800 Words: Secret Handshake

(Another rerun from the VoW days. Not at all representative of the best things I've written, but it just seems appropos for everything that's happened during the last 24 hours)

(Evan sits down to begin work on the Concert for Washington, the first half of which will be premiered at the Atlas Intersections Festival in March. He stares intently at the screen...wondering to himself how such a magnificent statement of everything in the world should begin, and without warning a moment of inspiration finally descends upon him and he feverishly types upon the screen...)

Christopher Dodd has no neck.

(Evan stares blankly at this sentence for five minutes before inspiration deigns to descend upon him again and he revises the sentence extensively so that it now reads...)

Christopher Dodd has a second forehead where his neck should be.

(Evan stares at this still more. He then realizes that the sentence still misses a certain je ne sais quoi, and as inspiration descends upon him yet again, he humbly goes about revising the sentence into a more definitive form....)

Christopher Dodd seems to be slowly growing a fetus inside his neck. Seriously, what were all those women thinking? This is a man with a series of bad toupees and an upside down Mount Rushmore where his neck should be. If I were Carrie Fischer I'd have been actively wondering what it was in me that made me want to date somebody who looks so much like Jabba the Hut.

(Evan sits on his bed, with a feeling of intense satisfaction at what he just typed. Enter West Wing President Josiah Bartlett and The American President President Andrew Shepperd)

Bartlett: Another would-be-'genius' trying to depict Washington....What did we do to deserve this country?

Shepperd: They all think they can do it. But there's no harm in letting the kid try.

Bartlett: When the kid's twenty-eight and sitting on his ass on a Friday night in his parents house, there's plenty of harm.

Evan: I'd say it's an honor to meet you too Mr. President, but I have a feeling you're here to annoy me.

Bartlett: Maybe he IS a genius!

Shepperd: Aw c'mon, cut the kid some slack. Weirder kids than him ended up on our staffs.

Bartlett: Are you asking me to do that as President Bartlett or as A. J. McInerney?

Evan: Did I take your Vicodin?

Bartlett: Not until Sundays, then the sky's the limit with your back.

Shepperd: Hush up Jed, we gotta talk to him.

Bartlett: Yes sir Mr. President...

Shepperd: How many times do I have....never mind. I read your treatment Evan, it's not bad.

Bartlett: FOR ME TO POOP ON!.....Sorry Mr. President, keep going....

Shepperd: Really, it's not a bad idea you've got here. Voices of Washington, Washington from the perspective of the people who live here.

Bartlett: Why are you encouraging the kid? Somewhere in his life the poor boy has to make a living.

Shepperd: If he's as good as his idea, he just might.

Bartlett: The kid was watching a Star Trek episode he's seen a dozen times earlier tonight.

Evan: Hey, at least I don't have to dial the Butterball hotline on Thanksgiving....

Bartlett: They're good people at Butterball.

Evan: They didn't know that you solved the Middle East peace process with the help of a teleplay.

Bartlett: You take that back!

Evan: Or what? You'll put a hit out on me with your contacts in the Qumari Mujahideen?

(Evan and President Bartlett put each other in headlocks)

Shepperd: (Dives between them) Break it up! Break it up! (pause) Alright everybody, let's not say things we can't take back. Jed, Evan's right that you couldn't make peace in the Middle East without the help of a script, and Evan President Bartlett's right that you're a nerd beyond redemption.

Bartlett: And you didn't even need anybody's script to mediate that solution?

Evan: Y'know I feel like I'm losing control of this dialogue.

Shepperd: Don't worry, you'll get it back in a minute.

Bartlett: Look, all I'm saying is that I think this is a good kid who has to know by now that luck isn't on his side. That's all. Obviously he's bright and obviously the learning difficulties have left some battle scars. But kids like him have to sink or swim like everybody else. So why are we stopping at his house rather than a kid who more resembles an Aaron Sorkin character?

Shepperd: Because you know as well as I do that we're just figures out of liberal pornography and that both The West Wing and The American President are pieces that never dug into the realities of either politics or Washington.

Bartlett: And you never enjoyed living in a fairy-tale?

Shepperd: I enjoyed it plenty. So did he, but we never lived in a Washington college dorm with all those kids who watched The West Wing and decided that the show is what Washington is actually like.

Bartlett: Alright, so the kid has an idea to do things that we didn't do. But what credentials does he have to do something like this?

Evan: Credentials?

