The Assassination of Richard Nixon: I Was Here

The following review was published originally on cinekklesia on July 27, 2005.

When I was in high school, one of my English teachers relayed to my class the way an author viewed the purpose of writing: as a purely existential act, equivalent to scrawling "I was here" on a restroom stall. For that author, writing was an act of existential desperation, a method of leaving a mark on the world so that somebody would take note. Simply put, humans don't want to be forgotten; we want the world to know that we "did something."

That sentiment, in a nutshell, describes the thrust of Niels Mueller's The Assassination of Richard Nixon (2004), a sad and haunting tale of a man desperately seeking meaning, truth, and simple recognition from others. Inspired by the true story of Samuel J. Bicke (masterfully portrayal by Sean Penn)—a salesman who plans, attempts, and botches an assassination against the 37th POTUS—Mueller's film explores not only our need for the acknowledgement of others but also how we achieve that acknowledgement through action, legal or otherwise.

When we encounter Bicke, circa 1974, we see a man trying to piece his life back together. Separated from his wife and estranged from his three children, Bicke is determined to do it right this time. He takes a job as an office furniture salesman and initially tries hard to follow the training and advice of his slick, Dale Carnegie-inspired manager. He wants to do a good job, bring in extra money, and support his family. He's ashamed that his wife has to take a job waiting tables in a disreputable establishment, where "they make her" wear skimpy outfits and where she has to put with up with the advances of inebriated patrons.

Unfortunately, Bicke isn't cut out to be a salesman. He's a little too...nice. Rather than try to make as much profit and commission as possible, he's more interested in everyone getting a "fair" deal: the vendor gets a little bit of profit, the buyer gets a little bit of savings (through a lower mark-up), and everyone goes home happy. During the course of the movie, we learn that the office furniture gig wasn't Bicke's first attempt at sales; he earlier worked in his brother's tire store and became estranged from the family business when he wasn't willing to sell at a 30 percent mark-up.

Bicke's unwillingness to play by the rules of stereotypical salesmanship leaves him feeling alienated from the world around him. He wonders why he simply can't earn an "honest" living without following a crooked system of exchange. He can't understand why he doesn't get any basic respect and understanding from his boss, his estranged family, or even his best friend, Bonny Simmons (Don Cheadle), who, as a working-class Black man, "should" be outraged at capitalist America. (Simmons has a more realistic view of what one has to do to put food on the table.)

As Bicke becomes more alienated, he develops a "clearer" vision of what the Problem is. America (and perhaps the world) is in the grips of an elusive, amorphous, yet powerful THEY. They won't allow a man to make a living without resorting to lies and deception. They objectify women. They have taken away the American Dream while maintaining its facade.

While Bicke doesn't develop a clear, stepwise ideology, he is nevertheless convinced that he is living under an oppressive yoke and that he must take action. For example, after seeing a member of the Black Panthers speak on television, he makes his way to the local party office and tries to convince the staff and volunteers that he, like them, is suffering from the same injustices. After one of them tells Bicke that he is not "in the same boat" as Black America because he, as a white man, "own(s) the boat," our alienated salesman still wants to contribute to the cause and makes a donation of $107.00($422.36 in 2005 dollars for all you econ buffs).

Bicke's determination to take action culminates in his plan to assassinate Richard Nixon. If They are oppressing him, and if Tricky Dick is the leader of this amorphous cabal controlling the world, then it stands to reason that the boldest political statement he—one of the "little guys"—can make is to kill the leader. In our post-9/11 world, this logic sounds eerily like one of the justifications of contemporary terrorism: if the United States is the sole hegemon in the world, then the boldest political statement one can make is to strike that hegemon wherever it resides. (Our salesman's plan to crash a commercial jet into the White House provides another eerie parallel to contemporary events.)

While Bicke's plot has superficially political motives, his real impetus is existential. He feels that the America of 1974 has eradicated his interpersonal relationships, his ability to make an honest living, and most of all, his dignity. He feels trapped in a mundane, mediocre world foisted upon him by elites; he is a tiny speck of dust in an uncaring, meaningless universe. Rather than live and die quietly, shuffling off to anonymity, Bicke decides to fight back, to leave his mark on the world, to scrawl his name on that great restroom stall of history.

Unfortunately, what Bicke fails to recognize is the intrinsic meaninglessness of action itself. While he may feel that his life lacks purpose, taking action—no matter how bold—will not lead necessarily to a higher level of existence. He may feel better with something to do, with a goal to attain. However, with no connection to a transcendent reality, his actions eventually tumble back into the same meaningless morass from which he desperately wants to escape. As the Apostle Paul reminds us, actions that are devoid of eternal substance (God's love) come to nothing (1 Cor. 13:1-3).

At the end of the movie, I felt bad for Samuel Bicke. While I didn't agree with his assessment of capitalist exchange—or his perception that it was impossible to find "honest" work—I sensed that he was a straightforward guy who saw his life options slowly crumbling between his fingers. He wasn't "crazy" as some viewers might perceive him; he was just looking for some shred of purpose and respect in a world that seemed oblivious to simple decency. Unfortunately, when he couldn't find any meaningful alternative to his circumstances, he sought refuge and hope in violent action, a decision that led to tragedy.