With an ensemble cast serving as its invertebrate backbone, the film framework disassembles the foundational assassination plot so we have the luxury of seeing how the political jigsaw puzzle pieces fit together. These viewpoints come in the persons of a television news producer (Sigourney Weaver), two Secret Service Agents (Dennis Quaid and Matthew Fox) — one crooked, one not — a local Spaniard police officer (Eduardo Noriega), two terrorists (Edgard Ramirez and Saïd Taghmaoui), an American vacationing business man (Forest Whitaker), and the president himself (William Hurt). Pity, the Commander-in-Chief’s body double — yes, there’s a body double á la Dave (1993) — doesn’t bear the honor of sharing his outlook on being the person that’s revealed to actually have been shot. In this election year, if you are partisan to a Hurt President, you’re out of luck — the actor’s bastardized twin portrayal doubles his statesmanly-lessness.
By the time the octagonal conclusion circles around, political affiliation notwithstanding, you’ll find yourself unpatriotically rooting for President Ashton to stay dead this time insofar as you won’t have to hear the same political mumbo-jumbo speech yet again. Throw down your weapon, surrender your hands in the air, and embrace your own urge to confess to a crime you most certainly didn’t commit: I did it, I did it! I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Now please, just make it stop.
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