![]() |
||
|
Rubbing shoulders with this questionable bunch of namesakes is the eponymous hero of "Bob Roberts." Played with oily slickness by Tim Robbins, he's a guitar-strumming, right-wing aspirant for the Pennsylvania senatorial seat. His values come emblazoned on his flag-wrapped sleeve: pride in country, pride in profit and distaste for the usual liberal fringe elements. A smiling, apple-pie demagogue, he has entered the political charts with a bullet -- aimed straight for the bleeding heart of Democratic incumbent Gore Vidal. Structured mockingly as a political documentary, "Roberts" follows the fictional candidate as he curries favor from Pittsburgh to Altoona. He croons at beauty pageants. He strums for needy children. A self-made millionaire, he also keeps tabs on the value of the yen from his tour bus cum trading floor. With its read-my-straight-lips air, the movie owes a lot to Rob Reiner's "This Is Spinal Tap," the hilarious "mockumentary" about an aging British band. It also suggests Robert Altman's work, especially "Nashville." In fact, "Roberts" cameraman Jean Lepine filmed Altman's "The Player," which Robbins starred in. But Robbins, who scripted and directed, creates more than enough on his own. Bob's un-hackneyed character is the prime case in point. Instead of hailing from a stereotypically Southern racist enclave, the gentle-voiced politician is a heartland musician, the rebellious child of hippie parents. His albums include the Grand Ole Opry-meets-Dylan classic, "The Freewheelin' Bob Roberts." Unfortunately, the movie's heavyhanded political agenda mars its early gains. "Roberts" gets unbearably sanctimonious, as John Cusack, Giancarlo Esposito and others voice anti-Bobisms -- obviously with the movie's blessing. Esposito is a left-wing, alternative-newspaper reporter, trying to link Bob's good-guy outfit, Broken Dove, with drug-running and weapon-smuggling operations in Nicaragua. Naturally, he's not only thwarted by Bob's handlers, but poetically exonerated at the end. Speaking of handlers, Alan Rickman is magnificently malignant as Robbins's crypto-facist right-hand man; his face is a frenzy of twitching tics. There are funny cameos from Peter Gallagher, Susan Sarandon, James Spader and Fred Ward, playing bubble-headed telecasters. Also on the money are the three neoconservative high schoolers who tail Bob everywhere, a collective psycho-glint in their eyes. But Candidate Bob takes the cake, his deer-in-the-headlights gaze trained on his own morning in America.
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
© Copyright 1999 The Washington Post Company |
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
||