There’s a certain brand of Hollywood liberal—a phrase to which I hate to give much credence—who labors to convince us they are indeed helping. They make sure to be photographed at the right events, donate to charity and occasionally produce a movie giving voice to the concerns of the common man. Said movie might even include, for example, some black-and-white footage taken from a Golden Age serial about the virtues of the public library. It’s a touching idea, but in effect, the film and its makers have already given themselves away.
This is how writer-director Emilio Estevez’s The Public begins, with throwback instructional film footage. It’s a charming little montage, yet loaded with clear rhetorical intent: when did we forget about our public institutions? What happened to those good old days when we sought out a place like a library and availed ourselves of its vital services? And furthermore, why can’t we go back? In truth, I can’t argue with some of the logic. I myself am an advocate for the public library, which makes it difficult to tear down the idea of its artful and stirring defense on film. Except that, while The Public may mean well, it is neither artful nor particularly stirring.
The Public rests on the conveniently named Stuart Goodson (Estevez again), a non-descript librarian working at the Cincinnati Public Library. He has a boss, Anderson (Jeffrey Wright), and an underling, Myra (Jena Malone), and exists in a city with an absentee landlord, a flighty (but cute) building manager, Angela (Taylor Schilling) and a host of other people in his orbit. Most of all, however, he spends his days answering questions and tending to the crew of homeless people who spend their days keeping warm in the library. This is where the film gets its not-so-subtle twist of a name and its initial source of tension—the library as both public space and shelter to its more unruly or unwanted members. (A naked guy singing “I Can See Clearly Now” by the stacks confirms this tone early on.)
To its credit, the film broadens from there to include mayoral candidate Josh Davis (Christian Slater), Detective Bill Ramstead (Alec Baldwin) and more, in a grander stab at “The Wire”-lite storytelling. They’re all enmeshed in the plot after the homeless people on hand refuse to leave the library for the night. It’s cold and they’ve had enough of winter, so why not? They’re led by Jackson (the never-not-charming Michael Kenneth Williams), who pushes Goodson to decide whether he’ll stand with them as human beings in peril, or with the library as an institution operating under laws to be enforced no matter what. On its cover, this is a solid setup for an urban morality play, one that could spin into all kinds of discussions of civic and moral responsibility.
The Public is dramatically inert, however. We never for a second doubt that Stuart will make it to the end in one piece. Even with cops looming outside, the purity of his mission remains unsullied, whatever doubts he may have given merely half a thought in scene after obvious scene. This isn’t helped by Estevez’s blank page performance meant to play off the larger personalities on display. Again and again, the camera comes back to him, killing any momentum the film might build. Slater, meanwhile, never manages to wipe the sneer off his face long enough to be anything but a cartoon villain. The deck-stacking starts there, but it extends to everyone else in the cast—Schilling and Malone as dutiful go-betweens, Gabrielle Union’s shoehorned-in opportunistic TV reporter, Baldwin’s faux-earnest act and, of course, the cadre of delightful homeless men.
By presenting these figures in particular as a cross between holy fools and lovable scamps, Estevez does his greatest bit of disservice. He’s cast Williams to lend the film street cred, but the Jackson character is so cloying it’s impossible to be even mildly challenged by him or his guys (and, curiously, it’s all guys). That’s not to say there can’t be homeless people who are indeed holy fools or lovable scamps, but how much more interesting would it be if the film portrayed them as, I don’t know, relatable people? The closest we get to a “problematic” figure in the library is the one punk white guy who doesn’t want to share his space, and who happens to be the addict son of Baldwin’s cop just beyond the barricaded doors. From this, we’re supposed to take some measure of sympathy—the cops and the supposed criminals not so far apart—but concluding with a “they’re just like us” sentiment feels cheap.
Despite its expansive cast and on-location setting, the filmmaking in The Public feels cheap too. Estevez has a definite desire to say something important here, but he’s undone by his own bland technique and ineffectual messaging. What’s more, he sands down issues of great complexity and nuance—about government, housing, poverty, addiction, and more—to fit into neat preconceived narratives. For all its protest action, its raised voices and fists, even its overall positivity, Estevez’s film is far too convenient in its summation. Now, this critique is not meant to discourage said fight or to cancel its message; libraries—and all public spaces—are very much worth defending. But let’s hope instead for a greater film, one that can better arm us for real conflict, one I’m not sure any Hollywood liberal can provide.
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