The more I make myself review these movies, I keep returning to a question for which I have yet to find my answer. When a director or actor makes a decision for the sake of the plot or character, a decision that makes the viewing experience less to my personal preference, even if I can admit it was the correct artistic choice—how am I to feel about this? Or if a vital aspect of the character or plot makes a film a tougher watch for me, how do I review it? In this film, this question manifests through the meandering prose of the absolutely manic Nixon depicted in this one-man show by Philip Baker Hall.
Philip Baker Hall gives easily one of the most incredible performances I have ever seen. Nixon is extremely deep in a volcanic mania that makes it hard to follow any of the points he tries to make. You could say that my main gripe with the structure of the film is a complete and intended result of the state the former president is in while recording himself.
Nixon recounts many of the most pivotal moments of his life, and Philip Baker Hall does an incredible job of keeping you engaged through what is at times extremely unfocused prose through amazing physicality. It really feels like we have been granted an audience for the musings of a madman, musings that give insight into key moments of American history.
A static text opens the film, framing it as fiction. This cue let me relax into Nixon’s meandering, operatic monologue without seeking historical truth. Though the chaos could be jarring, the experience was like having a front-row seat to a breathtaking one-man performance.
Nixon’s whiskey fueled mania builds to a perfect crescendo, rewarding the viewer with a payoff worthy of the journey. A brilliant film, highly recommended.
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