Bartlett: A guy with an education is still worth something in this country...ever consider going back to school?

Evan: No.

Bartlett: Why not? You're a smart kid.

Evan: You ever see my high-school transcript?

Bartlett: High school? Jesus kid, get over it already. And even if you'd never get into Dartmouth or Yale. Some people are destined for middle management and what's wrong with that?

Evan: Y'know you seem a lot nicer on television.

Bartlett: That was before I realized that my son is an inveterate wife beater.

Evan: OK, now I'm really losing control of this dialogue.

Shepperd: Just give it a minute...

Bartlett: What's wrong with saying that? Elites have problems too.

Evan: Yeah, but you all have a built-in network to shield yourselves from the worst of it.

Bartlett: And you think you don't?

Evan: I think my ride could have been smoother...

Bartlett: No arguments there. But what have you got against Aaron Sorkin characters? Whatever his shows are about, we're the kinds of people who have the lives you wish you had. We're always smart, good looking, benevolent, and we get everything we want. Don't blame us for being the types of people you want to be.

Evan: ...Why would anybody resent that?....

Shepperd: I don't blame you for resenting us. People don't just watch us to see how they want their lives to be, they also watch us to flatter themselves into thinking that they're somehow like us. We were Sex and the City for politicos.

Bartlett: Alright, so you think you can do better kid? Go ahead. But why should I believe that your piece will be anything but an Aaron Sorkin portrayal of Washington with worse writing?

Evan: Because you're not who I'm interested in. This isn't Washington from Barack Obama's point of view, it's Washington from the point of view of the guy who does Barack Obama's secret servicemen's dry cleaning. I don't want the kind of self-consciously lofty stuff that Aaron Sorkin does. This has to be about the people who aren't glamorous enough to make an appearance on The West Wing.

Bartlett: Like you?

Evan: Damn straight people like me. Most of us will never get a professorship at Dartmouth or win a Nobel Prize, but why are our stories any less worth telling than yours?

Bartlett: I'm not necessarily saying it's any less worth telling, just that yours'll be harder to get people interested.

Evan: They always are. Because most of us have to get through our lives the best we can in spite of the knowledge that very few people are interested in what we think. And while people like you are busy moving in circles that most of us can only watch on television, the rest of us deserve to have our voices heard too.

Bartlett: Am I the only one who thinks this sounds eerily like somebody who'd vote for Nixon?

Shepperd: Don't listen to him Evan. So what's your plan for this?

Evan: Best I can tell the plan is to plug away. Write as much as I can as soon as I can. I know I'm not Dylan or Sondheim but I can write song lyrics, and I can certainly compose music. I know what I want to write about. So now it's just a matter of getting it down, and that has always been the big problem...

Bartlett: Well God's speed to you sir and we wish you the best. Now Mr. President let's get going, I still want to use that coupon at Quizno's.

Shepperd: Don't worry Evan, he'll come around. Keep at it.

Evan: Thanks. Tell him not to get the roast beef dip, the bread gets soggy.

800 Words: The Aaron Sorkin Problem - Part 3

(ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew)

And four years later, we got Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip - Aaron Sorkin’s drama/comedy/romance/dramedy/tragicomedy about what goes on backstage at Saturday Night Live. Or so we were led to believe. In fact, it was nothing more than a roman-a-clef in which Sorkin his puts contempt for NBC (which he renames NBS...get it?) on full display, virtually names names, and declares from episode 2 that his intention with this show is to revolutionize everything about how television is created, produced and distributed. Once again, credit must be given: Studio 60 was not a bad show, it was just a total, utter disaster. It was a misfire of genius -- a complete, ignominious failure of the most brilliant variety. It was like going to a ballet produced by Diaghilev, composed by Stravinsky, choreographed by Nijinsky with sets by Picasso and the resulting production being dancing chickens. Who knew a car wreck could be this entertaining?


(This is eerily prescient....and not in the way it’s supposed to be....)

The show began with Aaron Sorkin devoting the first scene to blasting television, blasting NBC, blasting his sponsors and blasting anybody dumb enough to still be watching. After the opening, Sorkin proceeded to write in a bunch of fake newscasts during which anchors somehow saw a parallel to the movie Network, and were therefore moved to compare the action of the first scene to the writing of Paddy Chayefsky. Such modesty.


