Chris Christie did it again. Three weeks ago, he single-handedly derailed Rubio’s surging momentum by skewering the Florida senator in the New Hampshire debate. After a disappointing finish in the Granite State primary, Rubio vowed he would never let himself be toyed with again. And, true to his word, he didn’t. On Thursday, he went on the offensive, attacking Trump for a multitude of past disgressions, deeming the businessman a con artist. For the first time, Trump appeared rattled. To the delight of the GOP, Rubio aggressively repeated the charge the next day, hoping ‘con artist’ would stick as much as ‘liar’ did to Cruz. Perhaps, the media elite pondered, the rumors of the establishment’s demise was exaggerated, after all.

Then, a strange thing happened: Christie endorsed Trump, pushing Rubio’s accusations  off center stage. The timing couldn’t have been more propitious for the billionaire. Not only was the announcement delivered the day after the debate- blunting the efficacy of Rubio’s arguments- it occurred on a Friday afternoon, effectively hijacking the news cycle for the weekend. The endorsement also jabbed Marco in a more substantive manner; the establishment can and will support Donald Trump, damaging Rubio’s claim that only he can unite the party. In fact, shortly after gaining Christie’s backing, the businessman was endorsed by the governor of Maine. The GOP power brokers excoriated Christie for his about-face on the prospects of a Trump presidency. But there’s no denying his impact upon the 2016 campaign. Time will tell, of course (as it always does), but Christie may very well have knocked Rubio- and the once indomitable establishment- off the presidential perch, altering the course of the Republican party for years, if not decades.

 

 

A funny thing happened on the way to watching (yet another) GOP debate last Saturday night… I felt bad for Trump. Pity, even. I know, I know, it’s crazy. I mean, how could anyone- particularly one opposed to his benighted brand of politics- feel anything resembling empathy for a wealthy, bigoted, sexist, well, asshole. For two hours in South Carolina, the bully became the bullied. Ted and Jeb lobbed their usual pot shots at the billionaire, which he previously parried with arrogant diffidence. But on this night, Trump did the unthinkable in a state known for secession, Strom Thurmond, and confederate flags: he blamed W. for 9-11. Thunderous boos soaked the arena. Rubio defended Jeb’s brother, blaming (naturally) Clinton for the tragedy. Cruz accused Trump of being a liberal. Like a possum trapped in a cage, a red- er, orange- faced Trump attacked, repeating the refrain that W. did not keep us safe. Another hailstorm of jeers. You could almost hear his poll numbers plunge. And, as they undoubtedly did,  my sympathy skyrocketed. As Trump insisted, the crowd was packed with Rubio and Bush supporters. I’ve always had an affinity for underdogs and, at least for those two hours, I, much like the man Rubio credited for the Twin Towers collapsing, felt Trump’s pain.

Perhaps my sympathy stems from the fact that I agree with Trump on this point. While I don’t directly blame W. for 9-11, it did happen on his watch. And there were definitive CIA warnings beforehand. Maybe it’s because I find the other candidates detestable, a lesser evil kind of thing. After all, the Donald does have one or two laudable viewpoints, namely his excoriation of Super Pac’s and their beneficiaries. Possibly it’s due to the entertainment factor. Let’s face it, the race is infinitely more interesting with Trump center stage. Or perhaps it’s because I believe he’ll be the most beatable nominee in the general election (yes, even if it’s Bernie). Whatever the reason, I felt something that night I never would have believed possible: pity for a wealthy, bigoted, sexist asshole.

Movies have been entrenched in our nation’s zeitgeist since nickelodeons dotted the landscape at the turn of the 20th century. From the first celluloid rag beatifying the works of Chaplin to the latest TMZ reporter chasing down a drunken starlet, the world of cinema has shaped, molded, and often crafted popular culture. Ever since Griffith’s monumental albeit overtly racist oeuvre Birth of a Nation, Hollywood and Washington have been inextricably linked, its relationship waxing and waning over the years depending on the tides of social mores. The grubby milieu of politics wasn’t exposed until the typically mawkish Capra delivered a cynical gem, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, in 1939, a seminal year for film. Like other public figures, politicians have been judged, usually in a negative manner, against their on-screen personas. While many promising Jefferson Smiths have succumbed to the meat grinder of Congressional compromise, less desirable protagonists have had their share of imitators. Clinton was deemed, particularly on far reaches of the AM dial, to be a modern day Elmer Gantry, a slick, silver tongued preacher who eschews the values he proselytizes. Likewise, his successor was likened to the dimwitted Chauncey Gardiner, whose earthy folksiness was mistaken for profundity. As election day looms, the media, which now includes a disturbingly wide assortment of bloggers, is sure to stamp a cinematic simile on the candidates. For your consideration, I’d like to suggest the 1995 thriller Crimson Tide as a exemplary model for the 2008 campaign.

