Nashville (in 250 words or less)

According to Hal Philip Walker, who haunts (but never appears in) Nashville, politicians only do two things: “clarify and confuse.” This contradiction is the lifeblood of Altman’s masterpiece, its thesis not just about American politics but about the linguistic cacophony of our whole culture. Specific examples of miscommunication abound, but what most contributes to this theme is Altman’s pioneering use of multi-track dialogue, creating an effect not unlike a static of hard-to-discern human voices. Ironic, then, that the most communicative and genuine moment is an instance of un-vocal speaking, as Tom learns sign language in order to tell Linnea that he loves her (something he won’t say, in any language, to his actual girlfriend). But this vignette is a tiny lighthouse of optimism in the tempestuous sea of Altman’s cynicism. In the movie’s best gag, a singer is always either prevented from singing or drowned out by louder noises. This changes in the climax, at which point she finally sings and (surprise!) turns out to be stellar. But as she’s onstage only to distract the gullible crowd from an assassination, is she truly heard? Nashville explores the collision of entertainment and politics, the difficulty of ascertaining what matters amidst a landscape of noise, and the proclivity of people to hear without listening and talk without saying anything. As such, perhaps no movie has more astutely predicted the current moment than this one. To paraphrase Haven Hamilton, we must be doing something wrong for its relevance to have lasted 45 years. –Matt Denvir