Conspiracy Cinema

All the President’s Men

Winter Kills

Hello, my dear readers, if you really are my dear readers… For now I will refrain from commenting on the 2026 Oscar nominees that were announced this morning because I may come off a bit unhinged, and tonight’s subject matter is unhinged enough. This week’s double feature theme was partly inspired by a series that my beloved theater Austin Film Society did awhile back, and it is also partly inspired by my recent, disappointed viewing of Yorgos Lanthimos’ Bugonia (in which an incel conspiracy theorist is given a loud, misguided platform and my loverboy Stavros Halkias is the best part) so it’s no theory that this “conspiracy cinema” idea is somewhat unoriginal. But given the absolute insane reality we’ve been living in for the last decade or so, can you really blame me for being interested in conspiracy cinema? Conspiracy theories used to be fun and cheeky, like “did the Royal Family plan Princess Diana’s death?” or “is the Denver airport evil?” or “is Stevie Wonder really blind?” But over the past several years, the frivolous and entertaining realm of conspiracy theories have turned darker, overwrought, more ridiculous, and are afforded far more validity and credence. Conspiracy theorists were once bi-partisan, tinfoil-hat-wearing, bug-eyed, paranoid people who hyper-fixated upon whatever political or cultural happening seemed the most mysterious and compelling to them, but nowadays, these things are a bit more nuanced and complex. There are way more overblown and idiotic conspiracy theories and people who peddle them as a means to distract from real problems—“Pizzagate” comes to mind, not to mention all of the “transvestigating” that the far-right busies themselves with—but there are also long-believed conspiracies that have wound up being true. For years, certain theorists have been alleging that there’s a cabal of powerful, untouchable pedophiles, and this was proven to be true! It’s just that many people who popularized this theory are unwilling to accept who, exactly, is involved. It makes sense that human beings are drawn to conspiracy theories, because they provide answers to questions that are often impossible or unlikely to be answered. (Or, the real answer just isn’t satisfying enough.) I highly recommend watching this well-researched and cogent John Oliver story on conspiracy theories, why they are so enticing, and which ones gain traction, for a more thorough understanding of how they permeate our culture. I prefer the less political, more innocuous and titillating conspiracy theories, such as Frank Sinatra being Ronan Farrow’s real dad, Avril Lavigne being replaced by a body double, and Taylor Swift being gay, but to each their own tinfoil hat. I was at first concerned that this theme would be too niche, but then I remembered all of the conspiracy movies featured on this blog already: A Few Good Men, The Conversation, Klute, The Bloodettes, Erin Brockovich, I’m Still Here, Silkwood, Southland Tales, Eyes Wide Shut, The Long Kiss Goodnight, American Hustle, Under the Silverlake, Blow Out, Chain Reaction, Red Eye, Soylent Green, and They Live. I am neither for nor against conspiracy theories, however, if you’ve got a niche one to share, I’d always love to hear it! But for now, let’s focus on two films from the height of the last century’s conspiracy cinema renaissance.

