Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

by Shari L. Rosenblum

"But since my name is to live, it is my duty to endeavor to transmit with it to posterity the remembrance of the unfortunate man by whom it was borne, such as he really was, and not such as his unjust enemies incessantly endeavored to describe him." --
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Confessions, Book VIII

In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche affirms that "whoever despises himself still respects himself as one who despises." Quoted late in Chuck Barris's Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, translated for film by George Clooney from the screenplay by the suddenly ubiquitous Charlie Kaufman, the aphorism perfectly captures the duality of self-loathing cum self-adoration that is the paradox of the modern confessional. The confesser reveals himself in his darkest sins so as to be better loved, siding with the judges against himself so that they will embrace him in forgiveness. The more bad he can say about himself -- even if he has to invent it -- the more he feels himself worthy of the task. Confessers have been known to concoct extraordinary fictions of their own evils to hide from the world how ordinary they fear they are. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, father of the earth-bound literary confession, conveyed this split in the writing personality by subtitling his account of himself "Rousseau Judge of Jean-Jacques" (and invented -- or so the story goes -- five illegitimate children, so that he could confess to having abandoned them). Barris does so by tongue-in-cheek dissociation: he subtitles his self-exposure an "unauthorized autobiography," and confesses to having cold-bloodedly killed 33 enemies for the CIA during his career as a game show guru for network television.

Creator of The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game and The Gong Show, responsible for the pop hit "Palisades Park," Chuck Barris had his finger on the pulse of the American public -- and was, for that success, reviled and decried as the destroyer of television. Accused of catering to the lowest common denominator, he once offered in defense of himself that he didn't even know what the lowest common denominator was. It's hard to imagine that he did not, at the same moment, determine for himself that he'd find it before his time ran out.

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, originally published in the 1980s, is not Chuck Barris's only autobiography. In the 70s he published You and Me Babe, a fictional version of his life story that made the NY Times bestseller list (which I actually read at the time, and from which certain scenes have stayed with me). And in the 90s he wrote Game Show King: A Confession. Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is the only Barris autobiography that mentions the CIA gig. And it's almost as if you can see the light bulb appear above his head. That, you see, explains all those odd choices for prize vacations . . .

Appearing as a companion piece to Paul Schrader's Auto Focus, in which the character of Hogan's Heroes star Bob Crane is ploddingly assassinated, and as a counterpoint to Ron Howard's A Beautiful Mind, in which genius mathematician John Nash imagines working for the CIA, the film version of Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is neither as critical nor as celebratory of its subject as either of these. Clooney, in his directorial debut, shows a flare for doubting his source material without mocking it, and controls his sardonic touches so that they bleed into, but never implicate, the teller of the tale.

Not entirely faithful to the questionable source text, Kaufman's script plays up the rift in the personality of its creator. Genius and fool. Blunt with the truth and fanciful fantasist. Slick scoundrel and zhlub (i.e., a geek with poor fashion sense and bad posture). As played by Sam Rockwell, the shifts are believable -- because the extremes aren't all that extreme (the zhlub and the fool apparent even in the slickest of scenes), and because neither is meant to be taken at face value. The film's mock commentary upon its own historical reliability (who knows?) is the filmmakers' cue that they, at least, are in on the writer's joke.

Also clearly in step with Barris's "gong this" revelations are Clooney, in his deadpan role as CIA scout and subject Jim Byrd, and Julia Roberts doing a game show host's image of a latter day Mata Hari, Patricia Wilson. Drew Barrymore's Penny, Barris's sustaining romantic interest, is a world apart. She transforms from proto-hippie to lover to friend and beyond. With her mutating wardrobes (matched by the evolution of the dress and decor in Barris's TV offices) and constant smile, love unconditional, she is an ideal more fantastical than TV success and CIA spydom. Barrymore shines in the role.

Witty critique or cynical mockery, in the end the film lacks the staying power of Barris's personality. Reluctant fans of The Dating Game (among the best bits in the film) and The Gong Show can still remember highlights decades old, but this film may very likely fade rather quickly from memory.

©2003 Shari L. Rosenblum
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