It's nigh on two years ago now, but I can still remember those moments with awful clarity. The first was then-Presidential candidate John McCain referring to America's financial situation by claiming "the fundamentals of our economy are strong". My eyebrow raised, and not for the reason you'd think. It wasn't so much what he said that surprised me (I came to expect statements like that from him at that stage) but the very specific phrasing he used.
A couple of weeks later, in an economic debate, he did it again. At one point on the topic of fiscal rectitude he said that he would veto any budget Congress proposed that wasn't balanced, before pulling out the pen he said he'd use to do it. That time, I actually gasped with incredulity. John McCain had shamelessly nicked bits from The West Wing twice in a matter of weeks.
While it showed that somebody in his staff watched the show, it also showed they didn't watch it that carefully. The first line was a verbatim quote of Jed Bartlet from the first series, after which he was admonished by a staffer for answering the question "like an economics professor with a big ol' stick up his butt". The second, even more brazen snatch was from the final series debate for Bartlet's successor, where Republican candidate Arnie Vinick showed us all his vetoing biro. Vinick lost the election. Go figure.
In a way though, I find it hard to blame him: if I were running an election, I'd want it to be like The West Wing too. The show might have ended four years so, but its effect still looms large. Barack Obama was every inch a West Winger's candidate in 2008, a Bartlet/Santos hybrid who'd deliver us from the slack-jawed calamity that was the Bush administration. Even now, half way into his first term, I find myself not judging Obama against Clinton or Carter or Kennedy, but Bartlet. At a time when real-life politics feels to be both tear-inducing and hair-reducing, The West Wing is the Platonic ideal plane to which we can aspire.
It's not just the feel and tone of the show itself that's relentlessly stylized, but its characters are as driven and honourable as they are well-drawn. With most political comedies and dramas the focus is on either the incompetence or brazen amorality of the characters involved, not so in the Bartlet White House. Amongst the very first scenes we see in the whole series are of speechwriter Sam Seaborn having a late working drink with a reporter and leaving a bedfellow at 5am to go into the office. The first episode in no small part revolves around Sam obsessing over gentlemanly impropriety. The hours senior staff work are staggering, their devotion to cause absolute. But the genius of the show is in showing that though their work ethic is superhuman, the effects of that devotion aren't always happily ever after.
One of the most stark moments in the series is Chief of Staff Leo McGarry telling his (soon to be ex) wife with remarkable definition that his job was more important than his marriage right now. All of his colleagues have seen their personal lives similarly pillaged. But in a building that was described by one character as "not very conducive to relationships", the separate and collective bonds between the characters, as well as their own individual capacity to handle their workloads with such wit and grace and sleep deprivation, are truly special.
First among them is the relationship between the President and Leo: close counsel and best friends. Even though Leo only ever addresses the President by his first name twice in 155 episodes, their friendship is both clear to see and pivotal to the smooth working of the administration. Jed Bartlet may be in so many ways the ideal President, but without Leo's help he would never have got there. And for all Leo's cranky world weariness, he invariably gets the most inspiring lines. His vainglorious and abrasive deputy Josh Lyman knows that better than anyone: Leo's handling of Josh's post-traumatic stress could draw tears from a fossil. Beyond the paternal instincts of Jed and Leo towards the rest of their senior staff there's the sibling love and rivalry between them: the often strained relationship between Josh and the mercurial Communications Director Toby Ziegler, every inch a big brother, is balanced by the degree to which Josh and Toby's deputy Sam are on the same page. All three of them treat the press secretary, CJ Cregg, with flirtatious awe. And rightly so. Given the current prevalence at the moment of the Twilight series, where Kristen Stewart's sole purpose seems to be seen, not heard and coloured almost entirely by the manbeast she chooses, it's gratifying to see a woman character with such depth and strength.
The main cast is one thing, but the quality of the secondary characters are a marvellous flourish: the deeply conservative but entirely earnest Ainsley Hayes, the sage soldier Admiral Fitzwallace, the irrepressible Lord John Marbury, the marvellous hell-raiser Amy Gardner and innumerable others besides. It's such a capable satellite cast that makes the world they inhabit so believable.
As does the show's development over time. Some characters move on, others take on more stature than originally planned (the indispensible Donna Moss was, like so many classic TV characters, only originally meant to be a bit-part), the issues change as do the relationship dynamics, but never at the show's expense. A lot is made of the difference of the writing between series 4 and 5, the time at which series creator Aaron Sorkin left the show, and while he was a massive loss as far as I'm concerned the difference was negligible. The whole point of the show is that every staffer employed at the White House is working towards an ideal bigger than themselves, and no matter how talented any of them are, they're not irreplaceable, and the show will keep on going. That goes for Sorkin as much as anyone.
As a general theme in fact The West Wing deals with adversity and contention very well. Whereas in real life American politics where antipathy between political opponents is at boiling point, the Bartlet White House are often frustrated with congressional Republicans, but also very generous. When the Senate Majority Leader has an disastrous interview with a local TV station, the President urges CJ to go easy on him; he's a conscientious man. He treats a renegade General intent on criticising him publicly with similar grace. When Ainsley Hayes comes to work at the White House (hired due to her sense of duty, no less) the initially weary staff rally to her defence when she's ill-treated for her party preference. Even her initial quandary of serving an administration whose policies she couldn't stand was handled with marvellous magnanimity by, as is usually the case, Leo. "The President is asking you to serve. And everything else is crap".
That ultimately is the point of The West Wing. It shows a picture of life that although stylized is close enough to reality to think or hope it attainable. It shows that great things are possible when people use the courage of their convictions and the capacity of their minds. It's both topical and timeless. It is aspirational and inspirational art at its finest. And it serves at your pleasure.
Cover of Outland
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