A simple-minded, well dressed man named Chance lives in a townhouse in Washington D.C. Chance has never left this house and has learned everything he knows from watching TV or gardening. But when the old owner of the home passes away (presumably a disappointed father?), Chance is evicted from the house. Naive and lost, Chance wanders through D.C. when he is bumped by a reversing vehicle. The wealthy passenger, Eve, has access to a doctor and brings Chance home to be examined. At her estate he meets the man of the house, business mogul Ben Rand who assumes that Chance—mild-mannered, well dressed, and of few words—is a wise business man named “Chauncey Gardiner”. The absurdity ratchets up further when the President of the United States, a confidant of Rand’s, comes to visit and soaks up “Chauncey’s” advice on economic policy (which, in actuality, were just musings on gardening). As reporters and detectives try to figure out who "Chauncey Gardiner" is, the general public, upper-crust, and heads of state become more enamored with his kind-hearted wisdom.
The whole time I watched “Being There”, I couldn’t help but compare it to “Forrest Gump”. Forrest and Chance are both simple men who garner quite a bit of attention, leaving a mark on America in the process. But while “Forrest Gump” has this fairytale aura about it, “Being There” has this satirical, plain tone. It’s a comedy with few laughs, rather a growing tension from the absurdity of the premise—and it works. Peter Sellers is committed and charming as Chance (in his “least Peter Sellers performance”, as my dad says) and Shirley MacLaine keeps her confusing character afloat through charm and curiosity. I really loved the film's stylish music (a funk version of Also Sprach Zarathustra was particularly cool). That said, I agree with some critics’ opinion that the film’s two ‘sexual’ sub-plots were unnecessary and distracting.
I’ve seen the film compared to the Trump Presidency (re: a powerful, TV-obsessed idiot) but I don’t think the connection is strong. What the film does explore, however, is the unwitting manipulation of expectation and privilege. When Chance leaves his house for the first time, he walks through a ‘rough’, black neighborhood. He is the most naive person there, but he is able to climb to the highest reaches of powerful society because he is well dressed, kindly spoken, and white. He fits the mold of who he is assumed to be and that alone takes him to the furthest lengths politically, economically, and hell—romantically. It’s a reminder that the “don’t judge a book by its cover” adage applies to even those we are pleased with or impressed by.