'Gonzo': A Writer Lost in His Story
Documentary on Hunter S. Thompson Relies on Observation, Not Explanation

By Stephen Hunter
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, July 4, 2008; C05

In the old days, so many reporters were colorless scribes in cheap suits who smoked cigars, wore their press passes in the bands of their fedoras and called their stories in. Was that a better system than today's, in which the goal seems to be to achieve a platform from which one may express "voice" and "attitude" and become, rather than simply reporting on, the story? Who knows.

How one became the other is a complex tale, but all who tell it must deal with one of its primary functionaries: Hunter S. Thompson, the Rolling Stone reporter who introduced a form of participatory, crazed, possibly booze- and hallucinogenic-driven reportage called "gonzo." There'll never be another like him and some may say there never should have been even one like him, but the story is told, more or less, in "Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson," a new documentary from Alex Gibney, who made last year's "Taxi to the Dark Side."

The movie is pretty much a wallow in all things Thompsonian -- you'd learn more factually about Thompson in two minutes on the Internet than in the two hours of "Gonzo." But the warning would be the same, even if unstated in the film: Beware of the Voice, it can become a prison. It certainly seemed to for Thompson.

The film is also undone by an issue that challenges all biographical documentaries. It can only show what's already there on film, and there's a lot more on some issues than others. For example, "Gonzo" uses way too much time on a relatively minor (if famous) Thompson episode, his 1970 run for sheriff of Aspen, Colo., his chosen place of domicile, on a ticket of "Freak Power." It got him a lot of national publicity, but in the end was of little import.

As for the five W's of classic old-school journalism -- who, what, when, where and why -- the film is less rigorous. I could easily do without four of the W's -- who, what, when, where -- as they're already more or less known, but where's the fifth W? Where's the Why? What was it that impelled this middle-class high-school grad from Louisville, Ky., to journey to New York after he got out of the Air Force and, knowing nobody and knowing almost nothing, begin to build himself a career as a freelance writer? What further impelled his "breakthrough," in pre-Rolling Stone days, when he was writing a piece on the Kentucky Derby for the short-lived Scanlon's Monthly magazine, and he chose as its main feature his own boozy misadventures there? The movie never asks and never wonders. It simply takes Thompson on his own terms, without performing what seems to me to be the essence of journalism, which is W No. 5.

So it's largely for true believers and it has a good time -- and gives a good time -- re-creating some of its subject's amusingly outlandish stunts as well as his defiantly unprofessional behavior over the years, battling with editors for more expense account and travel money. It watches without comment as he begins calling himself "Dr.," as he finds the style accouterments to express his singularity such as a cigarette holder, shooting glasses, weird hats and low-cut gym shoes.

It doesn't judge his frequent binges on various substances, and allows his own self-invented legend to stand exactly as his self invented it. It relies too much on footage from Terry Gilliam's 1998 feature "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," and it furthers that connection by employing its star, Johnny Depp, as narrator and reader.

It never bothers to make a case that Thompson was a first-rate writer (opinions vary) or a responsible journalist (opinions also vary). It seems to celebrate him more for his attitude, his fashionably leftist politics, his fame and his friendships than for any meaningful accomplishment.

Still, in their dive through the archives, the filmmakers come up with some classics. Probably the best single sequence is kinescope from an early-'60s showing of "To Tell the Truth," in which razor-thin, rather tall, handsome and charming (and unbald) Hunter stands with two impostors and talks modestly about his travails living with Hell's Angels for his first book. It seems so long ago -- wait, it was long ago! But Thompson looks like one of the Smothers Brothers or the new guy in the Kingston Trio after Dave left, with an unclouded face and bright hopes for the future. We know what he didn't: Fame, celebrity and tragedy lay ahead.

Ultimately and possibly against its own best interests, the movie charts what must be considered an ordeal by celebrity. Thompson yearned for attention, cultivated it magnificently in the bizarre outfits, established friendships with those who could help spread his fame (such as Garry Trudeau, who made him a character in "Doonesbury") as well as many national or network reporters and a smattering of movie stars.

Clearly, the guy had abundant charm if he could get so many egotists to adore him. This is probably the only movie ever made that will feature interviews with both Jimmy Carter and Patrick Buchanan, and it discovers them both in a mellow mood, tamed by Thompson's outrageousness and self-deprecating humor.

One of the key interviewees is Thompson's first wife, Sondi Wright, who has sound instincts on the man who remained her close friend even after their divorce. She knew the human, whereas some of the others -- Buchanan, to cite one -- only saw the celeb in high-performance mode.

Another key interviewee is Jann Wenner of Rolling Stone, who benefited hugely from and contributed hugely to Thompson's persona as the wild and crazy guy of journalism. Ralph Steadman, the artist who enjoyed a similar symbiosis with Thompson through his explosive, savage, spattery cartoons (he was the Thompson house artist, one might say), recalls the man with honest affection.

The movie pretty much sticks to and enjoys the Thompson high-water days, beginning with the 1972 primary season (about which you will learn more than you care to know) until the failure of Jimmy Carter's term and the ascendancy of Ronald Reagan. It hastens through his end, which came courtesy of a .45 automatic slug fired by himself through the brain in 2005 while on the phone with wife No. 2 -- Thompson was an ardent gun collector and shooter -- after years when his books went largely ignored and his act seemed tired and old. It was as if he had never been allowed to escape from the genius tag he'd acquired back in '72, when the world was astonished by gonzo and its daredevil practitioner.

It ends with a funeral crowded by celebs, all of whom claimed to know and love him. Maybe so, but I kept thinking: Oh, to have that many celebs at your funeral! Gee, that's such a fabulous goal!

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (120 minutes, at Landmark's E Street Cinema and AMC Loews Shirlington) is rated R for drug and sexual content, nudity and profanity.