Start watching Citizen Weiner and you may find its subject, Zack Weiner, looks familiar. A brief opening montage provides a sampling of what’s to come in Daniel Robbins’ documentary: late-night talk show hosts cracking wise about something Weiner did, various people with shocked expressions, and a conveniently blurred video at the center of it all. Those who can recall 2021’s New York City Council election might remember Weiner as the primary candidate who had a BDSM video of himself leaked to the press during. It’s a recent blink-and-you’ll-miss-it piece of pop-culture history, from a time when most of us stayed inside and online, and Citizen Weiner does little to make this part of the past worth revisiting.
Introductory interviews provide a bit of background. Weiner is a writer and actor who starred in Robbins’ past features, including the 2018 horror film called Pledge that Weiner co-wrote. With the pandemic putting their careers on pause, they pivot to local politics with the intent of documenting the process from beginning to end. If the connections to show business don’t make it obvious, their forced comedic deliveries will; the entire campaign is an elaborate bit, and everything––including the eventual video leak––are engineered for maximum attention and in service to this mocku-documentary.
It’s an idea that’s been done before, a more recent example being the 2019 mockumentary Mister America, a film that had the advantage of being a part of the ongoing web series / soap opera On Cinema. The subjects in Citizen Weiner don’t have that kind of advantage (aside from viewers who might remember this story in the news) and they do a poor job making the case for their prank. The rest of the campaign staff provides half-assed, smarmy improvisation that doesn’t go anywhere––like their “Campaign Security” Aaron, who introduces himself as an eccentric only to fade into the background. The only cast member who finds the right balance is their Communications Director Sarah Coffey, a self-described TikToker who has a better balance of charisma and unseriousness than everyone around her.
As the film and campaign soldier on to the primary vote, it’s apparent that these people are as bad at campaigning as they are at pulling off their film. They’re so bad at it that, once their manufactured video leaks, nothing happens. The facade of a shocked Weiner and his campaign drops, and it’s only after one of them sends a mass email about the video to staff at the New York Post that a reporter finally takes the bait. It’s a problem when feigned incompetence gets overshadowed by actual incompetence, though in the end Weiner does get his 15 minutes of fame. That counts for something to them, at least.
Most disappointing about Citizen Weiner is its pointlessness, a lack of purpose beyond the self-serving goals of achieving virality. Plenty films have done a good job to mine comic absurdity from the world of politics. But there’s little going on in Citizen Weiner outside observing people trying a sub-sub-Nathan Fielder routine. (It’s telling that two of the most compelling subjects, Weiner’s mother and their campaign lawyer, appear to be their most natural selves.) Making matters worse is the Weiner campaign’s attempts at good deeds (e.g. trying to raise funds for a retired election worker’s kidney transplant) which come across as tacky efforts to justify their light duping of the public. An opening title card with Harvey Milk’s quote of “Politics is theater” suggests Citizen Weiner wants to showcase the artifice of the political realm. What unfolds is a group of performers, unable to do business as usual, seizing the stage of politics while they wait to get back to work. If you’re going this far to put on a show, at least try to make it a good one.
Citizen Weiner premiered at the 2024 Slamdance Film Festival.