15. “Seven Days In May” (1964)
If you want to see an example of a riveting dramatic thriller wherein people talk, argue or debate to the exclusion of all else, John Frankenheimer’s “Seven Days In May” does the job nicely. Starring Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Fredric March, Ava Gardner, Martin Balsam and an Oscar-nominated Edmond O’Brien, this simmering pot-boiler focuses on the hubristic General Scott (Lancaster), sick to death of the bureaucracy and politicking of Washington. After the President (March) ratifies a disarmament treaty with Russia, the militant and aggressive Scott reaches his breaking point with what he perceives to be the spineless figures in D.C. His aide, Colonel Casey (Douglas) accidentally comes across a secret plan he eventually believes is a military coup to overthrow the government. Torn by his loyalty to his general and his duty to his country, the Colonel makes the decision to inform the President and his aides. Risking his name and career on what could be perceived as a wild claim, Casey then becomes part of a time-ticking group of White House loyalists who try to uncover the treasonous subterfuge. Simple, straightforward, but searingly effective in its depiction of the point when patriotism curdles into fascism, Frankenheimer constructs an urgent, suspenseful time bomb of a picture that is classic filmmaking to a tee.
14. “The Candidate” (1972)
Forget the Sundance Kid and Bob Woodward: Robert Redford’s turn as would-be Senator Bill McKay is possibly his greatest role. It’s certainly his least narcissistic and most spiritually ugly turn —as the son of a popular former governor, McKay is gradually unraveled and exposed to be as superficial as his dashing side-burns; a fate only compounded by winning the damn election. Whatever timid political convictions the character is depicted as possessing are steamrolled in favor of refashioning the man into a photogenic tabula rasa, a bespoke ‘man of the people’ grown in a lab (a potential voter simply remarks, “Handsome is as handsome does”) who’s able to coast on a roster of meaningless platitudes right into public office. Not so much worn down by the political machine as ground into a fine patty as such, “The Candidate” is ostensibly a comedy from Michael Ritchie, who would go on to direct “Fletch.” His handheld deadpan style is sly, impressive and vaguely horrifying, especially with Peter Boyle hovering over McKay as a scruple-free campaign manager. The indignities depicted in the film (gross self-censorship, vile manipulation of advertisements that encourage voters to choose a candidate “the way they choose a detergent”) are of course laughably meek by the standards of the dubious chicanery that abounds in political campaigns today, but McKay’s ticket, run on the promise of restoring “hope and faith in government,” has obvious implications beyond its early 1970s setting. Its famous last line (the clueless inquiry: “What do we do now?”) is a touch didactic, and McKay’s descent is perhaps now overly familiar, but when his father eventually slaps his tousle-haired sprog on the shoulder and chuckles, “Son, you’re a politician!” the remark rattles through the rest of the film like a death sentence.
13. “Bob Roberts” (1992)
It’s been said so frequently recently as to have zoomed past “truism” and straight to “cliché”: we live in post-satire times. But Tim Robbins‘ brilliant political satire “Bob Roberts” at times uncannily foreshadows the rise of Trump, specifically in the seemingly contradictory image that Roberts creates. A paradoxical mixture wherein extreme right-wing demagoguery co-opts the “cool” rhetoric of the anti-establishment left (the politician is also a Dylan-esque folk singer whose “protest” songs are about the lazy poor and family values), Roberts evokes Trump in the way he cynically manages to pivot his immense privilege into a queasily effective man-of-the-people act. With a great supporting cast including Alan Rickman as a Svengali-like campaign chairman, Giancarlo Esposito as the twitchy journo whom no one believes because conspiracies he unearths are just too big, Gore Vidal as Robert’s sex scandal-plagued Democratic incumbent opponent, and James Spader, Susan Sarandon and Fred Ward as local news anchors, the only critique that can be levelled at “Bob Roberts” now is that it didn’t set its sights higher than a mere senatorial race —though it probably seemed a bridge too far to imagine such a repulsive character could run for higher office in 1992.
12. “Advise And Consent” (1962)
With its title coming from words that the GOP have apparently completely forgotten in the last nine months of ignoring Judge Merrick Garland’s nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court, Otto Preminger’s “Advise & Consent” is a wonkish but often thrilling look at an attempt to confirm a Secretary Of State (Henry Fonda) by an ailing President, a battle that both sides seem prepared to go to any costs to win. Based on a novel by Allen Drury, it’s the kind of material, like “Anatomy Of A Murder,” that Preminger particularly excelled at, juggling an expansive and colorful cast (with the great Charles Laughton, in his final role as the cantankerous Senate president, and Don Murray as a tragic victim of blackmail, as particular standouts) with a level of sophistication, even-handedness and visual ingenuity that few others could match. And though it could seem dated in some respects, tackling subjects like communist witch-hunts and homosexuality at a time when most others would cross the street to avoid them are dealt with in a way that stops it from feeling like a message movie. It can be stodgy in places, but fifty years on, it feels like one of the richest and most fascinating looks at Washington that we’ve ever had onscreen.
11. “Being There” (1979)
Back in 1979, the idea of an idiot savant who is accidentally elevated to a hugely powerful and influential position —and possibly even the highest office in the land— wasn’t a terrifyingly real possibility, but a charming and almost magical idea. Or at least it was in Hal Ashby‘s “Being There.” Adapted by Jerzy Kosiński from his own novella, it’s centered on Chance (Peter Sellers in one of his last performances), a simple-minded gardener for a wealthy Washington D.C. man who, after his employer’s death, goes out into the world, where he befriends a dying millionaire (an Oscar-winning Melvyn Douglas) and becomes the toast of D.C. society. He even ends up with the ear of the president, his simple wisdom connecting with a public crying out for someone who isn’t another Washington fat cat. It could have been something savage and sour in the wrong hands, but Ashby’s humanism gives the film a quiet, Capra-esque charm even as he prods at both the establishment and the public, and yet the film never quite tips into whimsy either. And unlike, say, the vaguely similar “Forrest Gump,” both Sellers’ performance and the film’s treatment of Chance never make you feel like he’s the one being mocked.
