Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002)

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Based on Barris’ 1982 “unauthorized autobiography,” Dangerous Mind begins in gritty isolation, with the disheveled producer holed up in a cheap New York hotel room amid weeks of refuse, naked in both body and soul, in a face down with his own personal savior and demon a TV set.

From this harsh and pathetic opening, the film unfolds in a much less affecting series of flashbacks chronicling the horny-toad’s flailing pursuit of women and his success at creating wacky game shows like “The Dating Game,” “The Newlywed Game,” and the infamous, critically reviled “Gong Show.”

It’s just such criticism that’s at the heart of Barris’ late life crisis. Though gifted at grabbing the public with base programming, he becomes increasingly sensitive to assertions that he’s a blight on American entertainment. Somehow, what began as a joyride of providing lighthearted fun for the masses begins to sow the seeds of self loathing, as Barris becomes increasingly cynical about his own worth as a human being.

How to represent such unfavorable self-analysis in a fictional narrative? Enter the metaphorical alternate personality. Chuck Barris, CIA assassin. But Barris’ deplorable alter ego kills commies rather than culture in a host of unfunny missions around the globe. Posing as a chaperone on “Dating Game” vacation trips to such cheery locales as Helsinki in winter, the secret agent dispatches enemies by order of a mysterious supervisor named Devlin (played by Clooney), with the aid of his icy contact, Patricia (Julia Roberts). When a deadly mole begins offing other agents, Barris is forced to ferret out the traitor. Is it cool as a cucumber Devlin? Femme fatale Patricia? Or maybe even Barris himself?!

The trailer for Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is one of the better previews in recent memory, suggesting a hip, trippy, black comic portrait of flower power era Hollywood excess and mental degeneration, a sort of Fight Club meets The Player on acid. But everything that’s right about the trailer razor sharp comic timing, surreal juxtapositions, edgy energy is only sporadically on display in the full film. Forget the zippy pacing. Subtract the surreal perspective. Add an unconvincing turn by Rockwell who only comes alive when mimicking Barris’ signature “Gong Show” routine a smirky performance by Roberts, and a thoroughly anachronistic one by Drew Barrymore as Barris’ longtime lover, Penny, and you get a disappointing, surprisingly ordinary, drawn out mess.

As director, Clooney exhibits a certain flair for sardonic humor, whacked-out visuals, and 60s-70s verisimilitude, but all too often he is content to let caper antics take the place of something more profound. As odd as the story structure sounds, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is never as weird, challenging, dark, or humorous as it needs to be. Charlie Kaufman’s screenplay provides an ideally quirky framework, but Clooney refuses to push his characters down the rabbit hole, making Barris’ double life feel like a silly romp instead of the self loathing, comic nightmare that it should be.

Occasionally, Clooney captures something chillingly memorable on camera blood spreading across a swimming pool, Barris’ catatonic appearance amid the squalor of his ransacked hotel room but the wrenchingly palpable desperation that begins and ends the film is nowhere to be seen in the middle. When the real Barris appears on screen to close Confessions, it’s immediately obvious what an opportunity has been missed. Life is a game, he says, where “the winner is the one who doesn’t blow his brains out.” Instead of exploring this dangerous mind, Clooney plays it safe, making his freshman film deadly dull as a result.

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