I have stood on the shoulders of life and I’ve never gotten down into the dirt to build, to erect a foundation of my own. I’ve flown too high on borrowed wings.
Robert Redford’s Quiz Show exhibits a landmark in the diminishing of morals in America when in the mid 1950’s, television’s most popular quiz shows came out to the public as rigged – their contestants were fed the answers.
The original quiz shows paid knowledge. They made celebrities out of people who knew challenging facts, and could remember them. Week after week on “The $64,000 Question” and “Twenty-One,” these intellectuals would earn money because they were smart, and for no other reason. Today, people on TV make money by winning games a half-intelligent child could conquer.
In the 1950’s, intelligence was respected. Quiz Show remembers it as such. It was a time when questions about Emily Dickinson and Shakespeare could be asked, and watchers across the country would not only listen, but sit on their couches and try to beat the competitors to the answer. Kids were excited to learn because their heroes were on these shows. That doesn’t exist anymore.
CBS’ “The $64,000 Question” was apparently legit. But the producers of its rival, NBC’s “Twenty-One,” looked at their ratings and realized that some of the contestants would do better than others. If you didn’t bring in good enough ratings, your winning streak would come to an abrupt end. No more money, no more prominence, no more pomp and circumstance.
This is exactly what happens early on in the film to the record-breaking star of “Twenty-One,” Herbie Stempel.
As the film opens, we see the nation tune in to NBC in time for their favorite game show – people rush to wherever the nearest television is, whether it be in a crowded bar, or within eyeshot of an open window, just to watch. Then we see Stempel (John Turturro) in action – he’s quick on his feet, he’s confident, and he’s smart – a fact that cannot be denied even though he’s been given the answers.
Herbie does great, but after the show, he’s told that his time is up, that he has “plateaued” in the ratings, and that next week he will deliberately get an easy question, one that he knows the answer to, wrong. He does not take the news very well, but he still takes the dive, and America falls for his successor, Charles Van Doren.
Van Doren comes from one of the country’s most well-known literary families – his father Mark (Paul Scofield) is a highly-respected poet and professor at Columbia University. Charles (Ralph Fiennes), also a Columbia professor, went to NBC in hopes of honestly taking down the champ. When the producers ask him if he would like to know the answers, he declines, saying he’d prefer a fair competition. And it was fair, until the final question, which Herbie expectably slips up. Charles is asked a question that he was asked during his try out, a question whose answer he knew confidently. For a moment, there is an expression of extreme disappointment in his face – we think and hope that he won’t answer the question, but he does, tempted more by the immediate fame than the fortune, and he becomes a star.
Herbie, still flustered over his loss, demands the show’s head producer, Dan Enright (David Paymer), to find another way to put him on television. When Enright says it won’t work out, Herbie squeals on the operation, and a representative from Congress is sent to figure out what is going on.
Dick Goodwin (Rob Marrow) likes the quiz shows. He is one of the fans that tries to beat the contestants at home, and he is practically star struck when he meets Charles. During his investigation, he befriends the Van Dorens, whom he has always respected, and tries to base his prosecution on Stempel’s testimony to give Charles a pass. It doesn’t work, as Charles’ guilt gets the best of him. He and Charles become such good friends that Goodwin cannot bear to see Van Doren crash and burn – he is horrified when, at the film’s conclusion, Charles delivers his testimony to the court.
The film establishes an interesting counter to its character’s apparent problem – in one scene, an executive, trying to justify the charade, says “we’re in show business” and “it’s entertainment.” It’s only harmless entertainment. Sure, it’s only a game show, but the point these studio executives and producers, and even Charles don’t understand is that what they are doing is a deception. It’s all for the ratings, and that problem has been a part of television ever since “Twenty-One.” But back then, this kind of reasoning was a new idea.
Paul Attansio’s screenplay is like its characters: intelligent and witty. And it does a good job confusing the audience about who deserves the blame. Yes, Charles took the answers, and he will forever be known as “the man who cheated on the game show.” But it was the game show that cheated him. Oscar Wilde once said “I can resist everything but temptation.” Charles tries to explain to those he loves that you can’t blame him for accepting the deal, which is absolutely true. You can’t. “Would you do it?” He asks Goodwin. In one of the film’s best scenes and its best dialogue, Charles’ father cannot believe what his son has done, and after a ferocious trade of arguments, Mark reminds his son that “your name is mine.”
Like a scared child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the first words Charles can muster are “I’m sorry.”
Back in the 50’s, when all was said and done, NBC and its sponsor, Geritol, claimed they knew nothing about the games, although they clearly must have, and Dan Enright continued his production career until his death in 1992. It is only the contestants who paid the consequences, and continued doing so throughout their adult lives. The idea this movie tries to get into our heads is that it is a lot easier to criticize other people’s decisions until the same offer is presented to us.
