Review of Being There (2011) by Rebecca H — 13 May 2009

Perhaps tired of Clouseau, Peter Sellers had one last hoorah in Being There, an acting tour de force in which Sellers is Chance, a gentle and mindless gardener who winds up in the public eye. After his employer dies, Chance is evicted, and earnestly bumbles around Washington trying to find some lunch. After a minor accident he ends up living with Ben Rand (Melvyn Douglas), meets the President, and his so-called earthy "wisdom" is soon famous. It's like The Jerk, if they took out all the slapstick and replaced it with toe-curling cringe comedy.

This satire - in which Chance may or may not ascend to the Presidency, despite having "rice" between his ears, as an old co-worker puts it - is based on the rather optimistic idea that almost no one in the world notices Chance is disabled. I'm all for suspension of disbelief, but if it's obvious to every single person who sees the movie, shouldn't a few people in the film twig it as well? Apparently only one person, terminally ill Ben's doctor (Richard Dysart), notices that Chance is not exactly a genius. His incredulous silence of one of the film's highlights, as is his final, honest conversation with Chance at the end.

It's a slow and patient film in which very little happens, and that's probably appropriate given the way Chance goes through life: quietly, obliviously, with at least one eye always looking out for a television, he's not interested in plot, and neither is the movie. Sellers is fantastic, of course (despite the oddity of wishing to escape the infamy of playing a clumsy imbecile by playing a quiet one), and creates one of those perfectly-pitched lonely characters who exist in their own little world. Chance has no idea what's going on, of course, offering a hopeful "I see" or "I understand" whenever he's told things, and it's funny the way events simply assume themselves around him. It's just a little hard to believe.

His befuddled blank canvas is really there to tell us about everyone else, particularly Rand's frustrated and lonely wife Eve, played by Shirley Maclaine. Their so-called romance is hideously uncomfortable, of course, but much like the White House, it seems likely that Chance will win her in the end. How far into the marriage will they get before Eve notices something's up? Perhaps one day Chance will be having one of his "philosophical" conversations, smile serenely and wet himself. Honestly: what will it take to wake these people up?

Chance also holds a mirror up to the President (Jack Warden), whose marriage is on the skids, and the American public - strangely absent - who are hungry for information and willing to idolise just about anybody. The final shot is of Chance apparently walking on water, proving the rather clunky satirical point that, in America, anybody can achieve just about anything.

The point it's trying to make is often too heavily handled. Sometimes the comedy oversteps the boundaries of subtlety - the "I like to watch" scene with Chance and Eve, for instance - and gags like this can seem cheap and even a little juvenile. The music has dated horribly, as has the look of the film, and regardless of Sellers' quiet brilliance as Chance, I can't deny that it went on a little too long. Still, it's an odd and enjoyable affair anyway, the lasting impression of which will most likely be frowns all round. Mention it to me in person and all I'll have to say, no doubt, will be "hmm".