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In the movie W. the werewolf desperately hides his identity but it comes out all the time. It is a horror movie, a true descendant of the Great Dictator but without the sparkling Chaplin's humor. It is a gloomy Friday The 13th in which we all are and when you leave the theater the feeling of certain desperation covers you: those are the bastards in power?
Aside of the ever- chewing Josh Brolin's W. the next admiration goes to the actress who plays Condi Rice, that ultimate intellectual shadow- slave who does nothing but adoring the Great Pretzel. There are nearly no words in that role but her body language is remarkable. Others also do not have much to say- they just sit around or walk around with the faces which remind us of the coven in the movie Rosemary's Baby. It is an artsy grotesque. It could be called 'Horrors of the White House' or 'The Washington Undead' with the same success.
Werewolves sit in the shadows surrouding the nincompoon. Werewolves watch TV to see how many people they have killed. Werewolves desperately try to look and talk human. That is an ultimate X file, the file of what our so- called leaders are and what we have become as well. There are no people there, no USA, no children, not even green grass. Everything happens in the Twilight Zone, in the barren territory so surrealistic that even the CIA director snores after sex while a whore snoops through the Top Secret documents. The movie is like a painting by Salvador Dali ' Hitler Masturbating' only here We, the country are masturbating and W. comes out. What a horror show!
