Vice

Writer/director Adam McKay brings much of the same cast, creative team, and unconventional narrative approach he employed in his acclaimed Oscar-nominated comedy docudrama, The Big Short  (2015), to this dark, semi-satirical political biopic. Vice tells the story of Dick Cheney, who rose from a drunken, ne’er-do-well Yale drop-out to become the most powerful vice president in American history. Jumping back and forth in time, McKay tracks Cheney’s drive to enhance the power of the executive branch into a virtual monarchy and his ambition to utilize the (arguably) unchecked office of the vice president to control the most powerful government on Earth from a virtually invisible, undisclosed location. Along the way we learn about Cheney’s long relationship with his wife Lynne (Amy Adams), his daughters Mary (Alison Pill) and Liz (Lily Rabe), his D.C. mentor and colleague Donald Rumsfeld (Steve Carell), and his eventual running mate, 43rd president of the United States George W. Bush (Sam Rockwell).

Biopics of still-living or recently deceased figures serve three main functions. First, to provide a showcase for a talented actor to dazzle viewers, critics, and award granters with the ability to transform into a persona most audiences will remember vividly. Second, for filmmakers to cherry-pick through well documented events and biographical facts to create a CliffsNotes account of history they hope will live as the definitive understanding of their subject in the public consciousness for decades to come. And lastly, to spin an easily consumable popular entertainment from the lengthy, complex, and often dry records of the past. 

One the first account, Vice scores like few movies of its kind ever have. Christian Bale’s Streep-like metamorphosis into Cheney is mesmerizing. Not only does he put on weight, disappear into fantastic make-up, and adopt the voice and mannerisms we recall from the handful of times we saw the real Cheney in debates, interview, and public addresses, he creates a rich, three dimensional character we can’t take our eyes off. Though McKay frequently illustrates what Cheney is thinking with silly, comical visualizations and unnecessary voiceovers, nothing is more effective, nor captures what was truly fascinating and terrifying about this man, than when he simply lingers on Bale’s still, silent face as his Cheney observes scenes and conversations, assessing how to utilize events to his advantage.

Bale delivers everything people wanted from, and many claimed to see, in Gary Oldman’s Oscar-winning performance as Winston Churchill from the previous year’s Darkest Hour. But whereas Oldman attempted (unsuccessfully, in my opinion) to embody a large, sedentary leader famous for making great speeches, Bale triumphs by incarnating a large, sedentary leader known for saying as little as possible. It’s a far more exciting challenge for an actor, and Bale, while never overplaying or breaking character, clearly relishes the opportunity.

One need look no further than many of the other performances in this movie to see the difference between the level of craft Bale brings to a project and mere competence. Steve Carell’s take on Donald Rumsfeld— in terms of voice, mannerisms, physicality, and make-up—is of the caliber of a Saturday Night Live sketch. Eddie Marsan (as Paul Wolfowitz), Tyler Perry (as Colin Powell), Lisa Gay Hamilton (as Condoleezza Rice), and Justin Kirk (as Scooter Libby) all seem lost as to what to do with the minimal screen time they’re given. McKay’s screenplay depicts each of them, as well as others in Cheney’s cabal, as clueless pawns for the all-powerful VP to manipulate—as if these powerful individuals had little to do with the events depicted on screen, which is absolute nonsense.

Amy Adams and Sam Rockwell don’t exactly disappear into their roles, but their performances are much more in sync with Bale. Rockwell’s signature brand of easygoing, mischievous charm—which can lend itself equally well to playing lovable dimwits or dangerously violent men—suits the persona of W. that most Americans on both sides of the isle have in our minds. And as Lynne Cheney, Adams does what she can with what amounts to little more than the typical wife role in biopics like this. Adams and Bale bring chemistry from their previous cinematic pairings, where they played vastly different roles in The Fighter (2010) and American Hustle (2013).

But like so many performances in too many biopics—Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady (2011), Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote (2005), Jeremy Irons in Reversal of Fortune (1990)—Bale’s masterful work is wasted on an uneven film that will most likely be remembered as little more than a vehicle for a great actor. Vice is a mess of questionable choices and tonal imbalance.

In The Big Short, McKay was lauded for his whimsical breaking of the fourth wall, where he had celebrities explain “difficult financial concepts” to the poor ignorant masses in the audience who only pay attention and retain information when it’s spoon fed to us by famous people. This condescending device was one of the more frustrating aspects of The Big Short, but each expository digression felt well in line with, and in the spirit of, that otherwise solid picture. But the use of similar, and sometimes even more extreme, comical narrative techniques in Vice land flat. It is simply harder to make light of torture, war crimes, and undermining the United States Constitution than it is to laugh at the complex ways the housing bubble and the machinations of a few Wall Street insiders led to a disastrous financial crisis. 

McKay is a very funny writer, but dark political satire of this nature requires a far defter touch. And since one of the key points he clearly wants to make is that Americans have allowed evil people to destroy our government because we are too lazy, stupid, or easily distracted with empty entertainments to notice or care, pandering to that lazy, stupid, distractibility in his audience feels both patronizing and like a cop out.

Vice is filled with the clunky exposition, sanctimonious preaching, and inorganic dialogue (that feels constructed out of books and articles written about the subjects rather than what the subjects themselves might have actually said) that we expect from any political biopic. McKay attempts to subvert the hackneyed nature of the format by breaking out of it every once in a while. But with each leap into broad satire it’s as if the writer/director is explaining to us that it’s too difficult to tell a story of this size and scope elegantly or intelligently, so he’s going to do it whimsically. It’s clever, but it’s not good filmmaking.

Vice is filled with examples of choices that are crafty without being effective.  Perhaps the most obvious is McKay’s choice of narrator. Jesse Plemons (best known for his TV roles in Friday Night Lights, Breaking Bad, and Fargo) plays a character called Kurt who guides us through the stages of Cheney’s life, often explaining what Cheney is thinking and what we should be thinking about Cheney. When McKay finally reveals who Kurt is late in the picture, it’s an inspired narrative choice. It is so clever it almost takes the curse off the fact that for the previous 90 minutes we’ve endured an omniscient narrator gracelessly guiding us through the story— almost.  But Instead of writing a great script without contrived scenes, with dialogue that is both explanatory and honest, and utilizing clever ways to convey information and exposition, McKay opts for getting his points across in ways even the dumbest viewer won’t miss.

Vice prevails over Oliver Stone’s instantly forgotten George W. Bush biopic W. (2008), but, of course, Cheney is infinitely more fascinating as a main character than Bush could ever be. McKay’s movie is reminiscent of another Oliver Stone picture—his only great work, JFK (1991). Like Vice, JFK mixes documented facts with wildly speculative fiction to create an entertaining vehicle for delivering the director’s political ideas and theories. But Stone maintains a consistent tone and style, working within the structure of a procedural, and the myriad cinematic tactics he avails himself of in JFK all serve to heighten the mystery and suspense—even if you remain unconvinced of Stone’s central thesis when it’s over.