It’s a shame that True Story isn’t better because the questions it wrestles with—how close should a reporter get to his subject? is a reporter obligated to disclose all findings of criminal activity to the police?—are very much in the news now, with the popularity of the Serial podcast and the HBO documentary series The Jinx.
But True Story is too weird and, frankly, too bungled to offer any useful insight. It may, in fact, be based on a true story but its characters don’t behave like anyone I’ve ever met.
After a cover story he wrote on contemporary African slave trade is published by The New York Times, hotshot young journalist Michael Finkel (Jonah Hill) is called into a conference room by his editors, who accuse him of fabricating some of the story’s facts. They ask him to turn over his notes. He says he can’t, then sheepishly admits he wasn’t completely factual with the story, although he offers little in way of explanation. “I can write a retraction,” he says, begging them not to print an apology, which he believes will kill his career. Here are a couple things his NYT editors never ask him:
1. What he did.
2. Why he did it.
These seem like pretty straight-forward questions—the only questions, you might even say. So why don’t they ask him? Because it’s not expedient to the plot for us to know the answers yet. Finkel’s big confession about what he did and why will come later, at a more dramatic moment.
Forsaking logic in favor of the “big reveal” is something of a recurring theme in the film.
Still reeling from his public shame, Finkel returns home to his girlfriend Jill (Felicity Jones) in Montana. While there, a local reporter tells him that a man has been arrested for murdering his wife and three small children. “Why are you telling me this?” Finkel asks. “Because he was using your name,” the reporter says.
Driven by curiosity—and the prospect of a story—Finkel drives out to the prison to meet the accused murderer (James Franco), whose real name is Christian Longo. Turns out, Longo has always wanted to be a writer and idolizes Finkel. He promises to tell Finkel his story in exchange for writing lessons, under one condition: anything Finkel prints—be it a magazine feature or a book—will have to be released after the trial. Finkel agrees. Here’s a thing he never asks Longo:
1. Did you murder your family?
Again, seems relevant.
Hill is just fine as the ambitious Finkel, who is so eager to restore his good name and get this exclusive, he ignores any reservations he might have.As for Franco, he plays Longo as a full-on weirdo—with a curious, vaguely homicidal look in his eyes—which doesn’t actually work within the context of the story. Longo is supposed to be charismatic—seductive, not creepy. But except for Franco’s handsome looks, there’s nothing seductive about him. He acts like a guy who did it. It throws the whole film out of whack. (Now, whether he is a guy who did it or just acts like one, I won’t spoil.)
And I haven’t even gotten to my least favorite part of the film: the character of Jill. Poor Felicity Jones, who was already saddled with the thankless role of caregiver-to-a-male-genius in The Theory of Everything, is barely a character at all, just a sort of generic “worried, pretty girlfriend.” She literally has nothing to do except for gaze upon Michael’s ever-expanding wall devoted to Longo (the de facto shorthand for obsession in TV and movies), with a look of growing concern. Then, for reasons never explained, she goes to visit Longo in prison behind Michael’s back. Maybe this happened in real life. Maybe the real-life Jill had her reasons. The movie version of Jill just does it because it’s in the script.
True Story isn’t awful. Some of the scenes between Finkel and Longo have an undeniable allure—and the film at least obliquely tackles those big ethical questions I mentioned earlier. But for a true story, it’s awfully far-fetched.