Justin Amash and the travail of choices

I discovered that Justin Amash was seriously considering a presidential run as a Libertarian when I read the board this morning. The person who posted the story immediately attacked Amash for potentially threatening Biden's victory by providing conservatives that dislike Trump with another option. The first response to his post was a dismissal akin to "Egotistical politicians all think they're the savior that America needs.", which was also an expression of dismay that someone else other than the two anointed ones might get involved in the race. I found both reactions to be an interesting display of both a failure to see beyond one's own window and an assumption that almost all politicians, by their very existence, are bad people. Both are also implicitly expressions of American monotheism in politics.

First off, it's ridiculous to deny the presence of ego in politics. Most people who run for office have a fair share of it in order to stand up in front of people and say either "I have new ideas" or "I'm the voice for your ideas", if not both. Most politicians are fond of their own opinion. That's why they're politicians. The question of the presence of egotism is a bit murkier and certainly the speculation that all politicians have a messiah complex is just part of that "Politicians are bad people" trope. There are a number of reasons that most people choose to run for office. John Conyers used to talk about civic duty. When he started, there weren't a lot of people willing to stand up and talk about what was happening in that part of Detroit, because it was mostly Black. (I once joked with him, on a live mic, that he'd be better off joining the Greens, since his outlook was closer to ours. He suggested that we should talk later.) Similarly, a lot of minor party or impossible-to-win-in-this-red/blue-district races are run because there's no one speaking for the people in that locale who don't agree with the dominant viewpoint. And some people just think they can do things better than the person already there. Look at Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, for example.

In this case, the latter motivation is likely what's moving Amash. The guy already left the GOP because of how insane it's become, despite continuing to spout off regular conservative viewpoints as an independent. How many times have we seen Republicans (Never Trumpers, etc.) talk about how repelled they are by what their party has become and, yet, Amash's run somehow has to be all about Amash? But they're all corrupt! They're all in on it! They're all fatuous egotists! Both sides! All sides! But if you can't believe anyone who wants to run for office might do at least OK in that office, then what's the point of any of this? The old homily that the "best person to run for president is the person who doesn't want the job" is moronic. What's the best example? The current idiot in the White House. He didn't want the job. He just wanted the attention, narcissist that he is. That's why he's spent half his time in office playing golf. Being president is kinda difficult. It's a lot of work. Who wants that? Well, really driven people who think they have good ideas. That old James Lipton questionnaire that he always asked of guests on Inside the Actors Studio had a "What job would you never want to do?" question. The nearly universal answer was "Politics."

There are few more ego-driven people in the world than actors. They have to be. That's part of their craft. And, yet, none of them want to take the role of society's presumed egotists. Why? The simple answer is that none of them want to be "bad people." The more reasonable answer is that all of them realize that it's a difficult job trying to respond to the wants and needs of a variety of people in whatever district, municipality, or nation that they happen to oversee. It's often a thankless job, whereas at least as an actor you get applause and sometimes awards. And it's also a job that brings such an intense level of warped scrutiny from media sources and the public that even those people already under intense scrutiny, as actors, are probably not interested in subjecting themselves to it. You can't please everyone or, often, even anyone when compromise (that thing that existed pre-1994) is the order of the day.

Which brings us to our second response: the idea that Amash is somehow threatening Biden's chances in November and should, therefore, be condemned for it. This is the opposite of the typical perspective; that Democrats are threatened by Greens and those to the left, while Republicans are threatened by Libertarians and those to the right. In this case, the initial poster determined that there are a lot of non-Trump conservatives out there, just like Amash, who would otherwise be voting for Biden. This is a much more difficult question (and assertion) and there's really no way to state anything about the situation as a fact. As we've all seen, repeatedly, in recent elections, there's basically no way to determine who someone will vote for given alternative choices. The popular theory on the Democratic side is that, without Nader's presence in the 2000 election, it's a "fact" that all of those Green voters would have voted for Gore.

This is the point where another popular saying comes up: "Anecdote does not equal evidence." The difference is that this saying is actually accurate. I don't know whom Green voters in Florida or elsewhere would've voted for. I do know that I, as a Green voter in Michigan, wouldn't have voted for him because I've never voted for a major party candidate for president in my life. Without Greens on the ballot, I always voted for socialists who, incidentally, gained more votes in Florida than the difference between Bush and Gore in 2000, if you really want to get picky about it. Can anyone tell me, for certain, that non-Trump Republicans were going to bite the bullet and vote for Biden? Can anyone tell me they won't do that, anyway, even with Amash in the race? Of course not. That's about as predictable as Clinton losing all of the upper Midwest in 2016, right?

