Frost/Nixon (2008) Review: A Brilliant Duel of Wits, Even if Hollywood Gets the Final Say

What strikes you most about this film is the unfiltered outrage of the American public over the fact that Nixon resigned but NEVER APOLOGIZED to the people. To be honest, this leaves a mixed impression. On the one hand, a plot device like this feels a bit like cheesy, over-the-top Hollywood melodrama. On the other hand, it makes you stop and think: could it be that years spent living in a democratic tradition change people’s self-awareness to the point where they are genuinely outraged by such seemingly minor details? Or could it be that, with my distrust of this narrative trope, I am simply a representative of a society that hasn’t yet fully learned to respect itself and is mostly willing to let far worse things slide? If that is the case, we still have a lot of work to do on ourselves and our own national self-respect… But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Character and Motivation

That said, one of the film’s main strengths, in my opinion, is the character development. Combined with strong acting, it makes the characters feel fleshed out, vivid, and detailed, with motivations that are simple and easy to understand. Again, there are valid doubts about how historical accuracy holds up here, but as standalone characters disconnected from strict reality, they work brilliantly.

Nixon is portrayed as a man who simply cannot imagine life without a fight. People who retire are the unhappiest people in the world because they have no purpose—that is how he sees it. He has no desire to apologize, feeling not the slightest bit of guilt, but he is determined to redeem himself and ultimately make a comeback in high-stakes politics. Both the book he wrote detailing his achievements and his promo tour—where he “turns the institution of the presidency into a series of punchlines”—serve this single goal. Yet it is all in vain, because everyone remains fixated solely on Watergate and that one single act that overshadowed everything else. Nixon needs a platform to tell his story on his own terms, and that is what motivates him to agree to an interview that is deeply risky for him.

Frost’s motivation is equally clear. It is a purely journalistic craving for sensations, a desire for high ratings, and a towering self-confidence in his own charisma that blinds him to any doubts. Winning over America is the one thing he feels he is lacking. Yet despite all this surface-level flash, overconfidence, and a weak grasp of the subject matter—traits that so appealed to Nixon and sealed his choice—Frost plays it very smart, following the principle of “if you can’t do it yourself, find someone who can.” Not being a deep analyst himself, he manages to put together the right team, leaving himself just enough intellectual bandwidth to master the pre-prepared material.

Style and Tone: A Cinematic Duel

The end result is a cinematic duel, a clash of characters and intellects. A few years prior, a similar genre was explored in George Clooney’s Good Night, and Good Luck, which was also nominated for an Oscar. But while that film felt minimalist and quite realistic (even utilizing footage of real speeches by Senator McCarthy), Frost/Nixon walks a tightrope between historical accuracy and a pure Hollywood show, managing to avoid falling into either a boring list of dry facts or a cheap, melodramatic tearjerker where “everyone cries, everyone applauds.”

In particular, the filmmakers are saved from the latter by humor and irony. These are woven into the psychological pressure tactics that Nixon actively employs—always keeping things within the bounds of propriety. They pop up in several other moments as well, two of my absolute favorites being the situation with John Reston (played by Sam Rockwell) and the handshake, and the bit with the Italian shoes as the absolute coup de grâce.

The Final Stretch

Even so, while the first two-thirds of the movie feel effortless, casual, ironic, and brilliant, the decisive final stretch featuring the actual interview falls a bit flat in comparison.

• The Editing Trap: First of all, the impression is immediately ruined by a lazy editing and scripting choice: we are shown a single question lasting roughly five minutes, and then, with zero transition, the dialogue lets us know that a staggering two hours have suddenly passed. How on earth are we supposed to figure that out? Do you really expect us to believe that Nixon spent two full hours answering a question like, “What did you feel when you won the election?” There are standard cinematic tools for this—like a one-minute montage of disconnected phrases to signal the passage of time—instead of just dropping an unearned, invisible time jump right in the viewer’s lap.
• The Climax Formula: Things only escalate from there. Nearing the finale, the film starts sliding into an uneven power struggle trope, leaning heavily on the classic Hollywood clichés of “overcoming the odds” and winning in spite of everything to crank up the drama. Against this backdrop, achieving the ultimate goal—forcing an apology out of Nixon—starts to feel nearly impossible. Everything is on the line as the climax approaches. The audience already knows what has to happen, but they are hooked on how it will happen.

With the tension dialed up so high, we expect some subtle psychological chess from Frost that backs his opponent into a corner. But honestly… what can possibly make a person who refuses to admit something say the exact thing they don’t want to say (other than actual torture, of course)? Practically nothing. A person, especially a politician—and a deeply experienced one at that—will just keep insisting that black is white, and a flashy upstart like Frost isn’t going to easily pry a confession out of them. The truth might slip out through an emotional breakdown, but then again, Nixon had weathered far tougher storms than this. So what actually gives?

Conclusion

Clearly, the former president confesses simply because he wants to. Perhaps out of a desire to look good in the trap he was placed in, or perhaps out of a genuine desire to state his true belief: that sometimes, in the interest of the state, a president can and must place himself above the law. There is no real credit due to Frost here; he just got lucky. And Nixon was essentially the architect of his own downfall.

In short, it feels a bit unconvincing. If I were watching a documentary of the actual Nixon interview and saw something play out like this, I would never believe in the sincerity of the president’s repentance. This particular moment slightly dampens the overall experience, reminding us that we are watching a Hollywood entertainment flick rather than a serious analytical broadcast.

Nevertheless, the first two-thirds of the movie created such a positive and ironic mood for me that I couldn’t help giving it a high score. Just keep in mind while watching that not everything shown on screen should be taken entirely at face value.