



Somewhere between a joke and a warning, Bob Roberts has aged into a comedy that is barely a comedy at all now. What Tim Robbins made in 1992 as a political mockumentary now plays like a horribly plausible rehearsal for the world we ended up with. Not so much ahead of its time as filed under the wrong genre.
Robbins is terrific as the grinning folk-singer chancer, because he understands the key thing about men like Bob Roberts: they do not need to make sense, they just need to scan well on camera. Alan Rickman, as his campaign manager, is the perfect accomplice — watchful, dry, keeping the whole circus airborne with minimal effort. The songs are the film’s sharpest weapon: Dylan’s earnest troubadour pose, same costume, opposite politics, twice the cynicism.
What really makes it bite, though, is the mockumentary form. The cameras are not exposing the con. They are part of it, helping package, frame and sell the lie. That is the bit that now feels genuinely chilling. Less satire now than diagnosis.
Knowing the events that occurred 2 years after the films release, the Pennsylvania elections of '94, this film is very prophetic. An excellent mock-umentarty.