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Jim Carrey starts to wonder if there is more to his life than meets the eye in The Truman Show |
Of course the odd thing today is that I suspect there are
more than a few people out there who would still consider that a decent
pay-off – even if they couldn’t know that they were on television, at least
they would be on it. The Truman Show predated much of the surge of
reality TV that was to come in the 00s, when shows like Big Brother made
putting everyday (at least at first) people into situations and simply watching
what happens became TV gold. Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey) is approaching his 30th
birthday. Little does he know that his entire life he’s been at the centre of
an elaborate TV show and that the hometown he has never left is a giant
self-contained film studio. But as incidents begin to pile up, Truman suddenly
questions his reality – while the show’s cast and production team work to keep
him in ignorance. After all, we can’t let this ratings cash cow die!
With a precise, sharp and intelligent script by Andrew
Niccol, Peter Weir’s film is a triumph. It’s partway between drama and satire,
but never lets the one compromise another. It could have become a lumpen
message film about the intrusion of media into our lives. Instead it’s an acute
satire of TV gone mad, with a very real, sympathetic character who we invest
in. Effectively the movie works on the same premise as the fictional TV show: the
viewers know the world they are seeing is larger than life, but they know the character
of Truman is grounded and true. It works as it bases its satirical attacks
around a heartfelt story of a man (unwittingly at first) on a quest for
freedom.
It’s two horses the film rides extraordinarily well – and
even effectively comments on. Throughout the action we cut to the same regular
joes watching the show: people in a bar, security cops, a pair of old ladies on
a sofa. These people are aware they are watching a show – and watching a man
effectively imprisoned – but have their emotions manipulated with ease, first
by the producers then by the excitement of Truman’s very real quest. As they
gasp and cheer as Truman works his way out of his prison, there is not a shred
of acknowledgement to them that buy ‘booing’ the TV network they should also be
booing themselves for watching in the first place. Instead they treat it just as
another episode of their favourite show, the celebrations as transient and hollow
as their tears of joy as the producers reintroducing Truman’s long-lost father in
an attempt to ‘explain’ the strange circumstances he’s seen.
The Truman Show itself takes place in a perfect,
unintimidating slice of 50’s inspired nostalgia. It’s a perfect picture of
Americana – and its conservatism is itself a satire. Of course the producers
set the show in the most cosy, comforting setting they could imagine. The rose-tinted
past is always something we turn to for comfort viewing (take a look at
the success of Downton Abbey). Alongside that, it’s a world run by
advertising: Truman’s wife frequently stops to deliver scripted adverts,
singing the praises of household products; a pair of old buffers have the job
of pushing Truman up against a different advert hoarding every day; Truman’s
friend Marlon praises their beer with every sip.
And in the sky: we have the studio itself, run by the shows
creator Christof. Superbly played by Ed Harris, as part hipster artist, part
messianic genius (“I am the creator” he tells Truman near the end, his voice
coming through a beam of skylight, adding after a half-beat “of a television
show”), Christof has carefully plotted Truman’s entire life from birth. He
partly sees himself as Truman’s father – but he as much sees Truman as a tool
he can manipulate for his own ends. A hands-on show-runner, Christof believes
himself a genius whose will cannot be questioned. This softly-spoken dictator
is a terrifying insight into what happens when self-appointed artistic geniuses
can explore their ideas with no regard for morality and no restraints.
Truman himself is a charming, sweet, decent fellow – I suppose if nothing else Christof has done a superb job of bringing him up. But his entire life is a manipulated lie. The whole town is full of subconscious messages encouraging him to stay – as is the advice from his wife and best friend. Most cruelly of all, he has been deliberately traumatised into a terror of water by being made to feel responsible as a boy for the drowning of his father. Christof even boasts of his ingenuity in this “plot line” to help insure Truman would be too scared to ever consider leaving his home.
Jim Carrey was a revelation as Truman – Weir was the first
director to refocus his comic mania into something more intimate and true. The
part still makes a lot of hay from Carrey’s rubbery comedic chops – its part of
Truman’s charm – but he matches it with a Jimmy Stewartish decency and
earnestness. As the illusion begins to crack, his bemusement turns to something
between disbelief and anger, but never compromises his humanity. You can see
why billions of people watched him – and also understand why a man so
accommodating and decent has not questioned his life before. Witty, gentle and
human it’s a great performance.
But perhaps the film’s greatest strength is Weir’s sharp,
clear-eyed, largely unobtrusive direction. The film makes nifty use of all the
thousands of cameras contained in Truman’s world – with shots taken from button
cams, CCTV, dashboards and all sorts. Its intermixed with normal camera angles,
but gives us a beautiful sense of Truman’s world, and the TV world coming
together throughout. The pace of the film is perfect and its slow reveal of
information delicately done. Weir’s intercutting between ‘fictional’ and real
world is superbly judged and the film wears its satire very lightly as well
superbly mixing what could have been a dark film of imprisonment and abuse with
a lightness and charm. Above all, it manages to both be a compelling story with
a sympathetic hero and a sharp-pronged criticism of the shallowness of media
and its viewing public.
It might well have been far too ahead of its time when it
was released. It looks smarter and smarter each passing year. Truman’s world is
an Instagram paradise, and with social media we’ve got even more used to
spending our leisure time looking through other people’s lives rather than our
own. It’s all part of what helps make Niccol’s script so sharp and prescient.
Directed superbly by Weir and wonderfully acted – perhaps most of all by Harris’
Warhol turned dictator – it keeps you entertained, invested and leaves you
cheering. Just like the viewers watching Truman being manipulated. Which makes
you realise: is the film attacking its audience as much as anyone else? After
all, we’d all watch this stuff in real life: look at how we rubberneck at
accidents. What’s wrong with us eh?
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