Up first is a film I’ve been wanting to see ever since I watched the HBO series Whitehouse Plumbers, and felt a renewed interest in viewing when Robert Redford tragically passed away recently, this is Alan J. Pakula’s 1976 film All the President’s Men. I already partially explored the Watergate scandal when I covered Shampoo for my Hair double feature, and I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t come up more, because this was one of the first very shocking, very public fuck ups and acts of internal deception in American political history. Back in a far, far, far more quaint time, one of the greatest government scandals to rock our country was the June 1972 burglary of the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Watergate complex, which was ultimately proven to be a part of President Nixon’s plan to sabotage his political opponent’s campaigns. It’s hard to believe that this was once an unbelievable concept—that a President and their administration might be corrupt—but it became the job of reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein to prove this to the American public. Based on Woodward and Bernstein’s book of the same name, All the President’s Men follows these brave investigative journalists from the moment this suspicious story breaks, to the eventual, explicit reveal of Nixon’s involvement the following year. Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) of the Washington Post is immediately on the case, showing up to the arraignment of the burglars, listening carefully to the whispered words of the defendants, with the only American of the bunch (James W. McCord Jr.) muttering something about his job title being, “anti-communist.” Woodward starts calling every connection he has, trying to suss out the basic facts of this case: who are these burglars, why would they be bugging the DNC headquarters, were they hired by someone or did they work alone? And when Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) begins giving Bob unprompted edits, he becomes a part of this investigation as well. “WoodStein”, as their journalistic team became known, start making desperate phone calls to various sources, secretaries, political bigwigs, people they met at government employee Christmas parties, each one seeming more spooked and suspicious than the last. Even when the information they’re gathering is fairly mundane—as when they want to determine if someone checked out a book about Chappaquiddick—the librarian changes her story and makes it clear that she also cannot be trusted. It is an eerie, tense, unbelievably riveting thriller, told through the quietly chilling, almost horror-movie-lens that Alan J. Pakula did best. You’d never guess that such a dialogue-heavy, phone-call-centric, mostly-white-collar-office-set-drama would make for such a profoundly creepy and intriguing story, but All the President’s Men accomplished this effortlessly—not just because the people making it were so devoted and superbly skilled, but because the subject matter proves that truth is always stranger than fiction. I loved the way this was written, but I really loved the way it was performed. Similar to his film Klute, Pakula had his actors improvise a lot of their dialogue, with the script acting as a loose sort-of outline. This makes the story and its characters feel lived in and authentic, and it makes their sloppy, stressed-out, unpredictable behavior that much more believable. Redford and Hoffman (who were once hilariously up for the same role in The Graduate) are a dream team here, and it was a thrill to watch them uncover the truth, all cracked out on coffee and adrenaline and hope for our democracy. Everyone’s performances were powerful, really, but I could write a whole dissertation just about the way Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman dress and sit in this movie. My only real issue with the film is that, for such a hefty runtime, the conclusion and eventual victory feels a bit rushed, but I was still thoroughly gripped and invested and even disturbed watching this. But perhaps the most disturbing thing about this film is the unfortunate fact that the dad from 7th Heaven who was later accused of sexual abuse against multiple minors (Stephen Collins) plays one of the heroic whistleblowers. The fact that this film was made at all, let alone so soon after the actual controversy took place, is a testament to the hardworking and honest nature of Robert Redford, who bought the rights to WoodStein’s book as soon as he was able to. Nowadays, criticism of the President and the government feels like it has to be done through coded language, because simply addressing and quoting their own madness verbatim can get you in real trouble, for some reason. The story of the swift, feverish making of All the President’s Men is pretty fascinating, but nothing compares to the rocky production and disastrous efforts that went toward making tonight’s next film.

