The most effective scene in James Vanderbilt's brisk, outraged Truth is one that will be familiar to anyone who has ever sat in a room where editors and reporters are breaking down an investigative story. The reporters — here, 60 Minutes researchers played by Dennis Quaid, Elisabeth Moss, and Topher Grace — lay out what they know and what they suspect. In this case: that George W. Bush pulled son-of-privilege strings to duck Vietnam for National Guard pilot training he wasn't an ideal candidate for, and that even then, the president-to-be didn't much bother with showing up, at one point knocking off for months to join a political campaign. One of the eager researchers sells the story's nut with awed exuberance: The president of the United States went AWOL.
Getting everyone to prove what they know? That's the wearying job of the editor, in this
The scene is tense and exciting, well-observed and nerve-racking, full of the pleasures of watching a team learn to work together and attack problems, the dread of knowing how they will fail, and the what-if momentousness of how history might have worked out differently. They're meeting in 2004, in the months before the reelection of that erstwhile fighter pilot. The question isn't just "Could they have upended the election?" It's also "Are they trying to?" And: "Is that something journalists should be doing?"
That last question is a yes, of course, and Truth deserves credit for knowing it — for not pretending its job is to honor what
The team knows what it needs to get to prove the things it believes it knows, and Vanderbilt soon gives us a spirited montage of Moss reading the names of potential sources and of reporters making phone calls and getting what sounds like a series of coordinated run-arounds. This unflashy film's most recurrent image is a black landline on a black counter ringing someplace in Texas, always to be answered by the slow clunk and whir of an answering machine. Mapes and her team find themselves facing the terrible dilemma journalists face every day: the elusiveness of corroboration.
The network trusts Mapes, but it wants the story sooner rather than later — not because it's out to pillory Bush but because 60 Minutes will be preempted two weeks early in the fall, and the brass doesn't want to look like part of an "October Surprise."
The investigation at last uncovers what appears to be a batch of Holy Grail documents in which the late Lt. Col. Jerry B. Killian criticized Bush's attendance and performance.
The highest drama in Truth comes midway through: We witness, in quick but painful detail, the small mistakes and somewhat understandable bad calls that led CBS to air these memos as authentic. Vanderbilt, the screenwriter of Zodiac, here making his debut as a director, masters the heady pulse of high-end, high-stakes journalism. The film zips by, right up until Mapes' piece finally airs, anchored by Rather on 60 Minutes II, and everything sinks beneath bathetic orchestral mush (daubed with Enya-like vocalizing) as we see the faces of the nation watching the report at home.
Blanchett plays Mapes as proud, keyed-up, and somewhat jangled — in the opening scene, she still seems to be embodying Woody Allen's blue Jasmine. She's best in scenes where she's working toward some solution or commiserating with Robert Redford's Rather, the only character or actor here beside whom she doesn't read as a bit too "movie star." Glimpses of Mapes at home, with her son and husband, don't have the same lived-in quality of the rest of the film, and the script's stabs at a psychological backstory are reductive embarrassments, both in writing and performance.
The collapse of Mapes' reporting is slow and painful. There's much speechifying: Grace gets a Network-style humdinger about unchecked corporate power; Quaid muses over beers about how most reporters now report only on what other reporters have said; Redford's Rather starts a phone call to Mapes with a disquisition on the history of profit in network news. (That's in lieu of a "hello.") Vanderbilt gives the best to Blanchett, who mounts a seething defense of the documents' authenticity before a closed-door committee investigating the case.
In the story, it's to no avail. Eventually, of course, she is fired, Rather is forced into retirement — and Bush is reelected. The final moments suggest it was Bush's team that pushed for Rather's ouster and that at the very least, the content of the memos was in the ballpark of truth. But the movie, which has been well-vetted by legal teams and was not slapped together in a rush, never presents as unimpeachable truth what it hasn't nailed down.
Starring Cate Blanchett, Robert Redford, Topher Grace, Elisabeth Moss, Bruce Greenwood, Stacy Keach, John Benjamin Hickey, Dermot Mulroney, and Dennis Quaid. Written and directed by James Vanderbilt. Based on a book by Mary Mapes. 121 minutes. Rated R. Opens Friday, October 30, at the Classic Gateway Theatre (1820 E. Sunrise Blvd., Fort Lauderdale; 954-763-7994; thegatewaytheatre.com), Living Room Theaters (FAU Main Campus, 777 Glades Road, Boca Raton; 561-549-2600; fau.livingroomtheaters.com), Movies of Delray (7421 W. Atlantic Ave., Delray Beach; 561-638-0020; moviesofdelray.com), and Movies of Lake Worth (7380 Lake Worth Road, Lake Worth; 561-968-4545; moviesofdelray.com).