VICE: Paranoia, sharp satire, and masterful narrative play

The political hierarchy of the Nixon-era White House, illustrated through atavisms in a herd. Click. The vice president’s power under George W. Bush compared to the might of a certain comic book character. Click. The characters switch to Shakespearean phrasing to emphasize their Machiavellian personalities. Click. An ’80s TV commercial. Click. September 2001. Click. A funny meme. Click. The pandemonium of war. Click… Narratively, Vice made by the creator of The Big Short seems to draw on too many pop culture codes, but the wild biography of Dick Cheney never derails or leaves you dumbfounded, unlike the introduction above. Not everyone is Adam McKay, the master of narratives stuffed with surprises. He gets to, and he succeeds.
Okay, fess up—who’s had enough of rubber faces and dramatic physical transformations courtesy of makeup artists? It feels like Hollywood is in a race to see which actor can “morph” themselves the most convincingly. Still, there’s something about Dick Cheney, particularly in the photo used for his Wikipedia entry—it’s uncanny how much he resembles a heavier Christian Bale sporting a monk’s bald patch. Vice grabs attention from the get-go, thanks to a few factors: Adam McKay’s distinctive style, Bale’s mimetic abilities, and the charisma of a politician who gains depth on screen. Fortunately, there’s more to this film than flashy tricks. Sure, they’re present in the excellent performances and storytelling techniques, but there’s also courage and audacity. McKay’s primary goal seems to be uncovering humanity amidst growing paranoia and pervasive nihilism.
Meet Dick Cheney: once a Republican congressman blazing political trails under Nixon, now George W. Bush’s trusted collaborator. A man hidden in the shadows, with piercing, scrutinizing eyes and a frail heart, whose biggest advantage is his underestimated cunning. Throughout the events of the film, his major political triumphs seem to happen almost incidentally, as if he’s a cowboy in a Western simply doing the job that needs to be done—even when it involves decisions that would overwhelm most people, such as responding to the World Trade Center attacks. We observe how Cheney influences his surroundings, what shaped him, and most importantly—true to the title—how he ascended to the role of vice president of the United States. Along the way, we encounter reflections on decades of American history and the critical, globally impactful interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Meta-jokes and narrative games never overshadow the core objective: the story itself remains a key protagonist. However, McKay approaches it armed with tools louder than the ones Steven Spielberg might bring to the table. In one truly harrowing scene, McKay’s film temporarily sets aside its chatty, erudite style. After a sequence of tonal shifts, fourth-wall breaks, and self-referential commentary, it dives into a bad trip-like experience. Though the New York tragedy may have already solidified in the collective consciousness, McKay uses a single pop culture reference (remember the YouTube “Wazzup”?) to evoke the feverish intensity of the early 2000s. He reawakens dormant nightmares, leading us to mental spaces we’ve avoided for years. Remarkably, he employs a similar approach to depict other pivotal moments in American history—Watergate, the dawn of Reaganomics, or the recent clash between conservatism and liberalism. It might resemble a “historical PowerPoint,” but at the helm of this slide show is someone who knows how to keep us intrigued.
Christian Bale delivers a multifaceted Cheney: sluggish, methodical, predatory, yet also loving and devoted to his family. It’s an excellent performance, blending bravura acting with physical transformation. However, even more striking are Amy Adams as Cheney’s wife, Lynne, and Sam Rockwell as George W. Bush. Adams crafts a consistently compelling character, while Rockwell offers a unique take on the former U.S. president, blending his publicly derided persona with the actor’s own nuanced observations. Steve Carell, as Donald Rumsfeld, delivers a solid yet unremarkable performance, while Jesse Plemons provides a narrative surprise that’s best left unspoiled. Across the board, there’s not a single weak performance, whether in leading or supporting roles.
What does Vice say about the modern world? Not much that’s new—it’s a biography, after all, intended to provoke and stir paranoia, albeit grounded in rational concerns, much like the works of Thomas Pynchon. Evaluating this audacious biographical attempt requires addressing its tone—and it’s fiery, a chaotic and mischievously laughing political satire that flows precisely where McKay directs it. Straight to our restless hearts and dimly recalled memories.