members range from appropriate (Richard Dreyfuss as Dick Cheney) to disturbingly accurate (Thandie Newton as Condoleeza Rice).

Ultimately, the film still needs editing. Stone's baseball metaphor grows tiring, the movie sometimes trudges through boring muck, and you still get a few of the director's trademark in-your-fuckin'-face camera angles (though a couple of them are appropriate). But if you don't take yourself or politics too seriously, W. is a pleasant comedic drama.