Speaking of truth being stranger than fiction, next I watched a wildly polarizing, truly bonkers spectacle that was just as bananas off screen as it was on, this is William Richert’s 1979 film Winter Kills. Based on Richard Condon’s book of the same name, Winter Kills follows Nick Kegan (Jeff Bridges), the half-brother of former US President Timothy Kegan, who was shockingly assassinated. 19 years after his murder, Nick is suddenly pulled into the many messes his brother left behind when he comes face-to-face with a man who claims to have been one of the assassins. As the man dies, he confesses to Nick that he was the second gunmen hired to kill the President, and though he doesn’t name any names, he does tell Nick where he hid his rifle. So Nick and a few colleagues head to the spot the shooter named, a random wig store in Philly, and sure enough, a large rifle is hidden in a plastic bag within a steam pipe. Upon leaving the shop and piling into a car, all of Nick’s associates are very suddenly shot—sniper-style, with no warning and no noise—leaving Nick horrified and confused but miraculously still alive. Begrudgingly, Nick reaches out to his uber-rich, eccentric, elderly, playboy father, referred to as only “Pa” (John Huston), whom he finds golfing with some babes out in the middle of the desert. Pa is initially skeptical of Nick’s story, but eventually decides to help “for the family.” Nick then speaks to several of his father’s colleagues, political fat cats, former soldier boys, good-ole-boys, and members of the mob to get answers, and in his path he leaves a trail of dead colleagues, political fat cats, former soldier boys, good-ole-boys, and members of the mob. Nick has only received conflicting info thus far, and on top of everything else, he isn’t even sure if he can trust the woman he loves (Belinda Bauer), but he must be getting close to the truth if he’s been nearly killed this many times. Nick never desired a life in politics or global dominance, and yet he becomes fully enmeshed in a convoluted game full of very powerful, very rich, very dangerous men who will stop at nothing to keep their place in the food chain. Several shadowy, smoke-filled meetings go by before the audience is let in on the truth of the matter, but when it’s all said and done, the conclusion might… actually not shock you, lol. Winter Kills is a messy, meandering, dark comedy that cannot decide if it’s a cynical farce or a straight-up political thriller. To quote Brendan Gill of The New Yorker, “I enjoyed it even more the second time, but I cannot pretend that I understood it any better.” Charles Champlin of the LA Times said, “it’s the kind of conspiratorial caper you like for its continual surprises or hate for its escalating confusions ... It is …expansive, impersonal, never dull”, and Gary Arnold of The Washington Post described it as “(an) extravagantly kitschy” film with a “fairly repulsive” story. But for as chaotic and sloppy and unstructured as Winter Kills is, after reading about it I’m impressed it got made at all. According to the documentary short Who Killed ‘Winter Kills’?, the co-financiers of this film, Leonard J. Goldberg and Robert Sterling, were marijuana dealers with zero filmmaking or fundraising experience. Sterling was sentenced to 40 years for marijuana smuggling while Goldberg, 16 days before this movie premiered on May 11th, 1979, was found handcuffed and shot dead in his New York City apartment on April 25th—allegedly a hit by mobsters for Goldberg’s debt payment failure. The cast and the crew were initially extremely enthusiastic about making the movie, even though, according to some crew, they received their pay by being called to a hotel room where they were given envelopes of well-used bills. Eventually, people were working for free until union officials learned of this, and in March 1977, unions shut down the production, forcing it to declare bankruptcy. According to the cast and crew, they all felt like they were making something important. At a certain point, Bridges and Bauer went to Germany to work on Richert’s next film, The American Success Company, and with some leftover funds from this production, Richert was able to resume work on Winter Kills. But when the movie ended up being a huge flop and the extremely negative audience reactions poured in, the cast and the crew were completely shocked and disappointed. I was really craving a Winter thriller, while it’s still technically Winter and sometimes cold here in Texas, but there’s very little actual Winter representation in Winter Kills. And I wanted a political thriller that would match the intensity and integrity of All the President’s Men, but I’m not sure if I got that either. Nevertheless, I was thoroughly entertained throughout this whole movie, and could never get over the various absurd details—whether it be shirtless John Huston in tiny red underwear or shirtless Jeff Bridges riding a horse to a faraway cliff just so he can yell, “You stink, Pa!!! You stink!!!!” The entire cast of this film is phenomenal, with appearances from Anthony Perkins, Eli Wallach, Sterling Hayden, Dorothy Malone, Toshiro Mifune (of Throne of Blood fame), and even Elizabeth Taylor. It’s so disjointed, so bizarre, so tonally all over the place, that I can’t say that Winter Kills was good, per se, but it was lots of fun to watch. Winter Kills and its unfettered, un-American exceptionalism was the perfect foil to the precision and accuracy and hard-earned severity of All the President's Men, so all in all, I think I actually covered the full spectrum of political conspiracy theories. I have a theory that this post has gone on too long, but until next time, my dear deepthroated reader, follow the money. 👀