All the President's Men - 1976
Directed by Alan J. Pakula
Written by William Goldman
Based on a book by Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein
Starring Robert Redford & Dustin Hoffman
It was the decade of paranoia that came after the decade of revolution, a decade of cynicism, corruption and the end of any innocence that may have remained after the traumas in the 1960s that ended the optimism of the post-World War II world and triumph of good over evil. Now evil wasn't goose stepping in a loud and extravagant way in Nuremberg - it was instead whispering in hushed tones in the halls of power, where paper bags stuffed with cash were quietly changing hands. Richard Nixon had seemingly wrecked the presidency - a once trusted and venerated position that was revealed in secret tapes to be nothing more than a seat for foul-mouthed tirades and utterly corrupt practices. It was the decade of Alan J. Pakula's "paranoia trilogy" - which consisted of
Klute,
The Parallax View and his portrait of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein :
All the President's Men. Optimistically, Pakula and co-producer Robert Redford would not focus on Richard Nixon and his dirty dealings but would instead venerate the newspaper reporter - the warrior who stood against the evil whispering in the quiet halls. Those who would shine a light to hopefully lead everyone out of this wilderness.
I swear you can smell the ink as the typewriters go clickety clack in the busy recreation of the Washington Post's newsroom. Cinematographer Gordon Willis bathes it in brilliant fluorescent light, as per direction. Light illuminates truth, and many scenes in Washington, especially those where Woodward meets source Deep Throat in a tiered car park, are as dark as you can get. Willis was not only used on all of Pakula's paranoia trilogy films but also the
Godfather films and many of Woody Allen's best pictures - he knows what he's doing. Our two reporters are framed as to be absolutely tiny beneath symbolic concrete monsters in Washington - real Davids to our presidential Goliath, and in one glorious shot Robert Redford is not only dwarfed by his surroundings but utterly alone. There is also a lot going on at times - and Hoffman and Redford rarely react, such is their laser focus as Woodward and Bernstein. One long shot gives us a clear depiction of what is going on in the background, all while Redford keeps going with his telephone - all alone, digging, prying, questioning - desperate not to let the fish get away. Holding on. Knowing a word here or there could be vital. A battleground of the mind.
What Pakula and Redford were hoping to capture is most evident early on, in a scene where the Watergate burglars are being brought before a judge. Redford as Woodward zeroes in on a conspicuously well-dressed individual (Douglas Caddy) that at first tries to brush him off. Woodward finds him again, and insists on knowing more. Caddy continues to resist but Woodward keeps on coming back, knowing that there's much more here to find out - and that his persistence will be one of his best weapons as an investigative reporter. This persistence will be showcased again and again, in person and on the telephone. Bernstein has tricks up his sleeve also, as he manages to outwit the secretary of an investigator in Miami (Dardis - played by Ned Beatty) in order to get past her and reach his goal for one small piece of crucial information. Producer Walter Coblenz in conjunction with Redford and Pakula want to show us how these two young reporters, and many of their ilk, don't just stumble into or get given the stories that are essential for people in democracies to know. The legwork and insistence of Woodward and Berstein are put on full display in
All the President's Men - and are never put aside. We're shown that they never rest. Day and night they follow this story and it seems they hardly even stop to sleep, though we catch them quickly getting a bite to eat in fast food restaurants (while working on the story of course.)
The score, barely intrudes. In fact, much of the film continues without a score or with one so unobtrusive as to be barely audible. Composer David Shire, who I remember from
Zodiac (he also, very appropriately, scored
The Conversation,) was very unhappy about that as Redford recalls, as his imprint on the film was mainly from his absence, but it makes his subtle entry during certain parts much more noticeable. In any case, the music of
All the President's Men comes from instruments such as the typewriter, the teletype machine, telephone and television - all working away in that brightly lit room. The television has a special place in the film, that of a contrast to newspapers. We hear the government line - non-denial denials, put-downs and lies coming from televisions while Woodward and Berstein work at finding the truth. As Woodward concentrates on listening to sources, we see people gathering around televisions. As Nixon gives his second oath of office on a television, our two intrepid reporters work on in the background. There is always that distinction being made between television and newsprint - perhaps something even more relevant today considering how the internet has further degraded the information we recieve.
