This is mass madness, you maniacs

It's my favorite movie. And every year it gets less hyperbolic and more real. Except for one thing: No one is yelling yet. No one is listening to Howard Beale. Today, there are no mass protests, no swell of angry popular movement against the utter mismanagement of this country. Today, we watch the TV and the Internets as people tell us about bad stuff. But we don't get mad.

Financial institutions run everything. They can make us. They can ruin us. And they have ruined us. And now we're paying for their mistakes. But we don't get mad. We won't get mad. We will sit and watch our screens, as we have been doing for 30 years, and think, "Gee, this is bad. I hope things get better."

Case in point: I will publish this blog post, then return to work, happy to collect a paycheck while they still come to me. I will pick up some dry-cleaning, go to a show tonight, go home, watch TV or the Internets, sleep, get up and do it all again. I will pray that things stay okay, or I will ignore the distinct possibility they will not. But I won't do anything to affect the outcome. I will merely stay in bomb-drill mode, hands over my head, against a wall.

Still mad as hell after 30 years

Everything Paddy Chayefsky wrote about in his screenplay for Network -- the all-powerful college of corporations, the devaluation of human life, the culture hungry to articulate its rage -- was true then, and is true now. People gush about the film's prescience and, in small ways, it was prescient.

But in the commentary and archive footage of the new two-disc special edition of Network, Lumet and Chayefsky (who both started in live TV) stress that the movie is "sheer reportage," not satire. Everything is dramatized fact. The only part of the movie that had not occurred in 1976 and has yet to occur is the coordinated assassination of a TV personality because of poor ratings.

The new DVD is long overdue. I devoured its special features (they are adequate) this past week. The driving force is Lumet, of course, one of our dearest directors and human beings. Thankfully, Faye Dunaway participated enthusiastically in the making-of documentary (which bothers to feature bit player Lance Henriksen but not Ned Beatty or Robert Duvall). And there's a ridiculous clip of Chayefsky on "Dinah!," which was apparently a talk show back then. How Dinah Shore had a career I'll never know, but the clip is worthwhile because it's proof of how the film was received upon its release: as a shocking and controversial "satire."

But Network, the greatest movie ever made, is much more than a stinging indictment of humanity's assault on itself. It is first and foremost a marvelous story told marvelously. The mechanics of Chayefsky's screenplay are breathtaking. It's like he's juggling a hundred balls, catching some with his feet and in the crook of his neck as he sends others even higher, until he's able to let them all drop at once into a neat, manicured square on the floor. If a screen story has never made love to you -- or if you don't even know what I mean by that -- consider submitting to Network.

I could devote this blog to examining the film's prescience, line by line and plot point by plot point, and never run out of material. I'll just offer this penultimate sermon by Howard Beale, the mad prophet of the airwaves, played by Peter Finch like he had only months to live (and he did):

At the bottom of all our terrified souls we know that democracy is a dying giant -- a sick, sick, dying, decaying political concept writhing in its final pain. I don't mean that the United States is finished as a world power. The United States is the richest, the most powerful, the most advanced country in the world, light years ahead of any country. And I don't mean the Communists are going to take over the world because the Communists are deader than we are. What is finished is the idea that this great country is dedicated to the freedom and flourishing of every individual in it. It's the individual that's finished. It's the single solitary human being that's finished. It's every single one of you out there that's finished. Because this is no longer a nation of independent individuals. It's a nation of 200-odd million transistorized, deodorized, whiter-than-white, steel-belted bodies -- totally unnecessary as human beings and as replaceable as piston rods. Well, the time has come to say "Is dehumanization such a bad word?" Whether it's good or bad, that's what is so. The whole world is becoming humanoid -- creatures that look human but aren't. The whole world, not just us. We're just the most advanced country, so we're getting there first. The whole world's people are becoming mass-produced, programmed, numbered, insensate things.

Speaks for itself, as it has for 30 years. And this is the calmest, subtlest speech in the film, which builds with such sheer confidence and sleekness toward its climax. I mentioned above that the climax -- the on-air assassination -- is the only thing that isn't based in fact. The last line of Lumet's audio commentary?

"But I think it's still to come. I wouldn't be surprised to see it. On one of the reality shows, it'll happen. There will be real death. And it will be shown to you, I promise you."

More good news

I have been waiting for this since I was first stunned into stupor by Network as a high school freshman. Could this be? I thought. Could I have just watched the greatest movie ever made? I have seen it 20 times since, and the question presents itself every time at the end, and every time the answer is "yes." A two-disc special edition (at left) will be released Feb. 28 with long-overdue features.

