Paul Weitz's satirical farce — which takes aim at targets as diverse as the dumbing-down of the American mind, post-9/11 terrorist fantasies, George W. Bush's presidency, American class consciousness (no less codified for being denied by rich and poor alike), the venality of television executives and the widespread delusion that stardom independent of accomplishment is in and of itself a worthy goal — gets the details right while missing the big picture. In Hollywood, sharp-tongued, self-aggrandizing British expatriate Martin Tweed (Hugh Grant) is prepping a new season of the most popular program in the world, which can't even be called a spoof of American Idol since it's a near-exact re-creation of the real thing. Meanwhile, in Washington, D.C., newly reelected President Joseph Staton (Dennis Quaid) is in the grip of a paralyzing depression. A none-too-bright, telegenic former frat boy maneuvered into office by his paranoid, right-wing chief of staff (Willem Dafoe), a controlling kingmaker who combines the worst aspects of Karl Rove and Dick Cheney, Staton is suddenly compelled to read newspapers, question the party line, and insist that he wants to talk and think for himself. Staton hasn't made a public appearance in weeks, fueling rumors that he's had a nervous breakdown, so his puppet-master strikes a Faustian bargain with Tweed, arranging for Staton to guest-judge the final installment of "American Dreamz," which Tweed rigs to be the most explosive ever: The finalists include ruthlessly ambitious, white-trash cream dumpling Sally Kendoo (Mandy Moore), who dedicates each song to the boyfriend (Chris Klein) who was wounded on his first day in Iraq (that he enlisted after she dumped him is one of many inconvenient truths the "Dreamz" machine helps Sally sweep under the proverbial rug), and two novelty acts — show-tune loving Arab immigrant Omer Obeidi (Sam Golzari) and gangsta-rapping rabbi Sholem Glickstein (Adam Busch). But even Tweed has no idea how explosive the show will be: Omer is a reluctant terrorist with orders to assassinate the president on air. Unlike such high-water marks in satirical filmmaking as Sidney Lumet and Paddy Chayefsky's NETWORK (1976) or Peter Watkins' PRIVILEGE (1967), AMERICAN DREAMZ is fundamentally reactive rather than extrapolative; it duly notes the bitter absurdities of reductive, prefabricated mass culture's stranglehold on the imagination and the craven pandering of politicians to the stupidest, most boorish aspects of the American national character. The irony, of course, is that it's nearly impossible for someone seeing NETWORK or PRIVILEGE for the first time now to imagine how outrageous they once seemed, because every bitter, outlandish development they imagined has not only come to pass but has passed into common parlance. --Maitland McDonagh
