That statement is technically true: Robbins is the uncredited assassin who makes a martyr out of the “mad prophet of the airwaves” in front of a live studio audience, a fitting irony to end the greatest political/social satire of the 70’s. Blessed with a rat-a-tat screenplay by Paddy Chayevsky, Network ages quite well. Its foreboding messages about media and culture have all come true, and then some.
There is Shakespearean beauty and tragedy in these cynical, foul-mouthed “Murrow’s boys” and their soulless infotainment replacements. Holden and Finch (Best Supporting Actor, post-humus) flail and howl to the bitter end. Dunaway (Best Actress) and Duvall are the venomous, fast-talking thieves in the temple of the news room. Beatrice Straight won an Oscar for only a few minutes screen time, articulating the rage of a wife betrayed. Ned Beatty (yes, that Ned Beatty) delivers a mind-bending Zarathustra moment as the man behind the curtain who reveals the truth to our doomed and crazy hero, Mr. Beale.
Network is a cautionary tale, unheeded. Except only, perhaps, by Steven Colbert.