First,
let me emphasize that I understand writing a political comedy,
especially for the United States in 2008, must be difficult. Good
comedy is hard on its own; toss in thorny political and social issues
and you’ve got a near-impossible balancing act. So Swing Vote’s horrible failure is at least understandable.
But there’s just so much to hate about it, even my considerable empathy is outmatched. This film is just terrible. In virtually every way, for each of its 100 minutes, it is appalling in its awfulness. It is preachy, Pollyannaish and boring, a neo- Capra civics lesson that, against all odds, manages to actually be stupider than our existing political discourse. Swing Vote plays out in a familiar modern-day America bitterly divided in its politics and culture. The film opens on the first Tuesday in November, which finds incumbent Republican president Andrew Boone (Kelsey Grammer) fighting to win a second term against Democratic challenger Donald Greenleaf (Dennis Hopper). As the returns come in, it becomes apparent that the country has an Election 2000 scenario on its hands: One swing county in the up-for-grabs state of New Mexico will dictate who wins a decisive five electoral votes, thus clinching the presidency.
And in that tiny county, the vote is deadlocked until election officials uncover a single, uncounted ballot, belonging to a proudly apolitical deadbeat named Bud (Kevin Costner).
Bud receives an in-person visit from the secretary of state informing him that he’ll be able to recast his ballot in 10 days, an arbitrary number that allows plenty of time for the media swarm to descend. And descend it does, once word gets out that Bud’s is the One Ballot to Rule Them All. But our hero — at least initially — is not displeased to find the world’s most powerful politicians angling for his affection. He’s just lost his job at the egg packaging plant, after all, and a few fruit baskets and a beer aboard Air Force One sure can lift a guy’s spirits.
The only thing keeping him grounded is his genius pre-teen daughter Molly (Madeline Carroll), who has somehow managed to educate herself to the level of a college senior, despite having been only sporadically parented for her entire life. The Lisa Simpson to Bud’s Homer, she puts her father to bed when he drinks too much, cooks his food and futilely tries to get him to obey his better impulses.
In
the week and a half leading up to Bud’s revote, he’ll become a national
darling and a national laughingstock as the media machine has its way
with him. To his credit, Costner is appealing enough as the anonymous
Joe Sixpack. But the very presence of the character, which seems
spawned from the limited imagination of a cable news pundit, is a
detriment to the film. Right down to the smallest detail, Bud reads
like the Common Man caricature of popular political imagination: He
drinks domestic beer, worships Willie Nelson, works a blue-collar job
and doesn’t follow politics. In case you’re not sold on his all
encompassing Regular Guyness, he even has a Camaro up on blocks in the
front yard of his trailer.
There’s a separate conversation to be had about why the film chooses a guy like Bud for its Everyman, but that would leave precious little space to discuss how predictable and condescending Swing Vote is. For example (spoiler alert): Near the end of the film, Bud moderates a debate between the two presidential contenders.
But instead of asking questions, he reads to the contenders from the piles of hard luck stories he’s received in the mail since Election Day. And the film actually treats this as an amazing idea, as if no presidential candidate has ever received a letter from a person without health insurance.
This masterstroke comes at the close of a long personal journey, during which Bud figures out that he should quit being such a lout, be good to his daughter and treat his civic duty with the gravity it deserves.
Though it takes him forever to come to these fairly self-evident conclusions, director/co-writer Joshua Michael Stern bathes him in warm light and punctuates even his most mundane personal revelations with orchestral swells, as if deciding to not be a jerk is tantamount to opening a hospital for sick orphans. Rarely has a film praised its hero so much for doing so little.
You might not notice that Bud spends so much time navel-gazing, he doesn’t get around to actually learning about the issues until the zero hour. These are treated as an afterthought, and Bud’s cram session unfolds in one of the most jarringly stupid montage sequences in modern film. In the end, he’s humbled by the responsibility and shell-shocked at how the media has chewed him up and spit him out. The most maddening thing about the film is how it congratulates itself for taking brave positions like 1) voting is important, and 2) the media do not always portray people fairly. If you’re among the millions of people who are well aware of these two lessons, you might consider casting your vote for a film that won’t talk down to you and bore you to tears.
