Judging from his
unexpectedly flattering performance as a Dubya doppelgänger in American
Dreamz, Dennis
Quaid can expect a Christmas card from the White House this year, if not a
Pepperidge Farm gift bag and possibly even his own affectionate nickname from
the President. (Denny Boy? Handsome Guy?) American Dreamz is billed as a satire, but
it's the curious kind of satire that makes its ostensible target seem deeper
and more impressive than he actually is. Quaid's President is a kindhearted
though dim-witted man-child far more prone to humility, introspection, and
anguished soul-searching than his real-life counterpart seems. Writer-director
Paul Weitz even suggests that if he could only free himself from the meddling
influence of sinister Iagos like Willem Dafoe (playing a thinly fictionalized
version of Karl Rove), he'd be an even more engaged, compassionate leader.
From scheming pop stars to
bumbling Presidents to warmhearted aspiring terrorists, everyone gets off easy
in American Dreamz. Weitz's featherweight fantasia on national themes casts Quaid
as a depressed President who gets booked on an American Idol-like singing contest in
an attempt to improve his image and counter rumors of a nervous breakdown.
Mandy Moore co-stars as a Britney Spears/Kelly Clarkson amalgam whose down-home
persona masks an abundance of guile and ruthless ambition. Newcomer Sam Golzari
plays Moore's principal competition, a loveable would-be terrorist trying to
reconcile his fierce hatred of America with his earnest love of American show
tunes.
Weitz has a winning way
with a one-liner, and he's recruited a stellar cast that gets the most out of
his material. But American Dreamz is diverting without being particularly
compelling, and amusing without being terribly funny. As with his last movie, In
Good Company, Weitz
seems stuck in a strange limbo between scathing satire and character-based
comedy. Characters are developed with more layers than expected, like Hugh
Grant's vaguely self-loathing judge/host/all-around smoothie, but not with
enough depth that they transcend caricature altogether. Weitz seems to want to
deliver parody with a happy face, but his film's soft heart is incompatible
with the deadpan sting of penetrating satire. Even the "dark" final plot twist
feels glib, little more than a dim echo of Taxi Driver's ironic coda. Great
satires draw blood. American Dreamz barely nicks the surface.