David O'ConnellOliver Stone's Talk Radio
May 26th 2008 06:16
This searing, compelling film sits unobtrusively amongst many much more famous works in the Oliver Stone canon which have achieved much wider recognition, but it has long been my favourite of his, as memorable today – watching it for the 4th or 5th time – as it was back in the year of its release -1988.
Talk Radio is about four days in the life of late-night Dallas ‘shock-jock’ Barry Champlain (Eric Bogosian), who doesn’t merely inhabit, but rather assaults the airwaves and his listening legions with his vociferous, caustic views on every topic - sensitive, mundane or otherwise - under the sun. No subject matter is untouchable for Champlain as he provocatively stirs the deep-seated love, devotion, and hatred of his listeners who represent every cross-section of society's insomniacs and night owls. They threaten him, accuse him of racism, prejudice, homosexuality and crimes against humanity but he skillfully spits it all back in their faces - with more than a few sarcastic barbs attached.
We first meet him on a Friday night show as his program is being targeted for nationwide syndication by a huge, nameless corporation he is very cynical towards. Alec Baldwin is Dan, his station manager and mentor who is also exerting some of this pressure. John C. McGinley is his laid-back panel operator Stu, whilst Leslie Hope is Laura, his producer who he is also sleeping with, the latest in a long line of woman to have filled these dual roles it seems!
Talk Radio’s screenplay was co-written by Bogosian and Stone but is based on a successful play written by Bogosian himself and Tad Savinar which was nominated for a Pulitzer prize. The play in turn drew some inspiration from the real-life case of Denver shock-jock Alan Berg in the early 1980’s as told in a book by Stephen Singular.
The film is basically divided into 3 sections: the Friday night program in the first half an hour, and the Monday night program over the last 50 minutes. In between we see some flashbacks of Champlain's start in radio as he meets a famous broadcaster through a friend whilst working as a suit salesman in a department store. (Can anyone look at Barry’s hair in these flashbacks and not laugh??!!??)
His wife at the time, Ellen (Ellen Greene) is very supportive of him but their marriage soon dissolves under the weight of Barry’s meteoric rise to fame. In the present, over the weekend, we see her returning to Dallas in support of his huge break onto nationwide airwaves and a larger audience. This gets delayed by bureaucratic red tape - as he learns just before going to air - but clearly they both still have feelings for one another and when, during the course of the program - with Barry floundering - Ellen tentatively tries to ignite their unspoken feelings, he brushes them off derisively, entrenched in the depths of his sometimes callous talk-show persona.
One of Stone’s greatest achievements is the dexterity with which he creatively maneuvers us around the confines of the studio, and anyone familiar with the work of cinematographer Robert Richardson – a regular Stone collaborator over many years who has also worked with Martin Scorsese – won’t be surprised by the quality of visual invention on display here. Having three-quarters of your film inside a claustrophobic radio studio would seem a daunting prospect but these remarkable artists make it constantly interesting with their subtly complex and fluid approach. There’s a perfect dark undercurrent in Stewart Copeland’s atonal score as well which adds to the unease and tension.
Bogosian is simply unforgettable in a role that he owns and was clearly born to play. The supporting players are fine, including a brilliant and humourous supporting performance by Michael Wincott as Kent, a regular caller who Barry recklessly invites into the studio as a guest to see him at work on the Monday night program.
But this is essentially a one-man show and Bogosian gives an electric interpretation as the vitriolic and outspoken, but deeply troubled talk radio host. A man who slowly becomes frustrated and, finally, tortured by the inarticulate, parasitic masses who are the basis of his existence and who he needs just as much in return to survive, to maintain his identity.
The final section of the film, which plays out as one elongated scene, is a tour-de-force of acting and directing as Barry’s seven years on the Dallas airwaves reaches an enraged, blistering boiling point. The coda is equally memorable and shocking, before the ironic closing credits roll by.
It’s hard to forget Talk Radio. Of course I’m not likely to, I’ve seen it so many times – not a bad thing at all! - and it’s something I’m still compelled to return to every few years, a glittering jewel amongst Oliver Stone’s monumental, award-winning body of work.
