Putney Swope
Director: Robert Downey Sr.

Homevision 1969

By Shawn Wines

After the MPAA ratings system took effect in 1968, Steve McQueen’s Bullitt was the first mainstream film to include the word “bullshit.” A year later, Robert Downey Sr. released one of the vilest films of the ‘60s, Putney Swope, and his film remains on par wit the darkest and grittiest satires ever.

Most satirical films take what they hope will be a definite aim at a single subject. Swope is scattered, unfettered and furious at everything. If the broad chaos were more focused, the film would be considered an inarguable classic, but Downey’s consummate bitterness makes for hilarity worth viewing.

Swope’s first lays wolf eyes on the advertising business. In the film’s best scene, a sharply-written board meeting that is a kick-start and a snowball, the ad agency’s president drops dead on the table. Voting for his predecessor begins immediately in the presence of the corpse (telltale things are removed from his pockets, however).

The board members’ attempted sabotage results in Putney Swope, the agency’s token black guy, being elected chairman. (No, this isn’t the precursor to Eddie Murphy’s The Distinguished Gentleman. Spike Lee’s Bamboozled? Yes.) With great power comes great irresponsibility, and Putney quickly dumps the tired, old guard and surrounds himself with militant black revolutionaries, vowing to be morally responsible and righteous in a business known for, well, not that.

The agency, of course, becomes wildly successful, issuing crackling and absurdly stupid commercials. The general public loves them so much they stay home glued to their sets instead fulfilling their roles as consumers. Meanwhile, Putney grows a massive ego, and the agency’s internal workings are disarrayed.

A clear satire on the advertising world (which might seem easy, but how many come to mind?) quakes into a parable against dictatorships, or something.

Putney is a classic underdeveloped movie badass in the vein of Dirty Harry, but instead of shooting people, he calmly berates them. Downey dubbed Putney’s lines himself in a voice so gravelly it’s funny, as actor Arnold Johnson – serving as Putney’s literal vessel – brought the needed visuals needed with a bottomless stare and scraggly Castro beard.

The actual commercials produced by the agency bring an effective sketch-comedy sensibility to the proceedings: impossibly long and rambling, they hawk things like cereal and chicken pot pie with liberal obscenity. In one spot predating The Man Show circa three decades, girls jump in slow motion on a mattress until their breasts pop out, while a soothing chorus sings “blah blah blah blah blah” in the background for what feels like 10 minutes. It’s a commercial for an airline.

There are also plenty of politically-incorrect zingers buried in the raspy dialogue. When told that one of his staffers was arrested in a motel room with a 13-year-old girl, Putney responds, “At least he’s not superstitious.”

Swope is a successful satire full of missed opportunities. Usual complaints aside, even a personality two inches deeper might have made Putney a person instead of a one-dimensional figurehead. And if Downey possessed the confidence and patience to center the film on one topic instead of what later feels like a desperate launch of arrows, it would have been no less than a great film.

When Downey introduces a midget president of the United States who calls Putney in bed, the film grows tired with outward frustration and ambition. The cliché term “running gags” is fit for scenes in which a white messenger Putney forces to take the freight elevator amidst pandemonium in the office, feel cheap and sitcom-esque when compared to the film’s lifeline of seething, dark humor. In the end, like the aftermath of an explosion, Swope’s message is muddled and confused. Perhaps that was its anarchic purpose, as the film’s disjointed conclusion is that everyone, everywhere, is bad.