The current DVD is grossly inadequate, with its crappy sound transfer, a banal trivia game that looks like it was assembled by a chimp, and intentional noisy static between menu options.

The special edition looks well-rounded. There is a six-part making-of documentary, a feature on über-screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky, and what looks like an appreciation by Walter Cronkite. But the crown jewel of the set will no doubt be director Sidney Lumet's audio commentary. Lumet is a wonderful human being and a precise and passionate artist -- you need only read his Making Movies, or remember his honorary Oscar speech from last year, or listen to his superb audio commentary for The Verdict to know how deep and wide his reserve of talent and humanity is. Meanwhile, I'm directing a frown at Faye Dunaway, for whom I've maintained respect and who no doubt was approached to do commentary, but didn't.

A final message to Warner Bros.: Thank you for doing this before Lumet kicks it. Now please do a special edition for Bonnie & Clyde, whose current DVD is also a wasteland. The creative team for B&C is 100 percent not dead: director Arthur Penn, writer Robert Benton, editor Dede Allen, and actors Warren Beatty, Dunaway, Gene Hackman, Michael J. Pollard, and Estelle Parsons. Get on it.

Mad anchormen, mad mathematicians, mad fathers

1. George Clooney is planning a live television remake of Network for CBS next fall. This was bound to happen. Can't deny it. I finished freaking out and have now settled into mixed feelings. Network can stand by itself today, just as it did in 1976, and there is no reason for a remake.

But a remake might bring the original film the contemporary audience it deserves, and I trust Clooney. He's a matinee idol, but he has a keen business and artistic sense. His track record as a producer is impressive and unconcerned with trifles (see Far from Heaven, Insomnia). I'm interested to see how he will adrenalize the 1976 story, because today's audience is just as numb as Network said it would be. Doing it live will hopefully electrify the proceedings. I hope Clooney asks Sidney Lumet, the original director, to do it again. After all, Lumet got his start in live television. Could be the broadcast event of the year. Dream cast? Brian Cox as Howard Beale (the Peter Finch role), Jeff Bridges as Max Schumacher (the William Holden), Diane Lane as Diana Christensen (the Faye Dunaway), Faye Dunaway as Louise Schumacher (the Beatrice Straight). I'd greenlight that in an instant.

2. Proof is a gorgeous, thrilling movie. I haven't been sold on Gwyneth Paltrow and Hope Davis until now. They give the performances of their careers. My companion loathed the movie, though, so buyer beware. In other news, I'm still not sold on Jake Gyllenhaal.

3. Nicolas Cage named his newborn son Kal-el, Superman's Kryptonic nomen. In a galaxy of lame celebrity mini-stunts, I think this one is kind of cool. I hope Cage makes the boy call him Jor-el.

Dear Paul Thomas Anderson:

Most people know of my distate for your films.

They're virtuosic, yes, but self-conscious and indulgent in an irritating way. Boogie Nights and Magnolia are heaving Hindenbergs, pumped up with every maverick technique possible. What comes across from your movies is you. When I watch Punch-Drunk Love, I see you grinning, not two people falling in love.

Maybe I'm just jealous. You're young, talented, making films that people think are important and lasting. You're also shadowing Robert Altman as the master directs Prairie Home Companion; it's your job to pinch hit if the 80-year-old Altman croaks. Not a bad gig. And people call you by your initials, for chrissakes. PTA.

So, to re-acquaint myself with you, I checked your trivia on IMDb.

Your favorite movie of all time is Network.

My initial action was one of anger, and retaliation. "No, you bastard, that's mine" or "What the hell do you know about Network?" But it must mean something, right? If your favorite movie is Network and my favorite is Network, don't we have some common ground on which to build a long and sustaining director-viewer relationship?

I thought about it. Network has a big cast. It's angry, in-your-face, symphonic. It aims high. Kind of like your movies. Maybe. It pains me to even write that. Don't get me wrong: Sidney Lumet is a far superior (and older, for that matter) director. Lumet did not get in the way of Network like you do with your films. Network is genius. Magnolia is cocksmanship. But their components are similar. It's just the execution that separates them.

So where does that leave us, PTA? Will I go back and watch your movies again? Will your style eventually serve the film instead of yourself? Who's to say. Probably not. But I will take some measure of comfort in the fact that you appear to appreciate Network as much as I do. You can't be all bad.

Yours, grudgingly,
J.J.


Get away from her, you bitch!