So, this is mostly about American political monotheism: Thou shalt worship no other gods before the Democrat and the Republican. This is the argument usually put forth by someone who is content with the current establishment, barring one orange, misogynist outlier. This is why entities like the New York Times won't mention that many current systems are broken or that the president tells lies almost literally every five minutes. They're content with the way things work right now. Life isn't as good as it could be, but they have jobs, they have health insurance, their 401ks and their mutual funds are doing OK; things were generally fine until the orange man-baby arrived. So, they don't want people to question the way the system operates (good luck with that during a pandemic!) They just want to focus on getting rid of the "other guys." This is what minor party people like myself used to laugh about when it seemed like the biggest difference between a Dem or GOP Congress was who had the larger offices in the Capitol.

Along comes former Republican, Justin Amash, and... he might spoil(!) everything! Once again, he's giving people CHOICE on the ballot! You know what happens when people have choices! The wrong people might win! But still the system will remain unchanged and the 'right' people will win it back later. This is the "boogeyman" argument that both major parties have used for the last thirty years. A lot of Democrats feel justified in currently saying something along the lines of "See?! We were right!" Well, yeah, albeit once in 30 years is similar to suggesting that the two non-Trumpers you've spoken to have said they're voting for Biden and that makes all the difference. Hey, the one time you were right has given us an election where only the hardcorest of the hardcore actually want to vote for president! Great. But it's not that simple, because it never is.

And now we're in a situation where all the systems are breaking down and their flaws are being seen not just by the people who have struggled under them for decades (if not centuries), but by everyone. Amash is essentially saying: "Hey. This isn't working. I'd like to do something different." And the response is: "All politicians are egotistical assholes and YOU'RE not the right kind of asshole!" In other words: "Not this time. This isn't the right time for change. Wait until next time." I would ask: "If not in the midst of a pandemic that's going to have lasting effects on life around the world, is there a time that is a good time?" Because time is what a lot of people will be lacking, quite soon. Without jobs, a lot of people are going to find themselves without food and shelter. Is your only answer to them going to be "Hey. Things will be fine if we all line up behind so-uninspiring-he's-soporific Joe Biden, so that things will go back to normal." 'Normal' is the problem; politically, economically, socially. Doing 'normal' with Democrats and Republicans is what has gotten us to this state of affairs; with people dependent on jobs for insufficient insurance, living paycheck-to-paycheck on those jobs, and not knowing what they'd do in any kind of calamity... just like this one.

Just as a side note: No, I'm not making a direct comparison between Dems and the GOP. Even if I were inclined to believe in the "all politicians are horrible" trope, as with all things in life, there are gradations of horrible. Some are clearly worse than others. In my direct encounters with most politicians, they're usually just regular people: dumb, self-interested herd animals. That's kind of demoralizing when it comes to the federal government, as you'd like to think that people who made it that far aren't fucking idiots but, as we've seen, that's very, very far from the case.

Walking old ground

Strangely, we've spent more time in front of the TV these days. Crazy, I know. With that in mind, one or both of us have sat down to watch things that came highly recommended within the past few years that we haven't gotten to. And, no, one of those things was not Tiger King. I realize it may be all the rage right now, but I sat through 40 minutes of the first episode to see what the fuss was about and turned it off. It was like an episode of Inside Edition, except longer and dumber (For those of you not old enough to remember Inside Edition, it was where Bill O'Reilly got his start in leading a "news" program, if that gives you any insight.) If I want to watch contemptible people trying to justify their awful or ridiculous behavior, I can watch our idiot president every day. I don't need to see animal cruelty on top of pettiness.

But one of the things we have watched that was worthwhile is Fargo. As a devoted Coen Brothers adherent, I am, of course, a fan of one of their greatest films. There were a couple people on the board constantly recommending the series as one of the best things on TV for a year or two, but we'd just never gotten around to recording it. (Does anyone actually watch TV with commercials, unrecorded, now that sports aren't happening?) Having watched the first season, I'd have to say that they were probably right. It certainly doesn't hurt that season 1 is basically just the film extrapolated to a larger picture. Lester Nygaard's (Martin Freeman) scheme is more impromptu than Jerry Lundegaard's and Molly Solverson (Allison Tolman) isn't pregnant or the chief of police, but the essence of the story remains the same, without a wood chipper, but with far more death and destruction. One of the keys to telling a good story in modern, serialized television is keeping a certain pace. That demands solid writing, directing, and especially editing. I think season 1 achieved that by constantly turning the bizarreness screw, but not turning it so fast that it became farce. Instead, we were regularly re-interested in what was happening with Lester, Molly, Lorne Malvo (Billy Bob Thornton), and their cast of supporting characters. No individual storyline rose above another, to where we were occasionally waiting for one scene to end to get back to another, more entrancing character.

