The Hoax

In 1973, Orson Welles directed the bizarre docudrama-slash-film essay F For Fake. The film was ostensibly a look at the life of infamous art forger Elmyr de Hory and his biographer, Clifford Irving, but it was also a look at how the demarcation between reality and forgery, and the value of art and authenticity, is complicated and often impossible to untangle. The movie is masterful at setting up expectations and dashing them by making you unsure of the veracity of what you’re seeing, which is hilarious considering it’s subject. The Hoax, while presented as a dramatic biopic, also — whether intentionally or not — has elements of the elaborate prank-like nature of F For Fake. Its subject, the aforementioned Irving, became notorious convincing a major publisher that he’d gotten access to and was authorized to tell the life story of reclusive billionaire weirdo Howard Hughes. Irving produced a handwritten contract, audiotapes, and (dubiously obtained) inside information, only for it to unravel at the end when Hughes — whom he didn’t expect to take any action — outed the scheme as fake. But maybe possibly after using Irving for political reasons? Years later, Irving would write a memoir about the affair, and he would participate in the making of this movie, up until a point where he disliked the final product and disavowed it. And that, for me, is part of the charm of the movie. The only reason we know Irving’s name at all is that he was, on a grand and almost unprecedented level, a pathological liar. Can we take his memoir at its word? Can we take this movie at its word? Can anybody or anything about this story be given an absolute “true” or “false” value? No, and that’s what makes the movie fascinating. There is no inherent concern to this movie about adhering to the real events, because there is no telling what the real events were. Did Hughes have his own private gestapo that roughed up Irving? Did he send Irving secret files that indicted Nixon and may have triggered Watergate? Did Irving really start to dress up as Hughes to get into his mind? The lines of reality and fiction aren’t just blurted, they’re intertwined like a strand of DNA. Anything in this movie is just as preposterous as it is plausible. It’s a movie unlike any other biopic, and I love it. Richard Gere, whom I’m not normally a fan of, does an excellent job portraying Irving as an ambitious, hungry, morally dubious man who is desperate to etch his name into history. His ability to pile lie on top of lie and keep all the threads straight is a joy to watch, even as his partner, Alfred Molina, stumbles and often nearly sabotages the endeavor. The movie never tries to paint either of them as victims or heroes. They’re greedy and unscrupulous, especially Irving, and the watchability comes from watching them try to escape the corners into which they paint themselves. I admit I’m coming from an angle that most people won’t when viewing this movie. Most people will view it as is, and may find its protagonist a turd, and the story to be too ridiculous to enjoy. But I review it on how I like it, not on how someone else will. The movie I saw was, even if unintentionally so, a dark comedy and examination of the intersection where art and artifice meet.