The Second Greatest American Who Ever Lived

Reagan Biopic Hits Box Office

As we all know, Jesus was the Greatest American Who Ever Lived. He personally wrote every page of the Bible in America and delivered the Sermon on the Mount from the holiest place in all the world, Mount Rushmore. It’s taken far, far too long but we finally have a film - nay, an intricate celluloid character study - of the second greatest American who ever lived, President Ronald Reagan, brought to life by the genius behind Cats & Dogs 3: Paws Unite, Sean McNamara. With a directorial resume that includes cultural touchstones like Aliens Stole My Body and the timeless epic Baby Geniuses and the Space Baby, McNamara was clearly the only logical choice to helm this biopic of America's most beloved actor-turned-politician. Who else could balance the weighty historical significance of Ronald Reagan's life with the nuanced storytelling skills required to make toddlers in space seem plausible?

Leading the charge is Dennis Quaid, an actor whose emotional range spans from "slightly confused" to "mildly constipated." As Reagan, Quaid brings the same energy he brought to every other role he's ever played, which is to say, none at all. But don't worry, that's exactly the kind of laid-back, laissez-faire performance one would expect for Reagan. After all, why would a portrayal of a president who gutted the American middle class and ignored the slow-motion apocalypse that was the AIDS epidemic have any rushed moments at all?

Penelope Ann Miller, stepping into the shoes of Nancy Reagan, the queen of oratory prowess herself, indeed, the Throat Goat, offers a performance that can best be described as "vaguely aware of the historical figure she's playing." Miller's Nancy isn't so much a portrayal as it is a wax figure brought to life by the power of low-wattage stage lighting. But don’t let that stop you from enjoying the sheer star power of her scenes — if you can call standing slightly to the left of Quaid’s Reagan "scenes."

The real coup de grâce, however, is the casting of Kevin Sorbo, that Kevin Sorbo, possibly the third greatest American who ever lived. The former Hercules and current champion of Fox News daytime TV struts onto the screen with all the charisma of a man who wandered onto set thinking he was filming another one of his direct-to-VHS action thrillers. Sorbo's role is, as expected, "guy who says some stuff." But with that chiseled jawline and a delivery that sounds like he’s just been told his Netflix password got hacked, it’s hard not to marvel at the talent on display.

But the absolute showstopper, the moment that has the world buzzing, is Scott Stapp, lead singer of Creed, playing Frank fucking Sinatra. Scott Stapp. As Frank Sinatra. It’s almost as if the casting director spun a giant Wheel of Cultural Misunderstanding and landed on "Creed lead singer, pretending to croon." Stapp growls his way through Sinatra’s iconic hits, managing to make "Fly Me to the Moon" sound like an unholy mashup of karaoke night at a dive bar and the sounds of a cat stuck in a washing machine.

McNamara, with the finesse only a director of Baby Geniuses and the Space Baby could possess, crafts a narrative that’s equal parts reverence and, well, pure, unfiltered nonsense. Reagan’s legacy is lovingly honored with dialogue that feels like it was written by someone who skimmed Wikipedia during a lunch break. There’s no need for pesky historical accuracy here — just like McNamara's previous films, this is all about spectacle, not substance.

And let’s not forget the economics lesson baked right into the film’s DNA. In the spirit of trickle-down economics, we can all rest easy knowing that the box office profits from Reagan will eventually make their way to the hardworking American people. Sure, it might seem like the film is destined to flop harder than Quaid’s last romantic comedy, but Reaganomics teaches us that if we just wait long enough, the money will trickle down to us! A few decades, maybe. A generation or two tops. But trust us, that $12 ticket stub will eventually manifest as prosperity.

Predictably, the biopic doesn’t delve into the destruction of unions, the systematic dismantling of social safety nets, skyrocketing national debt, or the privatization of public services. No, we are left to remember Reagan for what he truly was: an actor. An actor so dedicated to his role as “President” that he managed to convince millions of Americans that smiling and delivering a few charming lines was all it took to lead a nation.

In summation, Reagan is a triumph in every possible sense — assuming your definition of triumph includes baffling casting choices, phoned-in performances, and a director whose greatest artistic achievement to date involves a talking dog. This film is more than just a biopic; it's a statement. A statement that says, “We made this because we could, not because we should.”