(Aaron Sorkin’s Mad as Hell)

The only work of Chayefsky’s which is still particularly well known is Network - the famous mid-70’s satire of network news. But for Sorkin to compare his opening scene to Network is almost beyond belief. Network was about how blowhards can dominate the airwaves to stoke fears. Howard Roarke wasn’t a whistle-blower, he was an unhinged demagogue -- Glenn Beck’s saner grandfather. But Aaron Sorkin seems to think that Howard Beale is a hero -- the grandfather of Bill Maher or Keith Olbermann (whether they’re heroes are for another day). Once again, Sorkin tells us that all it takes to change the world is one theatrical speech. And once we hear the clarion call of reason, the entire world will move back to the direction of virtue and right.

Studio 60 is as much a fairy tale as The West Wing or The American President. But in this one the Grimms Brothers get a co-writing credit. We’re no longer watching a heroic collective doing battle against an enemy that goes mostly unseen. We see the forces of good battling the forces of evil in full, ugly view. There are two types of characters on this show: flawed characters whose flaws are never visible to us, and scummy douchebags whose loathsomeness melts your skin. The NBS chairman, Jack Rudolph - played by Stephen Weber, is Sorkin’s (and everybody else’s) worst nightmare of a studio executive. He’s our worst nightmare because he’s competent and smart enough to think on the level of his talent. He understands that the guys at Studio 60 are trying to revolutionize everything about the relationship between television and its corporate sponsors, he just wants them to fail.


(Oy.)

Studio 60 proclaimed itself in its second episode as the ‘very model’ of a modern television show, yet it never missed a chance to preach about the impossibility of producing good television. It’s a show about what’s supposed to be the funniest TV show on television, yet its characters mope about the set as though the Bartlet Administration put on a production of Hamlet during a nuclear war. It displays sketch after sketch supposed to demonstrate that it’s possible to enlighten audiences at the same time as making them laugh, yet the sketch comedy was unfunny to a point well beyond pathetic. It preached about the importance of keeping good morals in television, yet was there a single show in television history that used a bully pulpit to settle scores so blatantly?


(Only Studio 60 would treat not only Sting but his f(*&ing Lute with reverence)

Was there ever a more anticipated television comeback than Sorkin’s? And was there ever a show so eagerly awaited that went away so quietly? It was a disaster of epic, epically entertaining proportions; a show so risible as to be almost every bit as watchable as a great show. Not a failure, a flop. Once again, credit must be given. To make a flop takes real talent, the only other requirement is a complete lack of self-awareness. Most bad movies go unremembered, but every film geek remembers North, Howard the Duck, Heaven’s Gate. When talented artists make terrible products, they’re often just as viewable as the good stuff.


(This is how Washington works.....)

Which is why the self-awareness of Charlie Wilson’s War came as such a welcome surprise. For the first time in Sorkin’s career, we see an acknowledgement that glamor is not what changes the world. To be sure, Charlie Wilson’s War is every bit the romance and fairy tale of every other Sorkin script, but this is a very different sort of fairy tale. This movie is a joyride in which we watch the two least distinguished people in Washington begin a chain reaction that brings down the Soviet empire. For West Wing fans who’ve never seen the movie, imagine a West Wing episode in which the heroes are Bingo Bob Russell and Oliver Babbish, and it happens to be the best episode they’ve ever made.

Perhaps it took fifteen years of writing about politics, but Sorkin finally seemed to realize that change is never affected by the most charismatic people in the room. In a world capital where everything can be stopped or moved (usually stopped) by bureaucrats, the pettiest bureaucrat is the most powerful person in the country. And so the key to bringing down the Soviet Union lies within a professionally mediocre congressman and a rogue CIA agent who couldn’t care less about his orders. There is neither a happy ending for the characters nor a sense that what they did was of benefit to anyone. The movie ends on an admirably ambiguous note in which Charlie and Gust are left to wonder if they did not in fact create a greater monster than the one they brought down. If anybody wants a political movie that gives a true sense of how Washington works, I would point them to this one before any other. It is usually the least distinguished looking people who hold the most power, and even the most successful policy makers can never be sure that they did more good than harm.


(We’ll see...)

I have no idea as to who’s responsible for the unqualified success of Charlie Wilson’s War. Did Sorkin simply follow George Crile’s book (which I’ve been meaning to read since college) event for event? Did he get lots of guidance from the great (and still under-rated) Mike Nichols? Or has he just learned that much in the intervening years about human nature?

