The Year’s Silliest Documentary: Client 9

Remember the Reese’s Pieces in E.T.? That product placement pales in comparison to Alex Gibney’s new ostensive documentary about New York State’s (still) disgraced former governor Eliot Spitzer. Though purporting to explain the politician’s meteoric rise and fall, it degenerates into an infomercial for the merry prankster political services of gadfly consultant Roger Stone. Yet, despite the steady parade of rumor and innuendo, Gibney fails to make a convincing case Stone is worth the money in Client 9 (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Client is essentially two films. The first is an entertainingly diverting look into the world of Manhattan’s high-priced prostitution rings that could easily run on the E! network. The other is a massive PR campaign of behalf of Spitzer’s battered reputation. Gibney sees no evil in Spitzer’s record, deliberately ignoring the scores of the cases he brought that were unceremoniously thrown out of court and his dismal won-loss record. In truth, Spitzer was usually not looking to win cases on their merits, preferring to strong-arm his targets into financial settlements. (For a while, I worked with someone who had been laid-off as a result of one such settlement, but never in any close capacity.) One thing Gibney and Spitzer’s detractors could probably agree on though, was the politician’s ambition. The White House was thought to be his next step, which makes the recklessness of his behavior so inexplicably shocking.

Gibney does a legitimate public service by explaining tabloid cover-girl Ashley Dupré was only tangentially involved in Spitzer’s paid serial philandering, at most. Will she please go away now? However, Gibney’s decision to re-enact his interviews with Spitzer’s regular prostitute are is somewhat debatable, giving viewers nothing to judge her personal credibility (such as tone of voice, facial expressions, or body language). Yet, his partisanship creates far greater blind-spots.

To his credit, Spitzer accepts full responsibility for his downfall, but not Gibney. The filmmaker prefers to blame Roger Stone, a maverick New York based political operative (and a swinger Gibney hastens to add). Supposedly, Stone sent a letter to the FBI naming Spitzer as a client of the now notorious Emperor’s Club. The Feds say they never got it, but upon this slender reed, Gibney builds conspiratorial castles in the air. Evidently, Gibney believes U.S. Attorneys should ignore evidence sitting governors are involved in illegal prostitution rings, out of professional courtesy one supposes. Yet, like most johns, Spitzer was never ultimately charged, just eased out of office. Indeed, the whole case started as a money laundering investigation, and surely the government should be pursuing financial irregularities, right?

Eventually, Gibney just gets wild with the accusations, even going as far as to claim the New York Post deliberately timed promotions of Dupré’s column to coincide with Spitzer’s post-scandal appearances on CNN. (Okay, evidence please.) If even remotely true, they were probably doing CNN a favor, considering the reviews of the Parker Spitzer show. (“Vapid” raves Time Magazine. “Wretchedly unwatchable” echoes The Guardian, while The New York Times hails its “ickiness factor.”)

Gibney offers absolutely no substantiation anyone else had a hand in doing in Spitzer besides the disgraced pol himself. None. Again, Spitzer deserves limited acknowledgement for owning up to this forthrightly, which makes the rest of the movie such a weird exercise in scandal mongering. While Client is certainly watchable thanks to its voyeuristic look into the naughty world of high-end prostitution, it is the sort of unsourced, hearsay-ridden, overly-speculative, partisan-driven film that gives documentaries a bad name. For those in Gibney’s amen corner who do not worry about stuff like facts and logic, it opens today (11/5) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

The Jazz Score on I Want to Live!

Great movies with great music. That is what the MoMA’s Jazz Score retrospective series will be offering. I have taught many of these pictures in my jazz film class and will be previewing most closer to their MoMA run, but in light of Eliot Spitzer’s legal problems, Robert Wise’s I Want to Live! (trailer here) is unexpectedly timely now. An early, pivotal scene of Live takes on added relevance for referencing the Mann Act, which prohibits trafficking women across state lines, as is now well known to New York State residents.

Based on the actual criminal case of Barbara Graham (a.k.a. “Bloody Babs”), Live is sanitized to strongly suggest her innocence of the crime that sent her to the gas chamber. It features a fantastic jazz score composed by Johnny Mandel and performances by an all-star combo of Gerry Mulligan on baritone, Art Farmer on trumpet, Pete Jolly on piano, Frank Rosolino on trombone, Bud Shank on alto, Red Mitchell on Bass, and Shelley Manne on drums, who are even listed in the opening credit sequence. (Different artists recorded Mandel’s large ensemble themes.) One tune, “Black Nightgown,” would later become part of the band book for Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band.

Graham, euphemistically called things like a “goodtime girl,” is first seen on screen sitting up in bed after perhaps some exertion. It is a great shot—perhaps the best entrance since Harry Lime in The Third Man. Shortly thereafter, vice comes knocking. “Now c’mon, let’s not make a federal case out of it,” says her “friend.” “It is a federal case—ever hear of the Mann Act?” chastises the flatfoot. However, Graham has seen a picture of her client’s family in his wallet and takes the fall for him. She thereby establishes her credentials as a “you-know-what” with a heart of gold and earns her first stint behind bars.

Even though Live completely sides with Graham, she still comes across as a difficult person to embrace. Susan Hayward plays Graham with complete conviction, for which she received her only Academy Award. It also boasts great supporting work from decidedly unglamorous character actors, like Simon Oakland as Ed Montgomery, the journalist who first demonizes Graham and then rallies to her defense. A note signed by Montgomery at the beginning and end of the film claims the screenplay was based on his stories and other primary sources.

In a twist of fate, Gerry Mulligan was sentenced on a drug charge by the same judge who condemned Graham to death, Charles W. Fricke. In his Chet Baker biography, Deep in a Dream, James Gavin writes:

“Fricke treated Mulligan kindly. When the saxophonist testified that the household pot was all his, the judge leaned over and whispered, ‘Son, you don’t want to say that.’ He ended up ignoring the marijuana charge but gave Mulligan six months in prison for possession of heroin—a light penalty, given the harshness of L.A.’s drug laws.” (p. 72)

Live might have taken factual liberties to support its indictment of the death penalty, but it is compelling cinema—one of the best examples of vérité-style film noir, with great music throughout. The entire I Want to Live! experience does offer up two object lessons Client Nine would have benefited from. First, pick up your “goodtime girls” after you arrive on a trip and not before you leave. Secondly, if a judge tells you to shut up, you should stop talking. It screens at the MoMA April 20th and 30th.