The most memorable element of the Russell Crowe journo-thriller State of Play may be its score, and not in a good way. Composer Alex Heffes once explained that he prefers to score a film around the dialogue, rather than through it, which seems to be a modest way of saying that he doesn't want his music to be upstaged by all that dull talk talk talk. So every time a performer closes his mouth for the length of a four-count, Heffes fills the aural space to the brim with throbbing beats and jangling strings that declare something suspenseful is going on right now! It's almost as if he set out to update the showy musical spikes so popular in mid-century film ("You'll do as I say, if you ever want to see your sweetheart alive"--dun-dun-dun), and the effect is no less displacing. Rather than bring you into the action unfolding on the screen, it pushes you out, an advertisement of theatricality.
It does, however, keep State of Play from being entirely forgettable, at least for as long as it takes to gather up one's outerwear and exit the theater. Directed by Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland), it is the fourth consecutive Crowe film--on the heels of 3:10 to Yuma, American Gangster, and Body of Lies--to feel genre-generic, the careful reassembly of cinematic components we've seen countless times before. The cast, which also includes Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams, Helen Mirren, Robin Wright Penn, and Jason Bateman, is strong (with one notable exception), and the production has the sheen of superior craftsmanship. But the whole enterprise seems somehow empty, six characters in search of a rationale.
Based on the terrific six-part BBC miniseries of the same name, Macdonald's film follows its contours closely, though at three times the pace and transposed some 3,600 miles westward to Washington, DC. A pretty congressional researcher (Maria Thayer) tumbles fatally onto the Metro tracks on the same day that a young pickpocket (LaDell Preston) is murdered execution-style on the street. As grizzled "Washington Globe" reporter Cal McAffrey (Crowe) and Capitol Hill blogger Della Frye (McAdams) soon discover, the two deaths are connected not only with one another but also with rising-star Congressman Stephen Collins (Affleck), who was both the researcher's boss and her lover. Closing the loop is the fact that Cal and Stephen are old college roommates and both have slept with Collins's wife Anne (Wright Penn). It will (I hope) surprise no one to learn that the researcher's death was neither accident nor suicide, and that it is apparently connected to a shadowy conspiracy trying to exert its diabolical will upon the congressman.
As if bashful of its London roots, State of Play name-drops its adopted Washington milieu with an enthusiasm that would embarrass the most shameless cocktail-party networker: Ben's Chili Bowl, the Kennedy Center, Chinatown's Friendship Arch, the Scottish Rite Temple, the Americana Hotel in Crystal City--okay, I was actually tickled by that last one, as were most at the DC-area screening I attended. I did find odd, however, the filmmakers' evident belief that leasing office space at the Watergate building is a conclusive sign of nefarious intent.
The nod to the Watergate is just one of the ways State of Play unwisely begs to be compared to All The President's Men. Journalistic odd couple Cal and Della bicker amiably on their way to becoming the most symbiotic DC reporting duo this side of Woodstein, and Mirren aspires to Bradleehood as their hard-nosed editor (a role played to perfection by Bill Nighy in the miniseries). But even as it extols the craft of journalism, Macdonald's film evinces little comprehension of it. A particular low point is the moment when Mirren's character demands of her ace--who, in addition to being close friends with the subject of his reporting, is actually letting him stay in his apartment--"Cal, any conflict of interest here?"