Editorial


He's ba-a-a-ack. The New Nixon is in town, his face filling the screen at a local moviehouse in Frost/Nixon, the acclaimed film about David Frost's 1977 interviews with former president Richard M. Nixon.

To a city full of political junkies in what used to be the heart of Nixon Country, the late president's resuscitation comes as no surprise. New Nixons regularly showed up here, as elsewhere, until the former president's death in 1994 at the age of 81. There was no reason to think his obituary would be the end of him.

In the movie, Frank Langella plays Nixon. As one reviewer points out, Langella gives moviegoers "a great actor's take on an unnerving character," not an impersonation of him. Yes, Langella studied Nixon's mannerisms and voice, but among the movie's best scenes are those in which the camera catches his jowly countenance between thought and word.

At such moments, viewers lean forward reflexively wondering what will come out of Nixon's mouth next. Will it be a false compliment? A slash at his adversary? A monologue dripping with self-pity?

To those who saw the many New Nixons of the '60s, '70s, '80s and '90s, watching Langella's Nixon and what happens to him will bring both a sense of familiarity about the man and a murmur of protest over the conventions of Hollywood.

Like the real Nixon, this screen version is avaricious, venal, corrupt, bitter and paranoid. He is Tricky Dick, full of schemes. Even his prejudices have been updated; he is sneeringly homophobic. The focus on Watergate makes all this seaminess inevitable.

But the game of "Gotcha!" between Frost and Nixon is also loaded and predictable, its results overdramatized. Gerald Ford's pardon of Nixon did not produce uniform public condemnation. Frost's 1977 interviews provided neither the contrition nor the closure that the film portrays. Even in exile, Nixon came back, writing books, peddling influence at high levels and wooing a post-Watergate generation of political operatives.

He did not die disgraced. Even given the windage that must be applied to eulogy, friend and foe found glowing words for him. Ronald Reagan called him "a great champion of democratic ideals." Billy Graham saw Nixon as "one of the greatest men of the century." President Clinton marveled about their regular contacts, saying the two kept in touch "about the great issues of the day" right up until Nixon's death.

In the current political climate, it is difficult to recall, or to comprehend, the extent of public support for Nixon.

New Hampshire was gung-ho for him for years.

Nixon defeated John F. Kennedy 53 percent to 47 percent in the state's popular vote in 1960. He beat Hubert Humphrey by 8 points in 1968 and swamped George McGovern by 29 in 1972. State party leaders long resisted the seeping scandal of Watergate.

How do we square such unqualified success with the New Nixon on the big screen? Even within the shallow and shifting allegiances of politics, how can anyone love the sinister, self-loathing character portrayed by Langella?

The danger of historical movies is that they create a popular notion of events and people that overwhelms the complexities of real life. What actually happened during the last minutes before the Titanic sank is anyone's guess. Queen Elizabeth may be nothing like the woman Helen Mirren brought to the screen.

Nevertheless, political junkies will welcome the New Nixon. In his peril, and in the hands of a Hollywood that never loved him anyway, it is even possible to feel a bit sad over how he tortured himself so.