William Goldman's adapted screenplay won an Oscar, and it's all the more a shame that there is so much debate today on how much of the finished product really came from Goldman and how much from Redford or other sources. Redford wasn't happy with Goldman's script, and Berstein himself along with Nora Ephron are said to have tried their hand at writing one. Pakula and Redford were to claim that they made so many changes during filming that they were the principle authors, but over time evidence has piled up to suggest Goldman was deserving of his Oscar and that virtually all of
All the President's Men comes from the work he did. Excellent work at that. Jason Robard's stern and somewhat paternal portrayal of the Washington Post's Executive Editor Ben Bradlee won him a Best Supporting Actor Oscar as well. He does provide a strong presence that backs up the brave but young and sometimes naďve reporters he oversees, and it's his strength at the end that provides the backbone to everything our young protagonists have been spearheading.
The rest is provided by Washington itself - the structures, architecture and monoliths of power that dwarf our heroes. The courtroom scenes were filmed in a real courtroom. The Washington Post set was reconstructed in a way only a perfectionist could accomplish - the places that provided the desks and the very manufacturers of the wastepaper baskets were contacted and duly provided the production with the same products they supplied the real Washington Post. Set designers George Jenkins and George Gaines were rewarded with an Oscar nomination for their work. The Library of Congress provided an impressive enough place for Willis to take Bernstein and Woodward, searching through an innumerable amount of library cards for Howard Hunt's name, and pull back and pull back towards the ceiling once again leaving us in no doubt just how small these people are compared with power and Washington (you could almost say
history) itself. Places like that seem almost made for shots of that caliber. No stone was left unturned when it came to making this a production of the highest order, and technical aspects rose to the first rate acting, screenwriting and direction that brought the investigative journalism that uncovered Watergate to life.
In the end there was no need for embellishment and thankfully that was recognized. There are no love stories, or car chases or fights. Nobody screams and nobody cries. In fact, Goldman saw straight away that for the sake of this film's structure, the second half of Woodward and Berstein's book shouldn't be covered at all. What we get are all the events that lead up to that first domino falling - the point of no return for both the investigators and the investigated. Once White House Chief of Staff Haldeman is definitively connected to the growing scandal the film ends - and each succeeding domino - each event that led to further revelations up to and including the first ever resignation of a President of the United States is simply communicated to the audience in a series of teletype press announcements. It's a novel substitution for simple text overlaid onscreen as a coda. For some, perhaps, this is an anti-climax or leaves us feeling unfulfilled, but it works for the movie as a whole. This was never about what Nixon or his staff did - it was about how the reporters at the Washington Post uncovered the truth, and it is what the film sticks to doggedly. When we leave Woodward and Bernstein, they're still at their desks, working away at the story. They're still at their posts.
All the President's Men is a great detective story full stop. It shows us the power the telephone and the typewriter had in the 1970s, and the power small people can wield if they're persistent and inquisitive enough. In that sense it's far more than just a history lesson about Watergate - it's telling us something that's universal and something that is hopefully still true to this day. Two young reporters (Woodward had only been a reporter for 9 months) - alone for the most part - eventually brought down the most powerful person in the United States. Their weapons were their minds, and (despite how corny it sounds) the truth. No matter how many times they were stonewalled, or how many times their assertions were denied on television, they stood behind the journalism they were doing and their integrity. Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman successfully brought their story to life and Walter Coblenz with Redford brought to the screen one of the greatest stories of the 20th Century in a compelling and interesting way. As far as journalism goes, it's an unequalled tale that will be forever linked to this 1976 film.