On June 20, 1972, just three days after the Watergate break-in, President Richard Nixon and his Chief of Staff H.R. Haldeman had a conversation that was, like nearly every other conversation the notoriously paranoid president engaged in, recorded as a part of what would later be called the White House Tapes. What was special about this conversation, and fascinates historians to this day, is an 18.5-minute gap that was mysteriously erased from the tapes. Director Dan Mirvish and writer Daniel Moya’s difficult-to-classify new film 18½ hypothesizes what may be hidden in that gap, but its interests lie more in examining the paranoia, malaise, and absurdity of American culture in the Watergate era.
Connie Lashley (Willa Fitzgerald) is a government transcriptionist who spends most of her time listening to boring budget meetings. One day, she stumbles upon a tape containing the mythical 18.5 minutes, and she enlists the help of reporter Paul Marrow (John Magaro) to expose the Nixon administration’s bumbling cover-up. They head to an off-season resort to listen to the tape away from prying eyes (or ears), but when Paul’s reel-to-reel player breaks, they must find a new one. Posing as a newlywed couple, they seek help from the resort’s other residents — namely a hippie group preaching revolution and an amorous older couple — and their quest soon takes a surprising turn.
18½ straddles genres, working simultaneously as offbeat historical fiction, drama, thriller, and comedy, with a slight bend toward satire. I say “slight” because this point in American history is already so ridiculous that it almost feels satire-proof. The hippie revolutionaries — Barry (the magnetic Sullivan Jones), Daisy (Alanna Saunders), and Daffodil (Claire Saunders) — ceremonially burn Wonder Bread as a way of divorcing themselves from the capitalist hegemony of the forces linking American business, wealth, and politics. “You can’t spell ‘vitamin’ without ‘Vietnam’!” one of them says, finding truth in a hilariously untrue maxim. Indeed, Wonder Bread recurs throughout the film as an absurdist reminder of the sinister Americana that we all take for granted without examining further; it emerges as part of a vast conspiracy of which Watergate is only a small portion.
Though 18½ is not a heavy film, that sense of paranoia hangs over every frame. The contrast between Connie and Paul, who are jumpy and constantly looking over their shoulders, and the garrulous innkeeper Jack (Richard Kind, in a scene-stealing role) is a hilarious highlight of the film. When Connie and Paul are on their own, however, 18½ turns into a conspiracy thriller, and that’s where Elle Schneider’s cinematography truly shines. When Connie gives an emotional speech about her reasons for being so committed to bringing Nixon down, the camera begins a slow, claustrophobic zoom from a voyeuristic wide shot to a close-up of Paul and Connie’s intense conversation. The audience is so wrapped up in Willa Fitzgerald’s impassioned performance that they don’t even notice the walls closing in on the characters. But then they suddenly turn toward the camera, keenly aware of how exposed they are. That sudden, simultaneous turn snaps the viewer’s mind back into focus as they realize the danger Paul and Connie are in. It’s a stunning moment, surpassed only by the deliciously tense and voyeuristic sequence when Paul and Connie finally listen to the tape.
Still in need of a reel-to-reel player, Paul and Connie are forced to endure a hilariously awkward dinner with Lena (Catherine Curtin) and Samuel (Vondie Curtis-Hall). Curtis-Hall is tremendous as always, giving the playful but piercingly perceptive Samuel a lifetime of wisdom and joie de vivre. Curtin pushes her character the furthest over the top in the whole film, turning Lena into a purring, prowling eccentric, but her performance works perfectly with Curtis-Hall’s gentler, more grounded presence. The strange mix of justifiably cynical political discussion and slightly predatory sexual tension is the perfect transition between the script’s farcical elements and its darker themes. Lena and Samuel provide Paul and Connie with the much-needed tape player, and when the “newlyweds” finally return to their room to listen to it, 18½ hits its paranoid climax.
In addition to its stunning cinematography and fascinating script, 18½ has excellent performances across the board, including the vocal performances on the infamous tape itself. Jon Cryer plays Haldeman as the president’s deadpan handler, and Ted Raimi is Alexander Haig, setting up a thrilling and not entirely incongruous Evil Dead reunion. Horror legend Bruce Campbell plays Nixon, digging into the president’s infamously paranoid and profane persona but never veering for one second into parody. Campbell’s Nixon is frustratingly out of the loop and exasperated most of the time, yet determined to sweep anything and everything under the rug as quickly as possible, emphasizing just how strange and convoluted the links are between the levers of American power. Corruption is never just about one person; where there is rot, it is all-encompassing, staining (and stemming from) the least expected places.
The combination of the film’s limited location and cast with the high stakes of its plot makes for an electric atmosphere, one that allows the film to explore the effect of the Watergate scandal on average Americans. Though the specter of the Nixon administration looms large over the story, we never see the famous players’ faces. We only ever see normal, everyday people: diner waitresses, hippies who want to opt out of the system, transcriptionists who struggle to get anyone to listen to them, and random people who never want to hear the word “Watergate” again. The way that money, power, and corruption affect the people who rank so low in society — and the way that distrust in institutions and paranoia over ulterior motives bleed into mundane interactions — shows just how much that political rot poisons the entire country. The perverse intertwining of corporations, government, and unhinged men in power is so ridiculous that it would make the entire American endeavor hilarious if it weren’t so depressing (or infuriating). And it is with this bizarre duality that 18½ finds itself so fascinated. Steadfastly refusing to choose just one genre, but maintaining a compelling and unique tone throughout, 18½ captures just how ludicrous and doomed America truly is.
