Eviscerated by circumspection, Primary Colors pads along in its bedroom slippers, mildly funny where the novel is uproarious, equivocal where the novel is blunt, responsible where it should be cheeky. Nichols, mimetic to a fault, misses Klein's energetic ambivalence, his intent both to roast and appreciate this massively contradictory couple, at once true believers and hardened pros, and as ruthless in their pursuit of power as they are dedicated to radical change. Charmed and repelled in equal measure, Klein offers up the Clintons as emblems of a generation raised on idealism and scornful of establishment hypocrisy even as it joins that establishment and faces the cesspool of political process in an age when private smut eats up more airtime than public policy. Primary Colors the novel is both a crucifixion and a benediction of that generation. Primary Colors the movie serves up a bunch of really good imitations, then rolls over and dies of good manners.
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