Ron Howard is a competent director who has never truly managed to engage with his medium seriously enough to deliver a work that can stand on its own feet without needing clichéd clothing (such as moralistic endings or technical achievements in special effects). There is always something in his productions that remind one of a textbook Hollywood film, which requires structural storytelling that ultimately leads to a cinematic reward for the audience – that ‘feel good’ factor. So, Sandra Hebron’s choice to open The Times BFI 52nd London Film Festival with Howard’s latest work seemed somehow courageous, given the excellent quality of opening galas in the recent years. Fortunately, Frost/Nixon is the director’s first moment of glory.

Based on the play by Peter Morgan, which premiered at Donmar Warehouse theatre in London in August 2006, with Michael Sheen as Frost and Frank Langella as Nixon, the film brings together the two leading men into a setting that seems more appropriate for the text. Through the cinematic medium, Frost/Nixon is enhanced by the fact that the key debate gains momentum, bringing a proximity to the audience that could have been experienced only by the TV-watching public in 1977, when Nixon finally managed to accept ‘responsibility’ for Watergate. 

David Frost started as a British talk-show entertainer, who tried his luck in the UK (experiencing moderate success), Australia and the USA (where he was welcomed by critics, but not TV producers). As a man who worked in television, he understood the medium’s power to relate to the everyday man. Entertainment was key, the simplicity of delivery was a mandatory companion. And then there is the TV shot, small by definition, yet grand through the insistence on close-up. It is no wonder Frost found the idea of an interview with the first American president forced to resign the office so compelling. His subject was the catalyst for a loss of values in the democratic process of the most powerful country in the world. The man jeopardised the entire system through a crime he refused to admit being guilty of, and got away with a pardon for all his actions by the president who replaced him. For Frost this was entertainment, as it gave him a chance to play a cat and mouse game in close-up. All he had to do is to prove he was capable of catching the mouse. He just needed to make Nixon admit that he was the man behind the Watergate scandal. The revenues would become phenomenal if he succeeded, but the effects could become fatal if he lost it, given the personal financial investment of circa $2,000,000.

What Frost did not do was size up his competitor before the fight. Richard Nixon did resign office in a historic failure, yet he was able to escape any form of prosecution in style. He was not some phoney, deluded old man, but a sharp, charismatic, and intelligent politician. Who was Frost, of all the judges, prosecutors, political journalists, to expect a confession, even if he had to pay $600,000 for it?

Howard sets out the dynamics of the Frost/Nixon ring early enough for us to identify which of the two has the upper hand. By the time we reach the first day of the interview, we are not surprised to see Nixon manoeuvring the conversation in such a way that the British presenter is barely given any chance to pose a question in the first place, never mind being able to challenge any of the answers. It is no surprise to anyone but Frost that the interviewee proves himself to be one of the most cunning politicians of the time, able to change the course of history, and therefore more than capable of crushing a talk-show presenter.

So, how does the confession actually happen? Morgan’s script smartly includes an ambiguous off-the-record phone conversation that gives us an insight into the characters’ strategies better than any taped scene would have been able to do. Is Nixon’s call a manipulative attempt to unsettle, frighten the interviewer, or does it come from some deeper recognition of truth, triggered by the burden of carrying it? And in terms of the film itself, is this device merely a vehicle for the plot’s dénouement, or is this the last piece that naturally completes a character study puzzle? The latter is arguably the best way of interpreting it. Frost, by giving the former president the upper hand in all the filming dates prior to the last one, has managed to put his subject in his comfort zone. His background in lifestyle talk-shows is key to achieving this. Thus, it is quite believable to expect a momentary weakness in Nixon that allows him to share more easily the rationale that drives his political instincts.

Langella’s excellent performance as Nixon gives us an unsettling perspective on the scandal. Nixon’s failure lay in the fact that he was unable to voice early enough his strong personal conviction about what presidential power really means. His act was political, albeit not entirely legal, rather than corrupt. This does not exonerate his crime, but it permits us to see the consequence a misplaced (ideological) belief can have even on the strongest of the politicians. What is important is that through admitting that ‘When the president does it, it is not illegal!’ Nixon regains his human integrity. Frost wins the battle, but the battle belonged entirely to the president who was unable to separate political conviction from legal responsibility to the system he was representing.

Frost/Nixon comes at an important point in American politics. By making a film about the failure of a Republican president, Ron Howard, a Democrat, is engaging up close and personal more with the current administration than that of Nixon. The release of the film in the United States on 5 of December seems like a plea for an evaluation of the Bush leadership in the last eight years.

Nixon had wars and made serious mistakes that were unveiled in time for action to be taken against him. But what about Bush? Having started off his presidency with an electoral controversy, having launched two wars, Bush is leaving the White House without a scandal. We can almost hear Howard’s outcry: how could this have happened? The message is subtly pessimistic. Nixon was an intelligent politician, capable of rationalising his own failures, so his confession allowed for the rehabilitation of belief in American government. Could a post-Bush administration find meaningful evidence that would allow us to put Bush on a similar trial? The answer is arguably no. And even if it is found, would a confession of failure actually make a difference? The aftertaste we are left with is a bitter one.