Fake news is nothing new in the movies: Column

The new biopic Jackie is the latest in a genre of films that fits well into our post-fact, fake-news era. We see Mrs. Kennedy talking to a priest who is made up of whole cloth, notes Eric Eidelstein of Mic. We see her staggering “in a druggy haze through the East Wing, sipping vodka,” says The Washington Post’s Ann Hornaday. "Of course it's all fiction; of course it's a fantasy," writes The Boston Globe's Ty Burr.

That doesn't mean it shouldn't been seen. But it does revive the perennial debate around films such as JFK and Selma that both capture and distort important slices of history, and in that respect it is a disturbing echo of today’s news environment.

In 1989, I had a front-row seat to the filmmaker's dilemma — not simply whether to depict historical events authentically or take liberties for the sake of drama, but also whether to defend your decision. It involved Mississippi Burning, which had ignited controversy for glorifying the FBI and inaccurately depicting the murders of civil rights workers Andrew Goodman, James Chaney and Michael Schwerner. I asked British director Alan Parker to appear on ABC’s Nightline (I was the chief guest producer) to explain his portrayal of one of the horrific moments in this country's civil rights era. He declined, but the public relations firm hired by the movie surprisingly offered up the film's star, Gene Hackman (who was nominated then for an Oscar for best actor).

It seemed an odd substitute. Anyone familiar with Nightline knew it was not just another stop on the film promotion circuit but a serious public policy program, often featuring debates on headlines of the day. During the broadcast, civil rights pioneer Julian Bond wasted little time in confronting Hackman, who was appearing remotely from a Chicago TV studio. "People are going to have a mistaken idea about that time," Bond told Hackman, and suggested a better name for the film might be Rambo meets the Klan. Bond also criticized the portrayal of the FBI and the South: "It's just wrong. These guys were tapping our telephones, not looking into the murders of Goodman, Chaney and Schwerner."

All Hackman could say in response was, "I would apologize for making people feel uncomfortable. But I still think it's a good film."

Within seconds of us getting off the air, the phone rang in the green room. It was Hackman, who laced into me for making him a punching bag. Even though nearly 30 years have passed, I vividly recall responding as politely as I could: "Mr. Hackman, the person you should be upset with is not me or anyone on Nightline, but your public relations person, who knew this was a debate about whether a filmmaker should remake history."

All of this seems rather quaint in the new age of fake news on the Internet. When demonstrably false news inspires a person to take a semiautomatic weapon into a pizza restaurant in Washington, D.C., as happened this month, and fire several shots because that pizza joint had been at the center of false stories about a child sex ring, it's no longer a theoretical classroom discussion.

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Besides a casual relationship with the truth, historical movies that bend facts for dramatic effect share at least one thing with fake news on the Internet: Both present a challenge for young people to tell fact from fiction. I've gone into classrooms in the Washington area as part of a program to beef up news literacy for students. There is a lot of work to be done in helping students with the tools to distinguish between reliable information from trusted sources and unreliable and completely fanciful stories.

With a tsunami of information washing into our phones, tablets and laptops, it's a bit like emptying the ocean with a teaspoon. But we have to start somewhere. While we can't control people who are determined to send out false and defamatory stories, whether their motives are click bait, thrills or a political agenda, we can ask the entertainment industry to police itself and treat history with a bit more reverence on the big screen. Then, perhaps, the truth will hold some value for the next generation.

Richard L. Harris, a freelance journalist, was senior producer of ABC News’ Nightline with Ted Koppel. Follow him on Twitter @redsox54 

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