Nothing But the Truth

Nothing but weak TeeVee dramatization.

Nothing But the Truth is a tepid “B” drama ever so loosely based on the Valerie Plame scandal, the politically motivated outing of the CIA operative back in July of 2003. Just another Bush Administration fuckup of malicious and colossal proportion. And despite its meaty subject matter, the film stumbles over raw emotion and truths rarely and always rather clumsily.

The names and events have changed considerably but are traceable.

Substitute an assassination attempt on the U.S. President for yellow cake uranium reports.

Trade a retaliatory bombing of Venezuela (You monsters leave my Hugo alone!) for the invasion of Iraq.

Toss in the "Washington Sun Times" for the NYT.

Consider Matt Dillon's special prosecutor as Patrick Fitzgerald.

Vera Farmiga for Valerie Plame.

Kate Beckinsale as Judith Miller.

And throw in Floyd Abrams (Miller's actual defense attorney) as the judge and you can connect the dots from there.

And I'm not sure who was supposed to be Robert Novak but there was a mangy, nasty, rabid, drooling cur in one scene that obsessively licked its own balls, ate shit off the sidewalk and snarled at toddlers, so let's go with that.

The film's saving grace is a nice performance from Alan Alda (playing Abrams) who spouts the film's smartest lines. Beckinsale has been in jail for nearly a year for withholding the name of her source regarding the CIA operative's outing. Alda, impressed by her fortitude and principle, relates a story of a man who did nothing but good deeds his entire life and was a friend to all. The number of people who attended his funeral, Alda cynically cautions, was dependent on the weather that day.

"The weather has changed", he sadly tells her.

I won’t reveal the “surprise" twist of Beckinsale’s protected source, suffice to say it was an incoherent choice in a film that purports to be filled with hard hitting truths.

A major disappointment.

When the film succeeds at all it is to prop up the once noble ideals of the fourth estate, harkening back to a time when many in the press had ethics, a nose and credentials. They also could write. Television killed all of that, along with the typical American's attention span which has now been reduced to that of a gnat's. Make that a gnat with ADD.

But films about the newspaper biz and journalism generally don't translate well to the big screen. It's hard to get at what makes dedicated newspersons exciting. It's a tedious endeavor fraught with disappointment. It's not flashy, it lacks drama, it's stunningly unglamorous work and is a remarkably thankless profession given its importance; particularly to a well functioning democracy.

But we'd rather sit down in front of the tube and listen to whatever "news" the spokespeople for the Corporations have been coached to say. Spineless talking heads who kowtow to (and profit from) the prevailing cynicism instead of embracing it, tearing into it and spitting it back at those monsters who deign to control us. Journalism was a dignified pursuit, an unspoken crusade for truth and the screwing of the powerful. Now its practitioners are just haircuts and fence sitters, transcribing and reading their copy directly from the board rooms of high finance and the White House itself. News as policy advertisements to keep the citizens ideologically split down the middle and bickering about nonsense while the pillaging and power grabs continue unabated.

How can a decent newspaper compete with that?

And how can you get anyone to watch a film about it?