But there’s just so much to hate about it, even my considerable empathy is outmatched. This film is just terrible. In virtually every way, for each of its 100 minutes, it is appalling in its awfulness. It is preachy, Pollyannaish and boring, a neo- Capra civics lesson that, against all odds, manages to actually be stupider than our existing political discourse. Swing Vote plays out in a familiar modern-day America bitterly divided in its politics and culture. The film opens on the first Tuesday in November, which finds incumbent Republican president Andrew Boone (Kelsey Grammer) fighting to win a second term against Democratic challenger Donald Greenleaf (Dennis Hopper). As the returns come in, it becomes apparent that the country has an Election 2000 scenario on its hands: One swing county in the up-for-grabs state of New Mexico will dictate who wins a decisive five electoral votes, thus clinching the presidency.
And in that tiny county, the vote is deadlocked until election officials uncover a single, uncounted ballot, belonging to a proudly apolitical deadbeat named Bud (Kevin Costner).
Bud receives an in-person visit from the secretary of state informing him that he’ll be able to recast his ballot in 10 days, an arbitrary number that allows plenty of time for the media swarm to descend. And descend it does, once word gets out that Bud’s is the One Ballot to Rule Them All. But our hero — at least initially — is not displeased to find the world’s most powerful politicians angling for his affection. He’s just lost his job at the egg packaging plant, after all, and a few fruit baskets and a beer aboard Air Force One sure can lift a guy’s spirits.
The only thing keeping him grounded is his genius pre-teen daughter Molly (Madeline Carroll), who has somehow managed to educate herself to the level of a college senior, despite having been only sporadically parented for her entire life. The Lisa Simpson to Bud’s Homer, she puts her father to bed when he drinks too much, cooks his food and futilely tries to get him to obey his better impulses.
In
the week and a half leading up to Bud’s revote, he’ll become a national
darling and a national laughingstock as the media machine has its way
with him. To his credit, Costner is appealing enough as the anonymous
Joe Sixpack. But the very presence of the character, which seems
spawned from the limited imagination of a cable news pundit, is a
detriment to the film. Right down to the smallest detail, Bud reads
like the Common Man caricature of popular political imagination: He
drinks domestic beer, worships Willie Nelson, works a blue-collar job
and doesn’t follow politics. In case you’re not sold on his all
encompassing Regular Guyness, he even has a Camaro up on blocks in the
front yard of his trailer.
There’s a separate conversation to be had about why the film chooses a guy like Bud for its Everyman, but that would leave precious little space to discuss how predictable and condescending Swing Vote is. For example (spoiler alert): Near the end of the film, Bud moderates a debate between the two presidential contenders.
But instead of asking questions, he reads to the contenders from the piles of hard luck stories he’s received in the mail since Election Day. And the film actually treats this as an amazing idea, as if no presidential candidate has ever received a letter from a person without health insurance.
This masterstroke comes at the close of a long personal journey, during which Bud figures out that he should quit being such a lout, be good to his daughter and treat his civic duty with the gravity it deserves.
Though it takes him forever to come to these fairly self-evident conclusions, director/co-writer Joshua Michael Stern bathes him in warm light and punctuates even his most mundane personal revelations with orchestral swells, as if deciding to not be a jerk is tantamount to opening a hospital for sick orphans. Rarely has a film praised its hero so much for doing so little.
You might not notice that Bud spends so much time navel-gazing, he doesn’t get around to actually learning about the issues until the zero hour. These are treated as an afterthought, and Bud’s cram session unfolds in one of the most jarringly stupid montage sequences in modern film. In the end, he’s humbled by the responsibility and shell-shocked at how the media has chewed him up and spit him out. The most maddening thing about the film is how it congratulates itself for taking brave positions like 1) voting is important, and 2) the media do not always portray people fairly. If you’re among the millions of people who are well aware of these two lessons, you might consider casting your vote for a film that won’t talk down to you and bore you to tears.
To comment on this story, e-mail Glen Baity at glen.baity@gmail.com.
