The Lost Wing


I'm amazed, really, at the scope of the conspiracy. The campaign covered all the bases, even the seemingly irrelevant ones. And the depth and breadth of the lie was so perfectly executed, it was in a peculiar way, worth my 51 minutes of attention Wednesday evening at 9 pm on NBC, if only to marvel at its' ability to seduce jaded lil' old me.
In fact, the current mentality of the American Media Suits has been so perfectly skewed by the scores of redneck morons who actually watch what we who can pronounce polysyllabic words whimsically refer to as "reality TV" that its' own sense of morality --and more importantly, excellence-- has been perhaps permanently impaired. What they did last evening was, despite the best efforts of a few valiant thespians, a travesty, and even though I knew it was C minus work, up until 9:51, I was ready, waiting, prepared for the finish. I was open. I actually thought that the idiots who replaced a modern genius over a few bucks (when Jennifer Aniston's tits engender several thou per second) would be able to keep the series flowing in its' unique way. I saw all this great press in TV Guide, WSJ, all summer I heard how professional these new writers were, how good the new show would be...
And what did this new 'just as talented team' come up with? An operatic montage?!? A depressing, 6 minute long, mezzo soprano's wailing over a somber daytime soap montage?!?
Did any of those jackasses ever WATCH tapes of The West Wing at all?

It's a pretty formulaic show, in many ways, so it was easy to be sucked in to the hype. Take the score, which was (excepting said aria) a pretty solid effort, and as good as any prior show -- it's faintly parade-like, a whiff of uniform, a touch of red carpet and a little slow riff. It's... anthemic, ideal for its' purposes: to inspire Americans, or at least its viewership contingent.
Then there's that banter -ah! Banter redefined for a generation. Those of us who enjoyed his earlier work (SportsNight anyone?) were thrilled. While "Moonlighting" was the 80's double-entendre fest, this was Tracy & Hepburn banter, Hudson & Day repartee: smart, quick, crazy, quirky dialogue. If you sneezed, -hell, laughed too loud- you'd spoil the fun for yourself and miss that seventh zinger in a row that had you helplessly, soundlessly in a ball on the floor in hysterics.
Which abruptly would be interrupted by a somber, or a profound, or frightening, or just frustrating or insipidly stupid series of events that was in no way, shape or form funny at all.
The show did not indulgue in the musical segue bit, foreshadowing was not what the Real West Wing excelled in, and thus those surprising moments happened. They stopped your heart, the equivalent of slamming into a brick wall in the middle of a Marx Brothers flick.
We cried, or cursed, or just thought "God, what a decision" while we eavesdropped on the people we knew surely did crawl around the Capitol Building and through the Oval Office, just as grim and self centered as we feared. But we also saw the people we wanted, hoped, needed to believe were still at the centers of power. Good, honest, loyal, decent, kind, thoughtful and principled people with motives and minds that were trustworthy.
And then, even when the choices were bad, when the characters were flawed and dammit even they knew how damn flawed they were, even when the outcome broke your heart, somewhere between 9:51 and 9:53 Aaron Sorkin would singlehandedly deliver a modern miracle.
He would show my son why I cry whenever I pull the voting lever or fill out an absentee ballot. He'd impart the gravity and the hope of a citizen taking the oath for the first time, he showed the patina of the Bill of Rights as it has aged and matured with those it purports to represent.
Someone, anyone, would speak and out of their mouths a soliloqy would begin. It was a monolougue, yes, a wonderful speech about why this Republic matters and it would pour forth and it would sweep even the staunchest naysayers in the room into a quiet. And then that silence was filled up with the values and the visions and the virtues of the men who created this most incredible experiment, this thing we call today The United States of America, and in that inner quiet we were able to see what those refugees saw, know the need to complete what they had begun, feel the moist pride in the corner of our eye as we realized we were -right now, today- making decisions that were creating the history our own children and grandchildren would read about. It made voters of indifferent citizens, activists of simple people, inspired debate and thought on subjects complicated, diverse and for one evening four times a month terribly, terribly important.


Last evening, I read an article explaining why the West Wing needed to be further right wing, that it 'did not accurately reflect the current political circumstances' and needed a 'dose of reality.' I suppose that's why only two characters seemed genuinely interested in the moral implications of the plot, why I actually heard "if we do that the terrorists win" (!!!UGH) or why crass political posturing and jockeying for desk space was the narrative of the evening, not the gripping story that would have been told if they had decided to give Aaron Sorkin as much as they spend on the craft services table in one season on some of their other -ahem- "must see teevee."
The new and improved show hosts a shrill, amoral apointee who brings the character of Josh Lyman to his moral knees in 12 minutes with his sneering preening. We have John Goodman giving a Lyndon Johnson impression that time has made more arrogant, more crass than I remember. Donna Moss, the character who in another time and place re-centered and provided the everyman's moral compass even succumbed, stuttering that "he looks.... Presidential" rather than agonizing over the fate of a close friend if not extended family member and the shattering repercussions of the decision their leader had made, perhaps to redeem himself in his own eyes, to remove any chance that he might do the immoral thing again.
No, last night I saw an America I know all too well, one I read about every day, one in which all too many times the moneyed fellas win. Tell me again why it was important to change the sensibilities of the Real West Wing to those of the Right Wing? (If you dislike the idea, take it up with the generally favorable review of the revised show in the NY Times.) The premise apparently has become the portrayal of the cesspool that Washington is, and not the place it could, or even should, be.
If I were seriously considering this conspiratorially, it does make a sick, twisted, network kinda sense, kids. Instead of hope, we got despair. We got gut-punched. Here's the new speech: "The good guys finish last. Bomb 'em all to hell if they disagree. Everyone is a snake, all politicians are slime. And oh, by the way, don't even take the time to bother to vote. What's the use, babe? You got no power. And Survivor and Fear Factor are "all new" that night so stay home."


Don't you dare let them win. You go out and you cover the suits at NBC's desks with letters demanding Sorkin come back. You demand Zoey's immediate release. After all, this is one virtual terrorist fight any of us, any average Jane or Joe can win! Call the sponsors! Write the people who advertise on The New West Wing and you tell them you're disgusted with this change and you will buy TEN of what they are selling if Sorkin is back writing and maybe, just maybe, if the stars are aligned correctly and the Gods are with us, we can bring back a small ray of hope into our lives every Wednesday night right around 9:51.

That's nothing close to what I was hoping I would see last night. It's barely passable as cogent thought, let alone inspirational invective. But remember, in your minds' eye, one of those nights when The West Wing reminded you that being an American was a priveledge and an honor. Keep that feeling alive, and say a prayer for these United States, and the brave men and women who serve her -us- in all the levels of government. And then please pray for Aaron Sorkin and creative people like him, who may yet convince a free people that being free, is, in itself, a pretty miraculous thing.



The Curmudgeon