Directed by Tony Scott, Crimson Tide depicts a power struggle between two senior officers aboard a U.S. nuclear submarine that may or may not have not have been summoned to launch missiles at a suddenly chaotic Russia whose rebel leader, hellbent on terminating his enemies, may or may or may not have access to the country’s nuclear codes. Ramsey, the crusty, impulsive captain, authorizes a preemptive strike but is denied assent by Hunter, his Harvard educated yet wet behind the ears commanding officer, who happens to be three decades his junior and, oh yes, black. Beyond simple demographics, it’s a classic confrontation between experience and education, force versus diplomacy. In a nutshell, McCain versus Obama.

“Do you think I’m some crazy old coot endangering everyone as I yell yee-haw?”

No one in Washington has been a stronger advocate of aggressive military action in both Iraq and Afghanistan than Senator McCain. Despite his differences with Bush on such issues as tax cuts and campaign finance reform, McCain has become the administration’s mouthpiece for the War on Terror. Not content with maintaining the mission, he upped the ante by calling for additional troops. While the so-called surge undoubtedly has led to a decrease in violence, at least temporarily, his militaristic bent has struck trepidation in voters with a less hawkish stance. For those familiar with the film, you could easily imagine Ramsey, cigar clenched in his teeth, his face crinkled with prolonged laughter, palling around with his fellow officers, crooning “Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb Iran.” The grizzled captain, in an early scene on the sub, boasted that not only he would have ordered the annihilation of Hiroshima, he would have “dropped the fucker. Twice.” In a similar tone of audacity, McCain declared he wouldn’t mind if troops were stationed in Iraq for one hundred years, let alone fifty. As any military historian can tell you, boldness often deteriorates into recklessness.

“You’re out of your league, Hunter. You’re not ready to make tough decisions.”

A lean resume has always been the albatross nipping at Obama’s vulnerable heel ever since he announced his candidacy one frosty day in Springfield. His work as a community organizer and law professor, along with his lone, truncated term in the US Senate, is hardly a suitable backstory for a Presidential aspirant. Similarly, his cinematic counterpart was awarded a tour of duty on the USS Alabama despite the fact he served only a single stint as commanding officer. While Obama deftly deflected the issue during the primary- though Clinton’s red phone ad still has a lingering effect- you can bet the Swiftboaters now employed in the McCain camp will slice open the wound and, for good measure, dump in the salt. As Captain Ramsey gripes to a loyal subordinate about Hunter: “The closest he’s come to combat is a policy seminar.”

“I’m the captain of this ship. Now shut the fuck up.”

McCain’s prickliness was evident in his first congressional race in ’86, when his Republican challenger suggested he was a carpetbagger. Concerns about his fiery temper were partly to blame for the Straight Talk Express derailing in 2000 when conservative kingmakers, notably Limbaugh and Hannity, questioned the Senator’s mental stability, heaping their support onto the untested governor of Texas. Perhaps worse, at least on a personal level, one of his own, Republican Senator Thad Cochran, expressed worries that his colleague was too erratic, too hotheaded to be commander in chief. A declaration which, knowing the Naval pilot’s insistence on absolute loyalty, must have stung, if not scarred.

By contrast, Obama’s equanimity has been his greatest attribute during the campaign. The image of him picking an imaginary strand of lint off his shoulder provides a portrait of his coolness under fire. Sure, Obama may qualify his remarks, as Ramsey accuses Hunter of doing, but there’s denying his model temperament, particularly when compared to his crabby opponent. Likewise, the even-keeled Hunter seeks additional information- critical information- before he’s ready to light the match that could very well ignite a global conflagration. More time to obtain more data that leads to a more informed decision. A rational approach, to be sure, one that parallels the reasoning behind the inspection of Iraqi weaponry and, later, Obama’s objection to the invasion.

“The Lipizzan stallions are the most highly trained horses in the world. They’re all white.”

There’s no discounting the importance of race in this historic campaign. Obama addressed the complex issue in a courageous, if not necessary, speech, simultaneously broadening minds and, vastly more importantly to his campaign, soothing fears. While virtually all poll respondents deny that race will have an impact on their votes, anyone familiar with the Bradley effect has wisely adopted a cautionary approach. Like Obama, Hunter seems to have transcended race, blending seamlessly into a (subterranean) world that is nearly as white as its uniforms. McCain, for his part, has steered clear of these murky waters. Considering his party-busting move to the left on immigration, McCain may be viewed as much a compassionate conservative as he is a maverick. It is a stubborn fact, however- and stubbornness in McCain is more than a passing streak- that he once voted against establishing a holiday for Martin Luther King, Jr. In later years, he regretted the vote, much like Ramsey, at the film’s conclusion, conceding the fact that he was, indeed, wrong. After all, the horses may be white, but, as Hunter declares, they were born black.
If the election follows script, Obama’s cool-headedness will win the day, retiring McCain to the Arizona sunset, and, in the process, tightening the knot between Washington and Hollywood. Much like Hunter, now in charge of the USS Alabama, Obama will have to lead our nation against an avalanche of adversity, both foreign and domestic. We can only hope- and hope is what will have propelled him to the Oval Office- that he isn’t out of his league and that he’s ready to make the tough decisions.