Review: Reagan's film is historical nonsense and a chore

There's political idolatry, and then there's the movie-clad canonization that is Sean McNamara's faith-tinged bioepic “Reagan,” which follows its subject, played by Dennis Quaid, from Ronnie's days in Hollywood through his two terms as the 40th president.

Quaid is a muscular, reliable actor who deserves big roles. But here he’s just a knockoff puppet, a high-voltage shell masking a hollow portrait tailored for religious conservatives with a superficial grasp of history and no tolerance for nuance. If you can imagine someone watching the classic “Saturday Night Live” sketch with Phil Hartman playing Reagan as a geopolitical brainiac who comes across as a bumbling optimist and takes it as biblical truth, you’ll have some idea of ​​what “Reagan” turns out to be.

Of course, that legendary bit was based on widespread skepticism that our simple-minded president had played dumb about the Iran-Contra scandal, hence its hilarious portrayal of Reagan as a criminal mastermind. But here, with every clumsy scene of myth-ridden heroism, McNamara and screenwriter Howard Klausner seek to venerate the Man Who Brought Down Communism: the guy who had the Reds in their sights for decades; the sincere smile that hid a fierce warrior; the Christian whose perfect long game (from star to Screen Actors Guild director to FBI informant to governor to world leader making good-natured jokes) inevitably tore the godless Soviet Union apart.

This conveniently selective determinism (which ignores Russia’s self-destruction, the will of oppressed peoples in other countries, and the way Reagan destroyed his own nation as well) would be historical nonsense without the added strangeness of this film’s contemporary narrative device: a cantankerous old Soviet spy named Viktor (Jon Voight) looking back on his life. To a young, inexperienced Russian agent, he tells with grim admiration the story of his nemesis, the Crusader (the same name as the Reagan biography on which the film is based). Viktor knew from the start that this American was the only real threat the West had produced.

It's the story of a good guy who takes on Hollywood communists, shows a thing or two to 1960s college protesters, and, with a few lines, brings with him a vicious superpower. On your kneesBut it's also a story about making TV commercials in the 1950s, courting an actress (poor, poor Penelope Ann Miller as Nancy) and buying a ranch in Santa Ynez. Certainly arcane themes for a pair of Russian spies. Choose those framing devices well, aspiring screenwriters.

With its forced scope, ridiculous dialogue and disinterest in interiority, “Reagan” is such a hectic, poorly assembled timeline of big moments and notable absences that, when things slow down a bit for Gorbachev’s (Olek Krupa) talks, you long for the smarter, more complex film about the end of the Cold War than this version, built around binary moments that boil down to “He can’t!” “But he’s not going to do it!” did!” — I won't even imagine it.

No blame-shifting opportunity is missed by McNamara, for whom the AIDS crisis is only worthy of being lumped into an ’80s music-video-style montage of annoying, contextless complaints that (oh no!) could hurt Reagan’s reelection chances, which, as dramatized here, believe it or not, are dubious. “Let Ronnie be Ronnie!” Nancy screams at her husband’s campaign staff. A cheer-worthy quip later, at the Mondale debate, secures 49 states. What a comeback! Viktor sounds especially dejected. He doesn’t say a word about how a decimated LGBTQ community might have felt.

That cloying, waxy sheen extends even beyond the credits, when it follows a detail from Reagan’s stay at the house during the Geneva Summit: while he was using his host’s son’s bedroom, the boy’s goldfish died. That the president of the United States left the boy an apology note is a sweet story, all right, even if it’s treated as an act of integrity that goes beyond what’s considered, along the lines of “Mr. Gorbachev can WAIT!” But McNamara needs an exoneration, adding after the credits the boy’s written response, declaring his VIP guest innocent of pet care neglect. Fish die, no big deal! A fitting coda to a children’s work of hero worship.