..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Kim Voynar
..Michael Wilmington

W.
Directed by Oliver Stone

The last (and only) time a movie depicted a sitting American President occurred more than four decades back when some patriot thought there was pay dirt in John Kennedy's wartime saga PT-109. W. is hardly motivated in quite the same way, even if filmmaker Oliver Stone insists that he has a lot of "sympathy" for George Bush.

Spanning some five decades from Bush's pledge days at Yale through the blow back following the invasion of Iraq, W. is a hot plate of impressions about what molded its subject into the leader of the free world. What he did and who he became is left open for interpretation and that's a blessing. But it's also a curse as the film skims primarily along the surface and its brief moments exploring the depths are fraught with a flaccid form of pop psychology that lack conviction.

More troubling than Stone and screenwriter Stanley Weiser's choice of the defining moments in a life is the way they present it. While there's little to suggest a "you are there" veracity, some sequences at least make nods toward documented truth. Other sections are, frankly, dangerously close to the type of scathing social satire that's become associated with Saturday Night Live … and not necessarily the skits one remembers as most on target.

The film opens in the White House's Situation Room as familiar faces - Rice, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Powell, et al - tinker with the speech that's supposed to galvanize the nation to take up arms. A speechwriter's phase referencing the "axis of hatred" isn't working for the assembled. Stone, who's breathed life and credibility into such political hot buttons as assassination conspiracy theories to Nixon's inner circle, opts for a less nuanced perspective in his new film. Caricature is rampant and the guy holding the tiller seems only vaguely engaged and focused on the smaller picture.

There will be more incidents involving his Cabinet interspersed between what might charitably be described as a model career for anyone hoping to fail upwardly. He washes out in the oil fields, he loses a run for Congress and his dream of becoming Commissioner of Baseball strikes out. And while he can be engagingly charming, he has a temper and drinks to excess.

At least he gets the girl and the right one. She knows not to push too hard and recognizes that politics is his calling.

W. is, frankly, more Shakespeare than History Channel or Biography. Though the filmmakers are loath to paint the saga as tragedy, its hero is tragic. He is the son of a powerful man who's always viewed him as a failure and favored brother Jeb in every respect. So, he strives for his acceptance more than his love but gets no more than a pat on the head when he engineer's pater Bush's successful run for the White House.

The best one can say about the film is that it moves along apace and has energy that at least in the moment dispels its more clownish and inauthentic moments. It's technically adroit with some very clever melding of archival footage with W.'s ensemble players.

The cast is first rate, though few of the supporting players have roles that demand subtlety. James Cromwell as the elder Bush manages to convey a much needed gravitas and Josh Brolin's title performance finds him working hard to convey the character's many faces. But for all Brolin's hard work he cannot get across Bush's undeniable warmth and that's perhaps the film's most pronounced failing.

The film most certainly will not be embraced by W.'s eroding support group. At the same time it's difficult to imagine that detractors will find the movie provides the "I told you so" scenario they crave and the filmmaker's fan base will be hard pressed to yell "bullseye!" Guts, yes; glory, not quite.

- Leonard Klady