Adam McKay
Vice

That Adam McKay has guts is an undeniable fact. And that Vice is an important film and beyond debate, too. The questions, if any, lie elsewhere. They all inevitably lead to a truth that the director himself points out at the beginning: the precious and accurate reconstruction of Dick Cheney's (and the United States' with him) path of misdeeds will serve little purpose; it will not shift consciences by an inch because it won't even have the chance to impact the minds of the majority who, with their vacuity of thought and lack of political awareness, allow such politicians to do everything seen in the film. Also, because Vice presents itself with "liberal" written on its forehead (as is said in a "meta" scene after the credits) and won't even touch the gut of deep America. The U.S. box office results are clear proof of this.

McKay's work contains within itself its own nemesis, which is the nemesis of democracy itself. The people, dazed by well-being and extreme amusement, are not even remotely capable of exercising a critical spirit. Or perhaps they are, a little, but by the time the damage is done. Put another way: the meshes of power are not tight enough to stop the reckless politician before he commits his misdeeds. It is only noticed after the war in Iraq has been absurd when it is too late. Likewise, it matters little that Cheney and Bush are massacred with relentless argumentative force. The damage is already done, the cows have escaped, closing the barn door is a poor, very poor consolation for a few "liberals." Instead, the children of those misdeeds are flourishing, real, tangible. They're called Isis, they're named after the thousands of war dead, they're called—if we want—Donald Trump.

And moreover, no one will ever be able to dispute anything (or almost anything) because choices and actions have been made carefully, in a finely diabolical way, with the constant support of brilliant lawyers, who have identified from time to time the legal loopholes, allowing the big worm Cheney to insinuate himself and play his game freely, without institutional chains.

McKay, identically but oppositely to his protagonist, does not even remotely dream of doing what he is not allowed to do with the narrative material. He draws dots on a piece of paper, marks them with an indelible marker. But he does not permit himself to draw the lines connecting them; that is up to us to do if we want to. The logical connections, however, are so straightforward and easy that no one with a brain could ever think not to follow them. And, as has been emphasized, these are established, objective, undeniable facts that the director has simply extracted from sources and put in chronological order, adding only dramatic connectors that do not alter the substance of the facts.

These are the facts; you draw your own conclusions. This is what McKay says, well aware that many will still find something to object to, will reject the film because it is blatantly "liberal." In short, there is a bitter sense of defeat a priori. Or better, the sensation is that of a hearty laugh with despair in the heart because political horrors are undeniable but we can never be compensated.

Much more than a film about Dick Cheney, it sounds a bit like the death knell for an America that has indeed died twice, dead and resurrected in an even scarier form. The strong connection with contemporary Trumpism is unspoken, silently suggested, indeed whispered in that fundamental "meta" scene after the credits. Trump is just another incarnation of the same America (and thus the same world) ignorant, boorish, ruthless, cold, self-interested, greedy. And it is no coincidence that the viewer who criticizes the film (again in the famous scene) reveals his vote for Donald and then punches the "liberal" next to him, who instead appreciated the film. It all ends in a brawl, and then it goes back to exactly the way it was before.

There are many episodes, links, connections that are explained. Even the informed viewer will find food for thought. Equally enjoyable is the staging, which strongly relies on irony, severe caricature, and a very bitter laugh. Cheney is a monstrous worm, magnificently portrayed by the great Christian Bale. He is a horrendous face, a man without qualities, who inexplicably made it to the top of the pyramid. In this, he is a perfect image of the spirit of the times, even in 2019, even in Italy.

The tight narrative of political events is alternated with metanarrative games, surreal scenes, situations bordering on the comical. The intent is to take the piss out of the protagonist, show his abysmal futility, and at the same time demonstrate the film's narrative impartiality and follow an almost didactic cinematic dictate (with large screened writings, little schemes, and sometimes slightly cloying symbolic editing). All this even playing with the narrating voice, which in turn is an intrinsic character in the events.

A task that is not exactly simple to square everything. And indeed, certain embellishments could have been avoided: while not damaging the film, they weigh it down a bit. Many gimmicks and superstructures perhaps take away some runtime that could have been used to better explain some somewhat elliptical passages. The result is a hybrid that, as mentioned, will hardly change anyone's mind. But it will certainly prompt further reflection among the few, about who we are and where we are going.