W. review

Oliver Stone defies expectations with his portrait of the 43rd President of the United States. Who would have thought cinemagoers would leave the auditorium almost feeling sorry for George W. Bush?

After the cinematic disaster that was Alexander and the sentimentality of World Trade Center, Stone settles things down to make what is by his standards a fairly conventional biopic. It's also much less frenetic than his last Presidential outing Nixon, which was blighted by his incessant desire to impress through radical visuals and editing.

But W. is nonetheless a curious film. We learn that Bush Jr lived in the shadow of his father, (here portrayed as a tyrannical figure by James Cromwell), who fully expected W.'s brother Jeb to be the one going on to greater things. George Jr had a troubled youth, full of privilege and alcohol until a miraculous conversion saw him see religion and begin his ascent to the highest office in the land. When he arrived at the White House he was surrounded by courtiers all keen to push their own agenda.

The trouble is, and this is the film's main problem, is that it doesn't tell us anything we don't already know. Neither Stone nor his screenwriter Stanley Weiser really take a scalpel to their subject, instead portraying him in broad terms as a more intelligent man that many have come to believe, but one who is easily persuaded by a determined entourage. This is readily evident in the long sequences given over to the planning of the war in Iraq, the purpose of which seems almost redundant.

Therefore most of the pleasure is derived from the performances, particularly Josh Brolin in the title role who brings far more depth to a character that many widely believe to be a buffoon. Others who impress are Richard Dreyfuss' Dick Cheney and Toby Jones as Karl Rove. On the other hand, Thandie Newton's frankly bizarre Condoleeza Rice and Jeffrey Wright's over-the-top Colin Powell underline what an uneven film this is.

Paul Hurley