There are two types of people in this country: those who love American Idol and those who hate it. The former are in the overwhelming majority, which is all the more baffling to the latter. Those who think the program is the most vapid, pointless entertainment this side of Deal or No Deal have been waiting for the overblown talent show to get the satirical treatment, but American Dreamz aspires to much more than that. It also lampoons the current presidential administration. What do the two subjects have in common? Well, again, there are two types of people in this country: those who support George W. Bush and those who can't believe he actually got more votes the second time.
Hugh Grant does his best Simon Cowell impersonation as Martin Tweed, the sole host and judge of American Dreamz (effectively proving that Randy and Paula really offer little more than punctuation to Simon's barbed comments). Tweed's show is so incredibly popular, Vice President Sutter (a chrome-domed Willem Dafoe) decides it would be the perfect venue to boost the ratings of President Staton (Dennis Quaid channeling Will Ferrell channeling Bush). The dimwitted president could use some good PR, too, since he's refused to get out of bed after reading a newspaper and discovering that world affairs aren't quite as black-and-white as they've been explained to him in White House briefings, with the aid of Magneto and Dr. Octopus metaphors.
One of the show's star contestants is Sally Kendoo (Mandy Moore), a prima donna so hell-bent on victory, she gets back together with her recently dumped boyfriend simply because she knows his war hero status will win her the Middle America vote. Her toughest competition comes in the form of Omer (Sam Golzari), a showtune-loving Iraqi, who intends to bomb—and not in a showbiz sense—while shaking hands with the presidential guest judge.
After garnering respect with About a Boy and In Good Company, writer/director Paul Weitz goes back to his American Pie roots with a lot of broad humor. There's Omer dancing to Guys and Dolls in an insurgent training camp and other assorted silliness. And the characters are all standard one-notes: the smarmy producer, his pride-swallowing yes men, the phony-smile starlet, her fast-talking agent. Their respective schticks are familiar—we've got the VP coaching the prez word-for-word through an earpiece, for Christ's sake—but the actors play the roles with such unapologetic zip, it never feels stale. As in all good satires, the characters stay true to their personalities to the very end. Even Moore remains reprehensible to the finish, a feat she failed to achieve in the otherwise terrific satire, Saved! By allowing me to fully hate her, she actually lets me like her more.
Since the film adds in the political angle, it's clear that it's making fun not only of American Idol but of a nation that would embrace it. Consequently, many viewers may be disappointed that the film never really arrives at any sort of dark conclusion about what it all means. On the contrary, without handing its characters any unlikely shots at redemption, the flick still manages a surprisingly upbeat ending.
But consider this: Dr. Strangelove, a widely celebrated satire, pokes fun at real events and trends until it carries them through to their most surreal, cynical conclusions, and the bombs drop and destroy the world. But in reality, the bombs never drop. As ridiculous as things get, the world somehow endures.
In a country where American Idol can be a top-rated show for five straight years and a man who can't successfully string two unscripted (and sometimes scripted) words together can still be leader of the free world, maybe reality is funny enough to simply observe on its own.