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 et's
suppose that, on Sunday night, Denzel Washington receives an Academy
Award for his gritty performance in the movie Training Day.
But instead of allowing Washington his moment of triumph, fellow
Oscar-nominee Russell Crowe declares himself "the comeback
kid" for finishing second in the Best Actor vote.
OK, so it's
far-fetched. But it would be a fitting end to an ugly little melodrama
that says oodles about Hollywood, and how "comeback kid"
Bill Clinton and his traveling circus infected more than America's
body politic.
First, a little
background. As the Academy Awards voting deadline neared, up popped
a nasty little smear campaign directly aimed at the movie A Beautiful
Mind, a strong candidate for Best Picture, Best Actor (Crowe),
and Best Director (Ron Howard). The allegations making the rounds:
that the movie's real-life protagonist, Princeton mathematician
John Nash, was an anti-Semite, a bisexual, and had ditched an illegitimate
son. In other words, Nash, who suffers from schizophrenia, is nothing
like the sanitized, sympathetic version offered on the wide screen.
Now, it's not
exactly earth-shattering news that an Oscar favorite would come
under siege. In 1999, Oscar hopes for The Hurricane, a biopic
based on the life of imprisoned fighter Rubin "Hurricane"
Carter, were all but TKO'd when word got out that there were discrepancies
in the story.
What separates
A Beautiful Mind from other previous Oscar dust-ups is how
Clintonian the whole sordid affair is. Yes, art imitates life. In
this case, movie art and Oscar politics imitates the life and times
of the former president.
Let's start
with how the information got out. Back in January, a Miramax publicist
tried to sell the Los Angeles Times on a Drudge Report account
of Nash's alleged gay past. By February, the allegations had spread
deeper across the Internet, then slowly into the mainstream press.
By March, the story hit critical mass, making its way to the upper
echelons of mainstream print — the New York Times, the
Washington Post, and the Los Angeles Times —
all of whom were interested not only in the dirt on Nash but its
possible effect on the Oscars.
Have we seen
this movie before? You bet. The Big Lewinsky, which also was a Drudge
exclusive before the mainstream press got into the mix. And you
can add a touch of Troopergate, in which the LA Timesin a
similar role as in Nash-gate: weighing whether or not to report
damaging details about a man's past misdeeds.
Here's where
the plot takes an interesting twist. Not only Nash's detractors,
but also Nash's boosters seem adept at playing the Clinton scandal
game. The Clinton White House understood the value of having a good
communicator (Carville/Begala/Lanny Davis) telling their side of
the story — denouncing both the facts of the matter, and the
tactics. Similarly, A Beautiful Mind had its own surrogate
team — director Howard, screenwriter Akiva Goldsman, plus Slyvia
Nasar (author of the novel, A Beautiful Mind, on which the
film was based) — likewise denying the facts, and suggesting
that a conspiracy was afoot.
Here's something
else the Nash camp learned: At a certain point, the only way to
stop the bleeding is to put the man himself in front of the cameras.
In 1992, Bill and Hillary sat down with 60 Minutes, right
after that year's Super Bowl, to rebut Gennifer Flowers. In 2002,
John Nash and his wife, Alicia, also sat down with 60 Minutes
again, ostensibly, to set the record straight.
Talk about
déjà vu. First, both couples drew the right questioner.
A decade ago, the Clintons avoided an onslaught from Mike Wallace,
and instead sat down with Steve Kroft. Kroft didn't go easy on the
Clintons, nor did browbeat them into being candid either. This time,
the Nashes got Wallace, which wasn't such a bad thing considering
that Mike Wallace, like John Nash, has a history of mental illness
(he's fought mental depression). Plus, Wallace had a well-documented
fight with the makers of the film The Insider (also a Russell
Crowe vehicle) over Wallace's on-screen portrayal. So let's assume
he's sensitive not only to Nash's plight, but the concept of revisionist
history.
Second, judging
by their performance, the Nashes seemingly understand the Clintonian
art of obfuscation. Asked by Mike Wallace about his sexual proclivities,
John Nash responded: "I've learned that it's better that I
don't talk about it." Let the folks on Hardball parse
that one.
Don't get me
wrong; I'm not suggesting that John Nash is, as Bob Kerrey once
referred to Bill Clinton, "an exceptionally good liar."
In fact, I don't think he lied at all. I watched Nash's 60 Minutes
appearance. My impression was that he's honest, has suffered much
over decades and in recent days, and doesn't seem to relish the
spotlight. In this way, he's the anti-Clinton.
But the fact
is that John Nash's story was thrust upon us much the same way that
another warm-and-fuzzy story, also made in Hollywood, tried to sell
us on the virtues of Bill Clinton back in 1992. A Beautiful Mind
is little different from The Man From Hope, the Clinton biography
that showed Bill and Hillary as your typical ever-loving couple,
blessed from birth, destined for greatness, and just trying to raise
their daughter and save the universe from evil Republicans. Like
A Beautiful Mind, The Man from Hope could best be
described as "based on a true story." It was meant to
satisfy a mainstream audience that wanted to believe in the power
of love and happy endings. And we'll forever be comparing the real
Clintons to the ones packaged before the camera.
That's it for
the parallels. John Nash will retire into the dark recesses of pop
culture after Sunday night's award ceremony. You probably won't
hear from him again until his obituary runs. Unfortunately, Bill
Clinton's ever-so-public and painful quest for accolades and acclamation
will continue.
Maybe, if we
gave the man an Oscar, he'd go away too. Now there's a beautiful
thought.
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