It’s still difficult to say. The Social Network was not his triumph alone. As all great movies are, it’s a lucky meeting chemistry between great writing, great directing, great acting, sympathetic producers and a great production team. My own sense of what made it work is because it was a perfect mismatch of two great but limited talents. In so many ways, David Fincher is a director who works like Aaron Sorkin’s shadow self. If Sorkin can’t stop gushing about the wonders of the world, Fincher can’t stop harping on its horrors. His movies are brilliant monuments to pessimism and misanthropy which take as much delight in indecency as Sorkin does in its reciprocal. Se7en plays like a game show in which we have to guess what incredibly brilliant manner the serial killer will plan his next victim. Fight Club is a movie possessing an entire philosophy that seems to advocate nothing less than a violent, totalitarian overthrow of bourgeois values. The ability to meld Sorkin and Fincher would seem no more plausible than melding the writings of Karl Marx and Ayn Rand. But in The Social Network, these antithetical approaches combine to form a view of human nature that is as close to perfectly balanced as movies become. With a more optimistic director, The Social Network would have merely been the story of a guy who lost a girl and built a website. With a more pessimistic screenwriter, The Social Network would have become the story of an idiot savant who will take us into the dark ages. Instead, the movie becomes about possibilities. Mark Zuckerberg may or may not be human in the way that we are. But by watching his interactions, we are forced to ask if he has made us become more like him. And if we have, is that an improvement or a step backwards?


(Cain and Abel?)

These are questions that seem far beyond either the writer of Studio 60 or of Charlie Wilson’s War. This movie touches on questions so universal that they can only be asked by a great artist who always puts substance ahead of surface. If the brilliant language ever ceases, we will know that Sorkin is ready to plumb depths on his own.

The West Wing won an Emmy in every season of the four for which Sorkin was its head writer. The Sopranos lost out every year until Sorkin left. But which was the show that went deeper into dramatic possibilities? Into the American experience? Into the nature of human beings? One was a network television show about the biggest possible subjects in the most public setting. The other show was a premium cable show about a minuscule American subculture that operates in shadows. One show gives us characters who speak in gold-plated Oxonian English. The other gives us characters who speak in street-wise malapropisms. One show speaks to our longings for the success we wish we had. The other speaks to our fears of what it may take in our country to achieve success. One show has flawless characters who view the problems of the world at arm’s length. The other show has flawed characters who though they seek redemption, are the problems of the world. The West Wing is the world as we imagine. The Sopranos is the world as it is.


(The Pine Barrens)

We will not know if Sorkin is ready to get his hands dirty for a while yet. His next project is “Moneyball.” A movie about the 00’s Oakland A’s which he co-wrote with Steve Zallian (screenwriter for “Schindler’s List”). This is another project that is not entirely his. So if it becomes a real statement on human beings, it won’t entirely be his doing.

Nobody should doubt that this movie will be entertaining. But will it be true to baseball in the 21st century. Moneyball is a book about how a small-market baseball club in a run-down city made a desperate scramble to assemble a competitive team. It’s a great story, but it’s terrible for baseball. The “Moneyball” example has never been replicated. But every large-market baseball team can point to the ‘Moneyball’ example of the Oakland A’s to justify not sharing their revenue with other teams. If ever there were an example of how Aaron Sorkin’s life-affirming idealism is based on a lie, this will be it.

And after that comes Sorkin’s new HBO show about an idealistic liberal cable news network: More As This Story Develops. There’s little to say about this except to relate that when my friend (whom we’ll call Der Fersko for now) first told me about it, he came up with a much more fitting title: You Knew What You Were Getting.

800 Words: The Aaron Sorkin Problem: Part 2 - The West Wing

(The West Wing characters in embryo.)

Sorkin literally created the premise of The West Wing on the spot at a lunch meeting when he couldn’t come up with anything better. He seemed to take the entire Andrew Sheppard White House and merely give it a TV series. Jed Bartlett is Andrew Sheppard, only now a true genius rather than merely brilliant. Leo McGarry is A.J. MacInerny, only this Chief of Staff is arguably a more accomplished politician than the president himself. We clearly see earlier incarnations of Toby, Josh and CJ, only they’re now played by actors of a higher paygrade than the TV version like David Paymer, Michael J. Fox (what the hell is he doing in a roll that small?) and Anna Deavere Smith.

The result should not have been nearly as good as it was. I have friends, very knowledgeable friends whose opinions I greatly respect, who say that The West Wing is one of the two or three greatest TV shows ever made. That people with good judgement can believe that makes me incredulous. But even I have to admit that The West Wing is a miraculous step forward for a writer who until then showed no talent for anything but style.


