Catharsis

My mom always used to warn her six children that "you can do a hundred things right and I'll never hear about them, but you do one thing wrong -- and I'll know about it before you get home." It was amazing how often she did know -- not about the accomplishments, but about those things that children do that they probably should think about re: consequences. Former President Nixon is seldom remembered for any of the positive contributions his presidency made to the country; instead, his legacy is the one overwhelming wrong, Watergate, and his failure not just to accept responsibility for his part in it, but his refusal to accept the consequences.

The film Frost/Nixon is outstanding, almost a puff piece in a sense, as David Frost comes across as a gadabout, a player who wants the face time on the tube, but who relies on this cuteness, rather than his intellect. His team does the work and he ... sits back and is entertained by former President Nixon. Nixon agrees to four interviews, each with specific parameters, and he easily and skillfully handles the first three, making Frost look like a lightweight in the process.

And then came the (alleged) phone call, the one Nixon made late one night, when he talked about how he and Frost were alike in that no one had high expectations for their accomplishments, so they had to work harder than others to succeed. "We showed the bastards" seemed to be the message Nixon sent to Frost during that phone call, vowing to be well-prepared and aggressive for the last interview, the one that would focus on Watergate.

And then came the final interview, the one where Frost put Nixon into a box and the former President admitted his mistakes, his transgressions, his flauting of presidental practices, but with an attitude of "What I did was wrong, but to err is human, and I am, after all, just human." In my mind's eye, watching the film, Nixon led Frost to that moment so the former President could finally purge himself of the knowledge that yes, he did do it. There, I said it. Now, can we just move on?

There was a pathos in the presentation of the mea culpa, the desolation of a man who was (and remained) persona non grata. No one forgave him: no one. Nor did he ever forgive himself.

I don't know how accurate the presentation is, but the portrayals are excellent and transcend the script, especially, of course, the portrayal of Nixon's arrogance and aquiescence. Frost is a "johnny one note" and Nixon is forever tainted by Watergate, but the film is more than that, a meeting of minds that for all the overt differences share intimate similarities. Frost was his persona, and so, he learned, was Nixon, although both were skilled on the surface at seeming real in whatever role life presented them.

There's a sadness to both men, in spite of the constant smiles they share with the world. Nixon lived out his life in a self-imposed semi-exile, and Frost seemed to rest on his laurels of the one unforgettable -- and almost ungettable -- interview of a lifetime, a direction neither expected life to take after such an historic TV moment. Nixon's catharsis should have been another beginning for both of them, a closing of the door and opening of a window, but it wasn't: it was just the denouement of another chapter in the nation's history.