The past year has seen the cinematic revitalization of a group of actors who supposedly reached their creative peaks in the 1970s. Dustin Hoffman in "Wag the Dog," Jack Nicholson in "As Good as it Gets," Al Pacino in "Donnie Brasco" -- the local multiplex may look more like a time warp than a cinema these days. Warren Beatty apparently wants in on the trend too, and "Bulworth" is his entry into the Old Fogies Derby.
Written, directed by and starring Beatty in the title role, "Bulworth" is not only a remarkable film, but it is also a nifty on-screen makeover that is more drastic than that of Beatty's peers. The film takes everything the actor has been accused of being -- vain, superficial, self-absorbed -- and makes the lead character, Senator Jay Bulworth, suffer for possessing these qualities. In the process, Beatty gets to loosen up, play the fool and connect with audiences again. This is career resurrection, '90s style.
"Bulworth" has Beatty running into wooden posts, tripping into water fountains and actually looking his age in some scenes -- not what you expect from the man whose last picture was a leaden remake of "An Affair to Remember," a big fat turkey of a vanity project.
When we first see Bulworth, he is crying into a three-day-old pizza box, watching clips of campaign commercials that have failed to incite public interest. It's a clever in-joke that pokes fun at the notoriously obsessive Beatty, who has admitted to viewing past duds like "Ishtar" dozens of times to see where he went wrong. More importantly, however, the scene makes the senator seem so pathetic that it is impossible not to pity him.
This political dinosaur is soon seen making a deal that will enable his daughter to collect $10 million in life insurance. Bulworth then hires a hitman to do him in and walks away from the decision feeling clear-headed. He begins telling the truth during his speeches, insulting campaign supporters and making some very off-color remarks.
The chance to be sincere exhilarates Bulworth, and he spends his last days immersing himself in the urban culture that he had neglected during his terms in office. Bulworth meets a gorgeous black woman named Nina (Halle Berry) early on in the film, and she serves as his guide to hip-hop culture. Soon, the senator starts rapping his campaign speeches, dressing B-boy style and smoking pot. Bulworth's wooden raps are as truthful as they are offensive, and they help him win the support of the populace.
Most of "Bulworth" has an infectious energy due to Beatty's performance and those of the other actors. The best supporting turn comes from Oliver Platt, who portrays Bulworth's overworked, nasty, coke-snorting assistant. Platt looks like he has a permanent hangover, and his character embodies the political ruthlessness that the film attacks.
Platt also gets some of the film's best lines. The same cannot be said for Berry, who is saddled with the thankless role of Nina. The picture never comes close to giving Berry an actual character, and she is the film's weakest link. The scene where Nina makes a convoluted speech to Bulworth to show the audience just how smart she is seems overwritten and unnatural.
While the relationship between Nina and Bulworth is ill-conceived, the rest of the film plays beautifully. The filmmakers wisely avoid making Bulworth fully embrace and understand black culture, a move which would be disastrous and condescending considering the senator's pampered lifestyle. Instead, his guilty white man complex is played to full comic and dramatic effect.
The voters may love the change in Bulworth's image, but the film notes that they are the same people that root on Jerry Springer. They love the spectacle of a wealthy white man masquerading in homeboy clothing and talking trash but fail to realize that Bulworth never formulates any remotely convincing ideas on how to solve cultural and financial problems.
His awakening is limited, and the film treats it as such. There's a genuine sadness about Bulworth's inability to connect that bellies the picture's bawdy humor.
The film's final act treats Bulworth as the anachronism that he has proved himself to be throughout the course of the film. The conclusion, like so much of the picture, resonates long after the in-theater experience, proving that although Bulworth is out of touch, Beatty can still communicate with movie-goers.
