Quiz Show

"Cheating on a quiz show? That's like plagarizing a comic strip."

Robert Redford delivers a solid film with Quiz Show (1994). Perhaps not as insightful as it hopes to be, the movie works as a high-toned drama, carried by cerebral writing and a perfect cast.

1950s America is enraptured by NBC's game show Twenty-One, hosted by Jack Barry (Christopher McDonald). The studio honchos want to oust Herb Stempel (John Turturro), an untelegenic New York Jew, from the champion seat, enlisting Charlie Van Doren (Ralph Fiennes), scion of a wealthy literary family, to win in a rigged match-up. Charlie's initally reluctant but quickly becomes intoxicated by the whirlwind of fame his appearances bring - and can't back out, even when he wants to. Stempel belatedly decides to expose NBC's fraud, gaining the attention of Congressional aide Ron Goodwin (Rob Morrow).

Quiz Show depicts a true story with style and verve. Besides a perfect recreation of the '50s (sans American Graffiti cliches), Redford provides a jaundiced picture of the era. Underneath the amiable exterior is a seething mass of class tension, cultural anxiety and media manipulation. NBC's fraud is strictly legal, but there's something to be said betraying the trust of millions. Rigging shows in ways obvious and subtle (making Stempel sweat by changing temperature)  may not be overly shocking today. But to a more innocent America, they were an earth-shattering shock. Ratings overwhelms honesty, consumerism beats ethics.

Redford scores his strongest points comparing the protagonists. Janet Maslin sees Van Doren as an avatar for Redford himself, an arrogant pretty boy who feels he's owed the world. Ultimately though, Charlie is a tragic figure: he laps up the attendant fame and fortune, all the while tortured by his deceit. The strongest scenes are between Charlie and his father (Paul Scofield), who suspects something's amiss but is blinded by fatherly pride. The fawning deference shown by the media and even the government further entraps Charlie. Ulimately, he becomes a victim of his own image.

By contrast, Stemple is a striving, neurotic nebbish eager to take down the upper-class Charlie. He's initially dismissed as a cheat, a sore loser and a lunatic - until the evidence becomes overwhelming. At home he's constantly bickering with his wife and seeing therapists. When Van Doren snubs him after their match, taking down NBC becomes a vendetta against the snobs and the glad-handing elite. This time, it's personal.

Redford frames the Van Doren-Stemple rivalry as a prelude to the "culture wars" that erupted a decade later. One working class Senator expresses disgust at his seeing his colleagues trip overthemselves to applaud Charlie's confession. Intellectuals are no longer feted but distrusted, allowing the "forgotten Americans" to take their place. This divide emerged sharply in the following decades, when conservatives exploited resentment against Ivy League elites. With the rise of Nixon's "silent majority" and Reagan conservatism, one concludes the Stemples won decisively.

If Quiz Show falters, it's through emphatically purveying an obvious message. Observing television is out to get us is nothing new: such bromides existed since Newton Minow declared it a "vast wasteland" 51 years ago. Certainly the movie lacks the subversive bite of Network or even The Running Man. Still, one can easily enjoy Quiz Show without this posturing.

John Turturro receives top-billing for a zany character turn. Ralph Fiennes proves the film's real center, all Ivy League self-assurance and nagging guilt. Paul Scofield gets the emotional highpoints, obliviously proud of his son's achievement. David Paymer and Hank Azaria are agreeably sleazy producers. Rob Morrow is fine as a non-descript straight arrow. The female stars (Mira Sorvino, Elizabeth Wilson) fare less well. Directors Martin Scorsese and Barry Levinson cameo; Calista Flockhart and Ethan Hawke have early bit parts.

Perhaps Quiz Show's most effective aspect is invoking a more innocent time. Redford depicts a Fifties America that values intelligence, embraces progress and intrinsically trusts the media. My, how far we've come.

PS: I would be remiss if I didn't link Mr. Van Doren's own thoughts on the scandal.

The Conspirator

My first theatrical viewing since January, Robert Redford's The Conspirator (2010) is an unexpected treat. Covering much the same ground as The Prisoner of Shark Island and The Andersonville Trial, it intelligently examines difficult questions about guilt, justice and civil liberties.

In April 1865, the American Civil War is finally ending, but another traumatic event shatters the peace: the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Conspirator John Surratt escapes custody, but his mother Mary (Robin Wright) is arrested and charged as an active member in the plot. Senator Reverdy Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) takes Mary's case, entrusting it to his protege Frederick Aiken (James McAvoy). Aiken is initially convinced of Mary's guilt, but finds himself more disgusted with her trial, a military tribunal manipulated by Secretary of War Edwin Stanton (Kevin Kline), where Mary is assumed guilty and witnesses are "influenced" or made unavailable.

The Conspirator follows a routine trial movie structure but remains compelling all the same. The courtroom scenes are gripping and Redford opens things up just enough with flashbacks and montage to make things appropriately cinematic. James D. Solomon's script definitely wants to consider the Lincoln Assassination in light of Gitmo and 9/11, with Stanton mouthing very Bush-like comments about national security, and concerns that disregarding the Constitution in wartime is a betrayal of American values.

Whether it's fair to frame things this way is debatable. Mary Surratt was probably guilty in real life, and any analogy between the War on Terror and Reconstruction is farfetched, to say the least. In the film, Mary's guilt is unclear but it's largely beside the point: her trial is unconstitutional and therefore wrong regardless of her guilt or innocence. One can accept Surratt's guilt and Redford's argument at once.

For all his speechmaking, Redford doesn't veer into Stanley Kramer territory, investing his plot and characters with welcome nuance. Aiken is sincere in his convictions, but comports himself obnoxiously both in and out of court. Mary isn't a high-minded idealist but a relatively simple woman concerned for her son - a very interesting (and unusual) characterization in this sort of film. She's also an uncooperative witness, complicating Aiken's case to the extreme. There's no "a-ha!" moment when Aiken suddenly becomes Perry Mason-lite, as in Breaker Morant, with the tribunal decidedly unimpressed by his antics. Despite its occasional bows to formula (Aiken's love interest and social life), this film treats its audience with respect.

James McAvoy (Atonement) is a decent protagonist, going through the motions of righteous indignation and hopelessness. Robin Wright (Forest Gump) owns the film: intelligent, calm, restrained yet fiery, more concerned with personal matters than her own guilt. I'll posit her as an early Oscar candidate. Kevin Kline gives a smart, subdued performance, making Stanton human if not sympathetic. Danny Huston's (John Adams) fiery prosecutor, Tom Wilkinson's (Valkyrie) principled Senator and Stephen Root's (The Men Who Stare at Goats) suspect witness steal their respective scenes. Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe) makes an impression as Surratt's sister, but Johnny Simmons and the other assassins don't really register. Alexis Bledel (Sin City) has a throwaway part as Aiken's love interest.

The Conspirator is an intelligent, well-executed courtroom drama. It does preach on occasion, but it also entertains and provides some food for thought.