Directed by Elinor Burkett & Patrick Wright

Theories abound regarding the identity and motivation of leggy loon Ann Coulter, but my favorite is that she's actually the long-dead Andy Kaufman, back in black (and sans penis) after a twenty year absence. It certainly makes the most sense, as she's so carefully crafted an image of the fascistic whore that it simply cannot be anything but a parody or clever performance art. But even if Ms. Coulter means everything she says without even a portion of her acid-dripped tongue in cheek, she's undeniably watchable; a nutty, over-the-top caricature of the extreme Right who seems most content when she's being deliberately, pathologically hateful. As such, she's never boring, even if she's America's most vile beast of burden. But if we must evaluate the Cunt for All Seasons after the documentary Is It True What They Say About Ann?, we'd be inclined to conclude that she's just this side of dull. Filmmakers Patrick Wright and Elinor Burkett have managed to tame Coulter's wrath, which defeats the entire purpose of suffering through her harangues. If Coulter doesn't appear to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she's just another waif with an opinion.

For example, the film actually thinks we care that Coulter went to Cornell and Michigan's law school, or that she started as a corporate attorney in New York City. Ain't she just so "regular?" And her stint in the Senate Judiciary Committee in 1994, while starting her on the path to popular extremity, is simply another biographical detail that lacks any dramatic flair. But it was during that time when she used Bill Clinton as a springboard for her career, as she would have toiled in obscurity had the president not met with the Gingrich revolution. Fine, no one really cares where this anorexic came from, and the film makes it worse by forcing us to watch her in unguarded moments, as when she's getting her hair brushed or make-up applied. Needless to say she's yapping throughout (a moment of quiet reflection is as impossible for her as keeping the contents of lunch from being purged), but she's so darn ordinary that I'd just as soon spend fifteen minutes with the cameraman. Maybe I was wrong to think that Coulter spent her free time skinning atheists or masturbating to assorted images of Reagan decked out in Western wear, but is she really this uninspired? Where's the shot of a topless Ann shouting obscenities while wandering glassy-eyed through Times Square? Or the extended sequence where she tearfully reveals that her parents were committed socialists and everything she's done since is pathetic, predictable, Freudian rebellion?

Unfortunately, the film has no real ambition other than to rehash old clips, interview segments, and dull-as-dishwater book tours in order to present a side of Ann that actually harms her image, despite the fact that this is alleged to be a puff piece. Having been screened during at least one conservative film festival this past year, Is It True What They Say About Ann? is the Right's answer to Al Franken and Michael Moore, only without the entertainment value, humor, or insight. And my loathing of Coulter is beside the point: this is simply poor filmmaking, as it randomly cuts and pans without direction or purpose. If we are to love Ann simply because she doesn't consume the entrails of liberal judges, then perhaps she's unworthy of a filmed portrait. I mean really, this is your best case for her humanity, that she's only partially insane? That her gleeful support of racial profiling and wars for oil are more acceptable because she receives Easter baskets from her mummified parents?

And was she always this greasy and unkempt? I've never found Coulter even remotely attractive, but without hours of preparation, she maintains a just-woke-up look that never seems to improve, no matter how many drinks and cigarettes she consumes throughout the day. We never see her light up, of course, for she'd rather foster the belief that she stays so defiantly thin through, I'm guessing, self-reliance and discipline. And her long blond mane, long thought to intimidate drooling men into puppy dog silence, actually undermines her credibility. And given that she's passed the magic 40-barrier (depending on sources, she's as young as 40 or as old as 45), it's even more pathetic that she clings so desperately to the crumbling façade of a sex kitten. It's telling that throughout this film, Coulter is never seen with her impossibly long legs covered. That might mean something if said gams had form and definition, but she never did learn that the victims of Buchenwald weren't looking for whistles and come-hither stares.

In all, I'm glad that conservatives are starting to make more movies, for they only help prove that art is best left to those with a sense of style. And unless these folks can snap photos of torture, pain, and unmitigated misery--not as documents for social change, but rather to inspire mammoth erections--they have no clue what to do with the tools of cinema. Only incompetent right-wingers could strip Ann Coulter of her raison d'etre and reduce her to a pathetic, whiny dullard with a Karen Carpenter complex. We should be slapping our foreheads with incredulity, not curling up for a long nap. Ann exists--and thrives--because she covets negative publicity and endless death threats; she'd panic if she thought she was suddenly "acceptable." So why attempt the transformation? And who on fucking earth asked for nearly 100 minutes of bonus features, most of which are pointless photographs and deleted scenes of even more endless rambling? What, no grainy footage of a gang rape while visiting Scalia's compound? No surveillance of at least three of her sixteen abortions during the 1980s? Nope, just yellowing images of her Deadhead days and passion for the Ramones. Yawn.

Review Posted: 3.21.05