(Actual arguments. Not propaganda.)

Let’s give credit where it’s due. The West Wing tried to be an extremely substantial show that gave air to real problems and genuinely exposed its audience to every side of every issue they tackled. The well-propagated argument that this show was liberal propaganda is utter crap. The West Wing was as even-handed a piece of political fiction as America has yet to see. The problem is not that The West Wing was left-wing propaganda. The problem is that it was left-wing pornography. Sorkin took admirable pains to portray every side of American politics exactly as it is. Left-wing corruption invades government just as right-wing corruption does, and conservatives are as capable of acting with integrity as liberals. It’s not Sorkin’s fault that more of today’s Republicans are corrupt than today’s Democrats. The only problem is that in spite of the painfully realistic portrayal of contemporary Washington, the Democrats still always win.

The problem was never in his analysis - with a rolodex of consultants that included Lawrence O’Donnell, Dee Dee Meyers, Marlon Fitzwater and David Axelrod - that would have been nearly impossible. The problem was that in spite of such painstaking realism, he still insisted on instating moments that never happen in politics: happy endings, the triumph of virtue, people listening to reason. How many episodes of The West Wing build up jaw-dropping momentum only to be killed in the final ten minutes by a wholly implausible, saccharine, false ending?


(ew.)

There are moments in The West Wing so powerful that you wonder if you’re watching something Shakespearean. Of course, the Sorkin verbiage is there throughout - Sorkin has never written a scene in which characters sound like anything but Aaron Sorkin. But Sorkin finally learned how to tone things down. For all the fast-paced action, there are scenes of The West Wing which are so quiet as to make you gasp - it’s a trait which Sorkin rarely again exhibited.

Let’s just take the most famous example of the entire series, when Bartlet asks for the doors of the National Cathedral to be sealed and speaks to God as an equal.


(Shakespearean?)

Let’s forget that it only takes the Secret Service five seconds to evacuate and seal a Cathedral after a funeral, let’s forget that the idea of a President concealing his MS from the media for three years is absurd, let’s forget that Martin Sheen pronounces the Latin word ‘cruciatus’ differently the two times he says it, let’s forget that he refers to Josh Lyman as his ‘son’ when he can’t stop yelling at him for two seasons, let’s forget that Sorkin killed Mrs. Landingham off without telling the actress until the day she got the script. Let’s just focus on the fact that we’re watching a larger-than-life figure with the charisma of King Lear, addressing God in a howl that would horrify Job. When Josiah Bartlett curses God, God fears the coming wrath.

There are moments throughout Sorkin’s seasons of The West Wing which carry all the mythical weight of Wagner. And just as in Wagner, they’re almost enough to make you forget that everything which builds up to them is completely ridiculous. There is no president in modern American history who would feel compunctions about targeted assassination. Yet when we see Bartlet’s reluctance, we feel the weight of a moral horror.



Jed Bartlet is a giant, not a human. When we see his doddering New England eccentric persona, we quickly realize that this is just the Clark Kent-cover put on by Superman. But who would know after watching The West Wing at its best that this is the only type of character which Aaron Sorkin is capable of writing?

...Well....that’s not quite true. Yes, Bartlet, Leo, CJ, Sam, Josh, Charlie and Donna are all subtle variations on the same template - characters too good, too elegant, too intelligent, too authoritative, too likeable for our world - the federal government equivalent of Ozzie and Harriet. But then, there’s Toby Ziegler...


(Toby)

Toby is the only character in The West Wing who seems to realize that he’s living in an implausible universe. He’s the only character who does not seem to feel entitled to success -- he is neither well-dressed, nor good looking nor possessed of a friendly disposition. He is The West Wing’s one concession to reality. He is the only character who seems to talk in a distinctive language of his own that sounds different from every other character. He is an angry man with real individuality who seems to have wandered over from the set of The Wire. He is the only member of Bartlet’s staff willing to routinely challenge him, and the only member of the staff who thinks that the administration may not always be doing the right thing. The rest of the characters seem to walk around him with a mixture of condescension and fear. And it’s no wonder why; everybody else on The West Wing is fantasy, Toby is reality. His existence proves that Aaron Sorkin can write real characters, he just doesn’t want to.


