The most penetrating aspects of the movies Talk Radio and
Natural Born Killers, directed by Oliver Stone, reside in how well they touch
upon the intimate effect broadcasting can have on its audience. Both prey on
how easily the media entices people. Natural Born Killers, the tale of two
homicidal maniacs, is presented in a schizophrenic style which liberally
borrows from everything Television. From 50s sitcoms to 30-second cola adverts.
The assault on the senses is bludgeoning, with the film frantically establishing
the perverse nature of being drawn to toxic media. Subtle may not be the best
word for Talk Radio, but it is less manic. However, this doesn’t stop the film
from showcasing the seductiveness of entertainment media. Its lead performer,
Barry, whose self-destructive tendencies shatter his personal life, unleashes
hell on his angry yet captivated audience. Most of Barry’s listeners can’t seem
to stand him. Many straight out despise him. All of them can’t wait to see what
he says next.
Talk Radio is an overlooked movie in Stone's filmography. Even his duds get mentioned more often. I only recently saw a clickbait listicle bemoaning the age differences in Alexander (2004). However, Stone’s movies are usually larger in scale. Talk Radio is intimate and personal in ways many of Stone’s movies are not. Yet it pierces the skin of America now just as well as his more talked about features. One disturbing reason Talk Radio feels so relatable is how well it explores parasocial connections broadcasters have with their audience. Such audio broadcasting ingrains itself profoundly with its audience due to its immersive nature. In the same way, content creators in the current era can present themselves as authentic while hiding their problematic sides, Barry is a complicated ball of conflict. A presenter who holds an innate ability to feed the lonely and dangerous in the middle of the night, positioning himself as a know-it-all truth sayer to all the insomniacs who are comforted by his voice and their thoughts.
Based on both the off-Broadway play written and performed by
lead performer Eric Bogosian, and the non-fiction book Talked to Death by Ted
Savinar, Talk Radio is also based on the real-life death of Alan Berg, a
liberal-leaning, Jewish, shock jock, murdered by a Neo-Nazi faction after
recording an episode of his show. Whereas people viewed Berg as a humourist,
with a tone that sounded like he was in on a joke, Eric’s Barry Champlain is a
far more difficult creature. Someone who is not as easy to love. Champlain’s
innate ability to entertain with his quick-wittedness enables him to ditch his
suit-selling job to become a Talk Show radio host. Champlain’s confrontational
style has his show receive well-wishers who love what he does, along with
hostile callers, bigots and far-right extremists who phone in with threats and
intimidation. His ability to trigger hostility from everyone is not just a
defining element of Barry’s show but also helps dismantle most of his close
relationships. His reckless behaviour causes rifts between himself and his
crew. His ego and general hostility only help to ensure an uneasy relationship
with Ellen (Ellen Green), his ex-wife. Unbelievably (or maybe not these days),
Talk Radio starts with Champlain’s show on the cusp of being picked up
nationally. This decision excites and aggravates the provocateur and soon
bleeds into the emotional mixing bowl of Barry’s life.
The two films Oliver Stone directed before Talk Radio,
Platoon (1986) and Wall Street (1987), were grand morality plays. The young
protagonists found themselves being fought over by two opposing forces, with
both films becoming a grander allegory for the soul of America. That may sound
hyperbolic, but when were Oliver Stone movies above some grandstanding? Despite
its smaller stage, Talk Radio is no different. However, this film plays out as
if the battle for the country's spirit had been lost long ago. Cynicism drives
the loose narrative as Champlain goads his listeners to lose their rag over
their bigoted views, their loneliness, or anything. Both Barry and his devoted
following gain a kick charge out of the on-air battles, with listeners furious
with the DJ, but doing little to remove themselves from the firing line. Barry
is no different, stoking himself up for these debates, finding himself wound up
by the bigoted ignorance on display. As the grand conductor, Barry feels he can
do whatever he wants on his show. But as the corporate sponsorship of national
airplay looms large over his head, there’s a sinking feeling that Barry may
have sold his soul to something more damning: Censorship.
Gene Siskel likened Barry to Taxi Driver’s Travis Buckle.
