Ides of March: No Country For Sucker Idealists, Brah.
Stop me if you’ve heard this story before. An idealistic asshole takes up a campaign only to be ground down into a scabby, hateful douchebag of malaise. It’s a trope as old as dirt, as desiccated as the political foundation that it ridiculous. This is the tale of Ides of March, a tale that succeeds partly because of the truthfulness of the tale. Partly because of the excellent acting. Mostly because it’s a gorgeous proxy for the viewer to nod their head to, leaving the theater commenting on “how true it is”, vicariously critiquing the state of things for a moment before going home to reality television, saccharine sweets and processed cheese products.
It lets us vent our angst at the bullshit that is our sociocultural predicament before going on with our lives.
The movie stars Ryan Gosling as the so handsome he makes my balls hurt Stephen Meyers. He’s the campaign manager for a transparent Obama analog played by the square-jawed but not nearly as handsome George Clooney. Before the first heavy-handed exposition by Gosling establishing himself as a rube in a game played by lions we already know the poor fucker is doomed to rot. Ideals are for philosophers and children, and he’s unfortunately neither.
As the movie wages on Gosling becomes entangled in a situation arising from an enticing offer by the rival Democratic candidate’s campaign manager, and by the time he’s finished meeting with the Opposite Field’s Snake he’s become a pawn to be maneuvered and ideologically buttfucked by everyone around him. No country for idealists, brah!
Meanwhile, Stephen is hooking up with a bitty intern played by Evan Rachel Wood, the third part of a triumvirate of gorgeous people dominating the screen. Cogs within cogs, she’s pregnant with the Clooney-Obama-Clone’s bastard hellspawn. Another trope as old as dirt, as truthful as man’s inability to keep their cocks from driving the brain-pipes.
(A whole column could be written about the unsavory presentation of women throughout the movie as nothing but fuck-objects to be used and discarded but I’ll save that for some more daring and well-versed feminist.)
Abort, abort! goes the story and as Gosling is pushed into a state of desperation he realizes that the only trump card he has to get himself back into the game is his knowledge of the Wood/Clooney vaginal domination. What follows is the historical fall of the idealist, and Gosling goes full Vader. Marching about with steely determination and a newfound desire to undercut all those around him. Sacrificing ideals for success, and so on, and so on goes the tale. The tale that Cultural Bards have been singing since I myself slithered out of pipe into poon, out of poon into the world.
By the end of the movie Gosling is a dead hearted bastard, and the final scene is the resounding emptiness in his eyes. An emptiness he’s embraced in lieu of ideals, for standing something. Et cetera. The grinding machine of political-corporate-modern culture smashing him into a paste and slathered across an immoral landscape.
The movie works because the performances given by the entire cast are dope as fuck. Phillip Seymour Hoffman is the dour douchebag he’s come to play in so many roles. Paul Giamatti barks and seethes like we’ve been demanding he do for countless roles now. So on, and so on. Of course the Cherry of the flick is Ryan Gosling. Not far removed from hammer smashing skull stomps in Drive he delivers another understated performance. The bro brings enough emotion in what he doesn’t say, how he doesn’t act, the same reservation of behavior that made him the heartthrob of the aforementioned neon noir.
If I hadn’t seen him over the top in Lars in the Real Girl I’d begin to wonder if he’s a good actor of it he’s just so fucking sexy man and women alike are ready to gape – in both sense of the words – for his gorgeousness, that side of the mouth speech and the cute smile. Whatever the case he carries the movie on his back and its through his performance that the movie succeeds.
But where the movie really works is a safety valve for the political angst the common man feels towards their government. Regardless of faction, ideology, or political party, throw a rock and he’ll meet someone kvetching about the status quo. The movie offers a momentary curb stomping of the people running things, and it allows us to vent at the desperation presented. We’re occupying Wall Street and condemning liberals and everyone is pretty fucking unhappy and I am willing to bet there’s a lot of murmuring between people leaving the theater at how true the movie is. Agreeing with the message presented by the the too good to be true Clooney who while critiquing the system, is undoubtedly a true scoundrel and immoral bastard himself. I left the movie impressed by the acting and nauseated by the message which I too wanted to rage against the machine at. A message presented by an nearly all-white cast through the hegemonic Hollywood system. What am I trying to say? I’m not really sure.
Go see the movie, bask in the performance and the pretty people and the message that’s as easy a sell as the Rock Star telling the Sucker Crowd that their hometown is “Really Their Favorite Place To Play!”, but be mindful of what you take away from it. It’s a momentary reprieve, an audience-driven middle finger at a system that’s broken, that isn’t too different than the one that produced the movie, that isn’t going anywhere.