One of the themes that’s played throughout Ron Howard’s newest film, Frost/Nixon, is the concern of some on David Frost’s research team that Richard Nixon not be portrayed as a sympathetic figure. After all, the political left was out for blood in 1974. For them, the disgrace and humiliation Nixon had suffered as the result of own actions was not enough punishment. They craved contrition, hoping that, in an unofficial televised trial, Nixon would be further disgraced and humiliated—only this time in close-up detail.
Prior to the film being screened last night in a San Francisco theatre, I overhead one gray-haired liberal woman taking great delight in reminiscing about old Tricky Dick, assuring a few younger moviegoers in the row of seats behind her that, “If you think Bush was bad, Nixon was ten times worse.” Obviously, some old-time leftists were still out for blood, ready once again to delight in disgrace and humiliation—only this time for entertainment’s sake.
Unfortunately for them, the movie did not simply rehash the vitriolic feeding frenzy of the mid-1970s. Instead, as all good art attempts to do, the film set out to challenge its audience’s acceptable assumptions. By its end, the film did not heed the avenging desires of those on Frost’s staff. Rather, it did, indeed, portray Nixon as a sympathetic character—not only a victim of his own shortcomings, but one willing to advance another while sacrificing himself.
One interesting point the film exposes was that Nixon, to some degree, may have been an alcoholic—if not one addicted to alcohol, certainly one subject to extreme blackouts from too many drinks. This same character flaw was exposed in Oliver Stone’s Nixon, in scenes showing Nixon alone and isolated in the White House, pouring himself scotch and scotch. What Howard’s film shows and suggests that Stone’s had not was that Nixon, prone to alcoholic blackouts, may have been unaware of some of his decisions he made as the 37th President.
Unlike Ronald Reagan, who, during his White House tenure, may have been losing his mind to Alzheimer’s, Nixon may have lost his mind due to his abusive drinking. If so, if the pressures of the Watergate probe had led him to drink—and overindulge on many occasions—his drunken behavior may have led him to order or approve actions of which he later had no recollection. Of course, alcoholism cannot excuse his actions. But in today’s world of condoned recovery, it’s hard not to cut Tricky Dick a little slack.
Another aspect of the film lends even more sympathy to Nixon. At one point, after reviewing a biographical file on David Frost, Nixon discovers more than a few similarities between the two men—both are ambitious, both from relatively humble and religious means, both striving for acceptance in a elite world seemingly set on destroying them. Nixon, at one point, acknowledges to Frost that, after their final interview is conducted, only one of them will emerge as victor, only one of them will be vindicated, only one of them saved.
In the end, it appeared as if Nixon, realizing there was no vindication he could ever hope to achieve, allowed himself to fall on his metaphoric sword, allowing Frost to emerge the victor while, at the same time, freeing himself from his own inner demons. Sacrificing his own public image for the sake of another was, ultimately, a final heroic gesture on Nixon’s behalf.
As the San Francisco crowd left the theater last night, I didn’t hear any left-wing bloating about Tricky Dick and his evil, wicked ways. Instead, I heard the collective hush of disappointed epiphanies. And I thought to myself, if it’s true what the gray-haired liberal said, if “Nixon was ten times worse” then Bush, then Bush, time will tell, may not have been all that bad.
Prior to the film being screened last night in a San Francisco theatre, I overhead one gray-haired liberal woman taking great delight in reminiscing about old Tricky Dick, assuring a few younger moviegoers in the row of seats behind her that, “If you think Bush was bad, Nixon was ten times worse.” Obviously, some old-time leftists were still out for blood, ready once again to delight in disgrace and humiliation—only this time for entertainment’s sake.
Unfortunately for them, the movie did not simply rehash the vitriolic feeding frenzy of the mid-1970s. Instead, as all good art attempts to do, the film set out to challenge its audience’s acceptable assumptions. By its end, the film did not heed the avenging desires of those on Frost’s staff. Rather, it did, indeed, portray Nixon as a sympathetic character—not only a victim of his own shortcomings, but one willing to advance another while sacrificing himself.
One interesting point the film exposes was that Nixon, to some degree, may have been an alcoholic—if not one addicted to alcohol, certainly one subject to extreme blackouts from too many drinks. This same character flaw was exposed in Oliver Stone’s Nixon, in scenes showing Nixon alone and isolated in the White House, pouring himself scotch and scotch. What Howard’s film shows and suggests that Stone’s had not was that Nixon, prone to alcoholic blackouts, may have been unaware of some of his decisions he made as the 37th President.
Unlike Ronald Reagan, who, during his White House tenure, may have been losing his mind to Alzheimer’s, Nixon may have lost his mind due to his abusive drinking. If so, if the pressures of the Watergate probe had led him to drink—and overindulge on many occasions—his drunken behavior may have led him to order or approve actions of which he later had no recollection. Of course, alcoholism cannot excuse his actions. But in today’s world of condoned recovery, it’s hard not to cut Tricky Dick a little slack.
Another aspect of the film lends even more sympathy to Nixon. At one point, after reviewing a biographical file on David Frost, Nixon discovers more than a few similarities between the two men—both are ambitious, both from relatively humble and religious means, both striving for acceptance in a elite world seemingly set on destroying them. Nixon, at one point, acknowledges to Frost that, after their final interview is conducted, only one of them will emerge as victor, only one of them will be vindicated, only one of them saved.
In the end, it appeared as if Nixon, realizing there was no vindication he could ever hope to achieve, allowed himself to fall on his metaphoric sword, allowing Frost to emerge the victor while, at the same time, freeing himself from his own inner demons. Sacrificing his own public image for the sake of another was, ultimately, a final heroic gesture on Nixon’s behalf.
As the San Francisco crowd left the theater last night, I didn’t hear any left-wing bloating about Tricky Dick and his evil, wicked ways. Instead, I heard the collective hush of disappointed epiphanies. And I thought to myself, if it’s true what the gray-haired liberal said, if “Nixon was ten times worse” then Bush, then Bush, time will tell, may not have been all that bad.
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