Bitter, complicated, while harbouring a burning desire to do the right thing
the wrong way. Barry sees his show as a platform for no-holds-barred free
speech. He goads bigots and racists, runs rampant with his bitter misogyny and
mocks those who are desperate and confessional. He sees no victims. If the
audience wants to listen, then they are willing to call. If they want to call
him, then the terms of engagement are with Barry. In real life, Alan Berg
enjoyed stoking the fires to gain a reaction. But Berg, who battled alcoholism
and seizures in his lifetime, was also someone who understood the absurdities
that came with his ventures. Even if despised by his audience, Berg wanted them
to think. To be unglued from their binary belief systems, even though he saw
the folly. Barry goes to work every night, only ever seeing the void, and
having it stare straight back at him. At one point, Barry fed up with a
chuckling huckster who pretends to have real problems, invites the caller to
the station on air as a guest. The airheaded buffoon, glad for the attention
calls Barry’s bluff and comes in, contaminating the airwaves with inane,
half-baked discourse. It’s one of the film's most potent moments. Highlighting
that while free speech is something people fight for, not everyone is as
intelligent as they are loud.
Alec Baldwin appears as the network head, Dan. He might be yet
another of the contemptible corporate stooges that Baldwin loves to play. However,
his big scene, where he pulls rank on Barry with a string of inflammatory
comments, touches on themes found in Stone's Talk Radio and Natural Born
Killers. Barry may feel he is a truth-teller.
A societal judge, jury and executioner for the masses. The crowd respond
to him as if he were a holy preacher. But capitalism has already worked out how
to market Barry. As much as Barry may not accept it, he’s being made to wake up
and realise that he is considered mere entertainment fodder. Nothing more than
a socio-political jester of sorts. In Natural Born Killers, this idea is folded
over and baked into the ideal of Micky and Mallory Knox. A murderous couple
whose story can have soda adverts slotted into breaks for the MTV generation.
The horrific juxtaposition in Talk Radio is that what lies within the
relationship between Barry and his audience is just as invasive, with an even more
emotional intimacy. While he may be the commodified “voice of reason”, Barry’s
words are designed to disrupt a caller’s core beliefs. Natural Born Killers has
a Wikipedia page dedicated to so-called copycat killers. Talk Radio is based
explicitly on the assassination of a media personality whose words and views
were taken on board with a seriousness that people never believed they would
be. Both of Stone’s films press a succulent question: when does our media
consumption break down into actual derangement with people acting on words with
extreme prejudice?
Despite being rarely talked about, Talk Radio features some
compelling technical work. Managing to take a stage show with a limited cast
and allowing buzz with the same energy as its protagonist. Talk Radio was made
before the director began manipulating varied film stocks with more gusto. But
the hyper-kinetic editing made more apparent in the likes of Natural Born
Killers can be seen seeping through. Moments of the film feel fuelled by a
cocaine binge in the editing room. It’s different to explain the “awake late”
slightly strung-out feel that lingers in shots. Cinematographer Robert
Richardson also shows his command of craft here. The combination of frantic
cutting combines with a myriad of shots utilised to keep the frame interesting.
From swirling cameras and split-diopters to figures reflected in windows, the
film volleys an array of techniques and compositions that keep the eye alert in
a film which is often just talking. In one of the few scenes in which we leave
the confines of Barry's radio station to a basketball game, Stone restricts the
scene to almost nothing but tight close-ups, making the surroundings even more
suffocating than expected. Fans, well-wishers and hate listeners approach Barry
with the DJ having no way of discerning who is friend or foe. When the action
heads back to the station, the amount of space suddenly becomes startling.
This mixture of theme and form is not only staggering at
times but surprising, in that Talk Radio isn’t talked about that much. Stone’s
louder movies take up much of the spotlight, but Talk Radio was released at the
same time that the likes of Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh were becoming more
prevalent, so it’s a little shocking that it feels a little forgotten. Three
decades on Talk Radio still manages to be an absorbing watch. Managing to be
both enticing and repulsive. It provides a disturbing reminder of the power of
free speech, accountability and commodity. Its relevancy feels more potent in
the era of unregulated podcasts and the internet. In a 2017 interview with The Guardian,
Eric Bogosian mentions the rise and influence of Talk Radio:
“The right then took it [Talk Radio] over, which wasn’t the
case at the time. I was looking at someone who will pretty much say anything to
get a rise out of his audience, which in turn increases his ratings. Look
at Rush Limbaugh. He has described himself as an entertainer. At the same
time, he’s messing with issues which are of the greatest importance to all of
us. You’ve had a similar problem with Brexit: someone starts tossing this
football around for fun and before you know it, they’ve changed policy.”
Watching Talk Radio now is especially chilling. As Barry
hurtles towards self-destruction he screams “How deep into the muck we can
immerse ourselves?!”. Slowly realising some of his self-righteous hypocrisy.
Those who were tossing the football around have started to act. As we
become more siloed off by tech, and the effect of media has caused more rampant
division, we now have an answer to the muck question. We can get deeper into
the muck than you can imagine Barry. We can plunge into the depths.
Talk Radio is a difficult one to find. Although it may be on Apple TV. I watched it on a out of print Network distributed DVD.
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