A shell of a man

It’s almost impossible to imagine Chappaquiddick could have been released during Ted Kennedy’s lifetime without deafening outcry from certain segments of Washington and the media. And it’s still fairly staggering it’s being released now when so many of the senator’s close colleagues still walk the halls of Congress. I can only surmise that the #MeToo movement has shut the mouths of those who would otherwise rail theatrically against turning over this particular rock.

On the other hand, it’s a bit of a shame the film is being marketed so heavily to conservative political outlets (Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity are among its loudest boosters). It risks being marginalized as propaganda by exactly those detached, young crowds that have the most to benefit by seeing it. Because on its face, Chappaquiddick isn’t a movie about Republicans or Democrats or politics of any sort. It’s a searing, personal drama about the damage wrought by extreme privilege.

Director John Curran brings the facts surrounding Mary Jo Kopechne’s death to life with a restrained, responsible hand and a (mostly) spectacular cast including Jason Clarke as Kennedy, Bruce Dern as his father Joe, and Ed Helms and comedian Jim Gaffigan as Kennedy’s unwitting conspirators. Some creative license is necessary to stitch the timeline of facts into a narrative, but what inventing Curran does is far from serving any agenda. Instead, as we follow Kennedy from the hours before he crashes his car in a pond to his sickening decision to go home to sleep instead of call the police, and all his posturing after, Curran brings out a cautionary tale beyond politics and untethered from any particular decade.

Through the character of Kennedy cousin Joe Gargan (Helms), the moral stakes are undeniably clear. “A woman died and you’re painting yourself as the victim,” he marvels. Later, he lobbies Ted to withdraw from public life. Kennedy isn’t a remorseless villain—a part of him yearns to do this.

At times, Curran even draws our sympathy for a man who experiences brief flashes of determination to make what amends he can. Clarke’s uncanny performance exhibits desperation that someone at least allow him to lessen his spiritual burden through confession—until he gives in to the temptation of easy escape and suppresses his conscience again. How hard it is for a rich man to face justice willingly when so many toadying, low-level officials are happy to help him avoid it.

In fact, the movie is almost too careful to avoid sensationalizing events. Though it treats Mary Jo with dignity, we don’t get much sense of who she was, as though letting us know her better would tip the scales of judgment too far against Kennedy. Kate Mara’s reserved, almost monotone performance doesn’t help. Mary Jo remains mostly a blank slate. As a result, even though the events depicted are horrific, they lack the urgency to horrify.

The film, rated PG-13 for disturbing images and brief language, also leaves too much of Kennedy’s character ambiguous for those who aren’t already familiar with him. We know from his dialogue that he feels inadequate to his brothers and suffers from a reputation as the family failure (his father dismisses him as an unserious man). But for the generations who didn’t experience the Kennedy era firsthand, a CliffsNotes level of context would have helped us feel more engaged.

We tend to feel more disgust for Joe and his handlers than we do for this indecisive shell of a man. Still, that he is a shell—an insecure cipher trying to build a life around an image of borrowed political charisma—is undeniable. And pitiful.

Where would Ted Kennedy stand with young voters today? Would they demand atonement for his crimes and his seeming lack of repentance over them? Could this movie prompt some to exact an account from current political elders who lionized him? One can only hope.

Chappaquiddick leaves us with a clear implication that it would have been better for Kennedy personally and for the American political system as a whole if he’d spared his state the ignominy of continuing to elect him. Kennedy’s shame wasn’t his alone. It also belonged to those who knew what he’d done and asked him to lead them anyway.