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Frost/Nixon

(dir. Ron Howard)

On first glance, you might think “Frost/Nixon,” Ron Howard’s entertaining adaptation of Peter Morgan’s play about the TV interview in which Richard Nixon admitted to criminal wrong-doing while he was President of the United States, would be more properly titled “Nixon/Frost.” After all, Nixon, until rather recently, slumped tall as the slimy underbelly of American politics made manifest, while David Frost was (and continues to be) little more than a perfectly serviceable TV host. Surely, Nixon’s dark angel should be billed first.

But this isn’t really an expose on the sins of Richard Nixon, although Tricky Dick’s Watergate-era transgressions serve as the fulcrum of the story. Morgan’s narrative centers on an ambitious lightweight’s battle of wits with a pariah who used to be the most powerful person in the world. After unsuccessfully bobbing and weaving through the early interview sessions, Frost sucks it up and throws a series of haymakers that bring down a giant. Calling the story “Nixon/Frost” would be comparable to recounting the tale of Goliath vs. David. To the victor go the spoils, and that apparently includes top billing.

Michael Sheen plays Frost, a popular light-entertainment host in Australia who longs for the level of fame he left behind when his American talk show was cancelled. Howard and Morgan (who adapted his play) toss in some jokey highlights from Frost’s TV gig, including a shackled escape artist who’s about to be dumped in the drink, once the host finishes his introduction. (This tongue-in-cheek tone, which informs the early part of the movie, becomes a problem once the narrative stakes are raised. Not that they're ever raised high enough.)

When Nixon resigns the Presidency in disgrace and goes into seclusion at San Clemente, Frost decides that he can re-win the brass ring of American-style celebrity-hood by landing an exclusive interview with the pardoned President. Never mind that Frost isn’t an especially political thinker. We’re talking ratings here! And money.

During a terrific scene in which Frost and his distractingly sexy girlfriend (Rebecca Hall, both distractingly sexy and a good actress) journey to California to meet Nixon, it becomes obvious that Nixon has money on his mind, too. He even has super-agent Swifty Lazar (Toby Jones, looking like a Jewish Martian) at his side.

The multi-part interview eventually takes on more weight than Frost can bear, as he’s forced to commit every penny he has to getting Nixon to sign on the dotted line, only to discover that the networks aren’t interested in our embarrassing stain of an ex-President. Langella is great in the scenes when he’s feeling Frost out, because, as Sheen plays him, Frost isn’t capable of such machinations. Although charming, in a self-defeated sort of way, Nixon has been at this game for a long, long time, and you can see him mentally sharpening the knives.

Langella never falls into Rich Little territory as Nixon, and that’s not an easy thing to accomplish. Pretending to be Richard Nixon is like pretending to be John Wayne; the signifiers of the person are so broad and so burned into our national consciousness, you run the risk of looking ridiculous even if you’re doing a great job. Langella gets the hunched back and the shuffle down cold, but he injects a dour playfulness into the man that, frankly, didn’t pop up all that often when Nixon was at the wheel of this country. Even when I was a little kid, I thought he looked like he was continually being captured in mid-cringe.

Langella’s masterstroke is to give that Nixon several awkward public viewings, while allowing his eyes to twinkle only when TV cameras aren’t trained on him. Oddly, this is a great performance because you can see the wheels turning in the actor’s head, which is usually the kiss of death. Langella seems to fully comprehend that Nixon was acting every time he ventured out in public, and he didn’t enjoy the performance. After a while, he must have felt like he was caving in on himself.

Sheen is also good, in a lesser role. He captures Frost’s winning emptiness beautifully; you like him even though he seems a bit of a schmuck. Still, Frost’s transformation into a formidable, fact-spouting opponent to Nixon is handled pretty inanely by Howard. My earlier reference to boxing is apt, since there’s practically a “Rocky” training montage before the big showdown.

The shots of Frost finally getting to work and cramming for the big exam could easily be accompanied by “Gonna Fly Now,” and there’s even a shot of Nixon lackadaisically working out to some classical music while wearing a bathrobe. He doesn’t do any push-ups, but we get the picture, and the joke unfortunately releases pressure when it needs to be building.

Howard also fumbles some so-so scenes featuring Oliver Platt and Sam Rockwell as a pair of journalists who team with Frost to prepare for the interview, only to find that they hate the son-of-a-bitch, and Frost just wants to talk to him.

Rockwell’s character, in particular, is written like a suit-wearing variation on “Meathead” in “All in the Family,” barking oh-so-liberally at Frost's incomprehension. The damning information Rockwell spouts about Nixon should have been more gracefully woven into an ongoing dialogue, rather than being dumped in the audience’s lap in a couple of clunky scenes because, you know, it has to be there.

Howard, who gets a lot of credit for making good movies without ever getting around to making great ones, is in the standing-ovation circle again this time. Awards are likely to be thrown at “Frost/Nixon” simply because you can scratch its surface and sniff something besides candy lurking beneath.

Certainly, Sheen and Langella deserve Oscar nominations for their duel, and it would be satisfying to see Langella, a talented old pro who’s never really hit it out of the park on the big screen, walk away with some gold. But “Frost/Nixon” only nibbles enjoyably, when, given the current state of the White House, it would have been satisfying to see some red meat hanging from Howard’s teeth.

Ultimately, the spotlight in “Frost/Nixon” is aimed directly at the spotlight itself— the glare of power and fame that, regardless of our endlessly-revised loftier goals, seems forever destined to fuel the engine of this country. And it could have had a lot more on its mind than just that.

“Frost/Nixon” contains some bad language, but it’s nothing that hasn’t been said by both you and the current Governor of Illinois. It’s absolutely worth seeing for Langella’s crafty performance, but if it wins Best Picture, people are getting considerably carried away. Rated R. 122 minutes, and they go by quickly.

Paul Tatara