There can be no argument that those production qualities were helped along by a stellar cast. Both Freeman and Thornton played characters that were similar to what they've done before, but neither with quite as much edge, in my experience. Thornton does "implacable" quite well, but usually not with as much malice. Similarly, Freeman does "bumbling" really well, but never to the point where he's finally lashed out and shown just how dangerous he can be. But the pinnacle to me was Tolman. She was delightful every time she came on screen and she played her role so subtly that it lent weight to the "reality" of the situation. We've all been in situations where we thought our boss and everyone around them were idiots, but no one (normally) explodes with indignation. Neither did Molly, as she simply swallowed the outrage of being the only competent person in the room and kept trying to do her duty (and a bit more.) I thought sheriff Bill Oswalt (Bob Odenkirk) really highlighted this by being clueless not because he was stupid, but because he was just looking at things from a small-town person perspective and was genuinely shocked at the level of perfidy that was happening in that small town, enacted by people that he'd known for most of his life. Again, that's a genuinely normal reaction in abnormal circumstances and I think that kind of thing made it more digestible to the audience. It was also kind of funny to see Keith Carradine again playing the retired lawman role, similar to what he'd played in Dexter, many years ago.

That, of course, leads right into season 2, which is about the younger Lou Solverson, among others. We're three episodes in and... we've kinda stopped. There are good story elements there and there is, at the very least, an interesting cast (Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons of Breaking Bad fame, Ted Danson.) But, despite keeping that "edge of bizarre but still reality" motif, season 2 seems to lack the charm of the first season and the film, which was an essential element of what made both of them compelling. We'll probably get back to it, at some point, but right now it feels very much like a sophomore slump.

Speaking of sophomore slumps, let's talk about True Detective. We picked up HBO for free for a few days, so I thought I'd look in on the third season. As many of you may remember, I think the first season is one of the best things HBO has ever done, which is a very high bar, while the second season was a faceplant of genuinely epic proportions. Somehow, HBO continued to let Nic Pizzolatto be the showrunner and he did them the service of basically ripping himself off. In short, season 3 is a retread of season 1. It's largely the same premise: missing children, weird dolls, backwoods mysticism, local people covering for their own, etc. The genuinely new elements are twofold: 1. Issues of race in the South (Really?!) are confronted head on. 2. The format of following the investigation through three different time periods (1980, 1990, 2015) is an interesting one that keeps the story moving. Otherwise, more people might have figured out that this was just season 1 set in Arkansas.

The story is entirely based upon the relationship between Wayne "Purple" Hays (Mahershala Ali) and Amelia Reardon (Carmen Ejogo) which, again, is just like season 1. The latter was also centered around the relationship between Marty and Rust. That was the important part; not dead children or perv hoarders living in old fortifications out in the bayou. Same thing here. The dynamics of Wayne and Amelia completely supersede the "buddy cop" situation of Hays and Roland West (Stephen Dorff); thankfully, since the latter isn't much of a "buddy" situation and there isn't anywhere near the magnetism between Ali and Dorff as there was between Harrelson and McConaughey. Considering their importance, it's gratifying to see both Ali and Ejogo completely carry the season; especially Ali, whose emotional reactions and expressions utterly sell scene after scene. I'm a Mahershala Ali fan in the first place (his performance in Moonlight is a must-see), but he was really excellent here. It was also encouraging to see female characters who actively propelled the story forward, like Amelia, rather than being scenery.