(More Toby)

Like every other organization in the world, the White House is run by Toby Zieglers, not Sam Seabornes. The West Wing could have been a show about how Washington really works. It could have been a cast of dozens of flawed people who between them portray how government works (and doesn’t) for a network television audience. Instead, we got a fairy tale - a decent comedy/drama that often seemed as though it just happened to take place in the White House. The problem was never that The West Wing was a bad show. The problem was that it should have been one of the two or three greatest shows ever made - and fell so short of that goal that you can only bemoan what might have been.



(At least there are no scenes like this in The West Wing....)

Unfortunately, Sorkin’s whole metier is to take extremely important subjects and charm us by trivializing them. Wouldn’t it be funny to see the President of the United States high on painkillers or dialing the Butterball hotline so he can demonstrate how to carve a turkey? Well, yes, it is funny. But aren’t there better things that we can see the most powerful man in the world doing?


(oh...wait....)

But let’s give the man some credit, The West Wing looked to be on the cusp of breaking this mold for two years. For the first two years, it looked as though The West Wing might have transcended the usual canned TV fare to become a true epic. And after 9/11 we had every reason to expect that this show would rise up to the challenges of the new era - imagine Jed Bartlet as a wartime president who loses a daughter in a bombing. So it’s all the more a shame that Sorkin chose that moment to realize that he was a coke addict.

Let’s face it, a pace like the one at which Aaron Sorkin wrote could not have been set without some kind of stimulant. The second season of Sports Night and the first of The West Wing aired simultaneously, with Sorkin writing or rewriting every word we heard on television. How could he find time to sleep - let alone come down from a binge? I have no idea what Sorkin was like during this period, but I picture him staying in the same room 24-hours-a-day with 4 padded walls, no pictures, a small table, a laptop, Toby’s rubber ball and Tony Montana’s mountain of cocaine in which he hourly buries his face. I can’t imagine how anybody would write fifty scripts a year otherwise.

And let’s also face that all the elements of cocaine addiction found their way into his scripts: the fast-forward talking, the inability to stay in a single place, and the utter paranoia of Sorkin’s virtuous characters against an outside world that would dare dismantle their utopia. The only part of addiction which never made its way into his scripts is the actual experience of it. Where is an Aaron Sorkin story about a drug mule or a rehab doctor or a violent addict? Surely Sorkin knows something about all of them, and a writer who has injected so much of his personal life into his scripts could easily find ways to make these characters compelling. Aaron Sorkin shouldn’t have been writing Studio 60, he should have been writing Breaking Bad.


(Season 3 decline on display)

People say that The West Wing declined after Sorkin left, but the truth is that The West Wing was already declining by season 3. I have no way of knowing this, but I do wonder if the zen-like stasis in which people usually exit rehab numbed Sorkin to the realities of 9/11. The West Wing began as a kind of idealized vision of what we’d hoped the Clinton administration would be. But by year three, it became stuck in the 90’s when the 00’s demanded attention. The years after 9/11 handed Sorkin a golden opportunity for a grand epic which could have taken in every issue of the Bush years. Instead, we got bit sketches about re-election, targeted assassination, debate camp, kidnapping and terrorist plots that were always stopped. Many of these were supposedly conceived in response to post-9/11 events, but everything on The West Wing was weak stuff compared to what we saw on the nightly news. Over The West Wing’s seven seasons, the Bartlet White House never encountered a true life-or-death crisis. Sorkin, and his successors, spent the entire series writing about how the Clinton administration should have handled their problems when they could have extracted so much better material if they’d moved on to how the Bush administration should handle theirs.


(President Walter Sobchak)

And finally, Sorkin’s natural urge to curbstomp the head the feeds him got in the way. Universal wanted the show to make more money, and so they impeded on his creative control. Sorkin responded by writing a Presidammerung in which the President’s youngest daughter is abducted by terrorists and the President temporarily invokes the 25th amendment to cede control of the White House to the arch-conservative Speaker of the House, John Goodman. "See if you can resolve this, schmucks" it seems to say. It was the latest in a string of f--- yous to the people who bankroll him. Sorkin may well have been right to walk away from The West Wing. But rather than get into bed with people whom he knew he wouldn’t get along with, he could have spent those years writing Sports Night at HBO, and producing a show that was exactly the way he wanted it. Some people are attracted to the impossible like bugs to light. But if you’re going to attempt the impossible, why stop halfway? Why wasn’t The West Wing a modern Iliad? Sorkin’s gift should have settled for no less.


(One of the worst examples of self-congratulation in TV history...until Studio 60)