An instant classic and a film I love to death.
(Interestingly the play was revived for a 3 month stint on Broadway just last year with Liev Schreiber in the lead role and it was very well-received, being seen as just as relevant 20 years after its debut).
Talk Radio is about four days in the life of late-night Dallas ‘shock-jock’ Barry Champlain (Eric Bogosian), who doesn’t merely inhabit, but rather assaults the airwaves and his listening legions with his vociferous, caustic views on every topic - sensitive, mundane or otherwise - under the sun. No subject matter is untouchable for Champlain as he provocatively stirs the deep-seated love, devotion, and hatred of his listeners who represent every cross-section of society's insomniacs and night owls. They threaten him, accuse him of racism, prejudice, homosexuality and crimes against humanity but he skillfully spits it all back in their faces - with more than a few sarcastic barbs attached.
We first meet him on a Friday night show as his program is being targeted for nationwide syndication by a huge, nameless corporation he is very cynical towards. Alec Baldwin is Dan, his station manager and mentor who is also exerting some of this pressure. John C. McGinley is his laid-back panel operator Stu, whilst Leslie Hope is Laura, his producer who he is also sleeping with, the latest in a long line of woman to have filled these dual roles it seems!
The film is basically divided into 3 sections: the Friday night program in the first half an hour, and the Monday night program over the last 50 minutes. In between we see some flashbacks of Champlain's start in radio as he meets a famous broadcaster through a friend whilst working as a suit salesman in a department store. (Can anyone look at Barry’s hair in these flashbacks and not laugh??!!??)
His wife at the time, Ellen (Ellen Greene) is very supportive of him but their marriage soon dissolves under the weight of Barry’s meteoric rise to fame. In the present, over the weekend, we see her returning to Dallas in support of his huge break onto nationwide airwaves and a larger audience. This gets delayed by bureaucratic red tape - as he learns just before going to air - but clearly they both still have feelings for one another and when, during the course of the program - with Barry floundering - Ellen tentatively tries to ignite their unspoken feelings, he brushes them off derisively, entrenched in the depths of his sometimes callous talk-show persona.
One of Stone’s greatest achievements is the dexterity with which he creatively maneuvers us around the confines of the studio, and anyone familiar with the work of cinematographer Robert Richardson – a regular Stone collaborator over many years who has also worked with Martin Scorsese – won’t be surprised by the quality of visual invention on display here. Having three-quarters of your film inside a claustrophobic radio studio would seem a daunting prospect but these remarkable artists make it constantly interesting with their subtly complex and fluid approach. There’s a perfect dark undercurrent in Stewart Copeland’s atonal score as well which adds to the unease and tension.
Bogosian is simply unforgettable in a role that he owns and was clearly born to play. The supporting players are fine, including a brilliant and humourous supporting performance by Michael Wincott as Kent, a regular caller who Barry recklessly invites into the studio as a guest to see him at work on the Monday night program.
But this is essentially a one-man show and Bogosian gives an electric interpretation as the vitriolic and outspoken, but deeply troubled talk radio host. A man who slowly becomes frustrated and, finally, tortured by the inarticulate, parasitic masses who are the basis of his existence and who he needs just as much in return to survive, to maintain his identity.
The final section of the film, which plays out as one elongated scene, is a tour-de-force of acting and directing as Barry’s seven years on the Dallas airwaves reaches an enraged, blistering boiling point. The coda is equally memorable and shocking, before the ironic closing credits roll by.
It’s hard to forget Talk Radio. Of course I’m not likely to, I’ve seen it so many times – not a bad thing at all! - and it’s something I’m still compelled to return to every few years, a glittering jewel amongst Oliver Stone’s monumental, award-winning body of work.
An instant classic and a film I love to death.
(Interestingly the play was revived for a 3 month stint on Broadway just last year with Liev Schreiber in the lead role and it was very well-received, being seen as just as relevant 20 years after its debut).
Bogosian today in Law and Order Criminal Intent
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