All of that said, unlike season 1, having seen it once, I have no compulsion to go back and see season 3 again; largely because we were retreading old ground from the beginning. The LA experiment crashed and burned in season 2, so Pizzolatto headed back to his home territory and... basically told the same story. I mean, I guess that's fine, if that's your schtick. Aaron Sorkin has gotten away with it for most of his career. But there were some really questionable approaches in the wrap-up, too. Like season 2's "entire plot contained in one desk drawer", we basically had an Agatha Christie summation in the final episode of this season. This wasn't about leaving unanswered questions or letting the characters (and the audience!) make their own decisions about what happened. No, this was all wrapped up with a nice bow on top. The End. Happily Ever After. Much of the final episode was like reading the Wikipedia summary of the entire series, which basically could've been "Watch season 1, instead." Also, the final image was strange. Hays being a LRP in Vietnam was an aspect of his character but not a really prominent one, so to close the series with him ducking into the bush again seemed markedly out of place after having summarized your whole story as being about the connections of family (both murder/kidnapping case and on a personal level.) Unless Pizzolatto was just going all Jacob's Ladder on us. The most absurdly funny aspect to this season was watching HBO's Inside the Episode shorts after each one, where Pizzolatto spares no effort to pat himself on the back for "how good this scene was" or "how much I like this part of the story." All creative types have to have some degree of ego. Most are usually more adept at containing it. I think I'm going to go rewatch Chernobyl...

Have mercy

While everyone is still under house arrest, we decided to continue our film-indulging ways by watching things that we otherwise would've seen at the Michigan Theater via other outlets (Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, etc.) This week's pick was Clemency, something we'd wanted to see after watching a couple trailers before other films, but its residency at the theater was only for a few days. Too-rich-to-give-his-employees-sick-time Jeff Bezos to the rescue(?) I guess.

I enjoyed Clemency in principle, but not so much in execution. It's not unusual that I'll see a film that I think has value because of its story and the message that story conveys, but might've had more if they didn't lean so hard into that message. This film was one of those. Alfre Woodard does a great job playing a prison warden (Bernadine Williams) who is so consumed by her job that she's allowed herself to simply become the tool that performs it, rather than the woman she used to be.  This is hammered home a couple times when she's overseeing the most stressful part of that job- organizing executions by lethal injection -and she becomes lost in the trauma of what she's witnessing while someone tries to get her attention. Repeated exclamations of "Warden?" don't snap her out of it. But finally using her name "Bernadine!" does. It's clear that her identity is lost inside her job until someone finally uses the now-unfamiliar title (her name) that separates her from her primary role. That role also leads her to nursing whiskey alone at the local watering hole and letting her marriage disintegrate, which her husband, Jonathan (Wendell Pierce) doesn't hesitate to remonstrate about, (Don't mess with The Bunk!), despite earnest attempts to keep it alive.

Sharing the slide with Woodard in this downward spiral is Aldis Hodge, as Anthony Woods, the next victim of the state's retribution. He also has some great moments as he comes to grips with the fact that his earnest pleas are falling on the same deaf machinery in the form of the warden, as in the form of the state process. One is essentially inseparable from the other. But he still makes headway with Williams so that we can see just how conflicted she is about what she's become, even as she retreats into that machine-like identity in order to escape the anguish that said conflict is bringing to her. It's a concise form of self-destruction that is the personal mirror of what the state is inflicting upon these prisoners. One can argue that their own actions led to their demise, but it's an open question as to whether being put to death is justified. Similarly, Bernadine must perform her duty, but is the price of the rest of her life and, possibly, her sanity worth that diligence? Again, in principle, that's a story with a solid foundation, interesting characters, and challenging questions. But...

It's simply too slow. The pace of the film is somewhere between overly-thoughtful and tedious. It's clear that writer/director Chinonye Chukwu wanted those long shots of Bernadine in the bar and Woods in his cell to convey the agony of the personal traumas that they were facing. But there are limits to all things and we reached them about halfway through a film that was slightly less than two hours. There were some great moments, like Woods bashing his head against his cell wall in frustration and Bernadine getting jarred from a nice anniversary celebration when she realizes that Jonathan is trying to coax her out of her duty. Those are solid, emotional, storytelling scenes. But they kind of get lost amidst the veritable sea of existential dread; the camera pulling back from Woodard's forlorn, deadened eyes or Hodge's desperate, anguished ones for what seems like several minutes. You remember that moment in Reds where Louise Bryant has been arguing that her repetitive writing is intentional because she's trying to make a point only to realize that it's actually monotonous? Here ya go.

I could see what Chukwu was trying to do and I kind of wanted her to do that. She wrote and presented an emotional film about an emotional topic. That's fine. The problem is that the camera spent so much time lingering on that emotion that I think it kind of missed the forest for the trees. At the aforementioned halfway point, I found myself repeatedly checking the clock because I was really kind of waiting for it to end. A bit more elaboration; a couple more interesting encounters; a few less plaintive stares into the camera and I think we're good to go. As much as I enjoyed the performances, I think you probably want to pardon yourself from this one.