Editor’s note: Walt Amses is a writer and educator from North Calais.
The magical illusion of movies collided head on with the delusional reality of politics at the Republican National Convention in Tampa last week as the GOP managed to accomplish what no villain, outlaw or cinematic dirtbag has been able to pull off for the last half-century: reducing Clint Eastwood to a blithering caricature of himself, an old man, rambling incoherently to a chair as empty as Mitt Romney’s suit.
Eastwood, conversely, is a Hollywood icon. Arguably, a giant of American cinema, collaborating with Sergio Leone in the ’60s to single handedly resuscitate the western as the mysterious man with no name in such classics as “Fistful of Dollars,” and “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
Although acting and campaigning certainly have their similarities, one has far more to do with the simplistic task of getting elected — fooling enough of the people, enough of the time – while the complexities of actually governing become far more demanding. Ronald Reagan was only a mediocre actor but with sufficient chops to get elected twice, carrying 49 of 50 states in 1984, one of the biggest landslides in history.
Eastwood, conversely, is a Hollywood icon. Arguably, a giant of American cinema, collaborating with Sergio Leone in the ’60s to single handedly resuscitate the western as the mysterious man with no name in such classics as “Fistful of Dollars,” and “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” Lines like “Do you feel lucky … well, do you, punk?” and the image of a righteous loner, bent on vigilante justice, are etched into our consciousness.
Directorial masterpieces ranging from “Unforgiven” to “Million Dollar Baby” both Oscar winners; and covering a diversity of topics ranging from jazz great Charlie Parker to euthanasia have marked Eastwood’s later years. He deserves better than to be remembered for an embarrassing, unscripted ramble, designed to shore up a candidate without a soul and a platform without a heart.
The trajectories of movies and politics frequently intersect, yielding such irony as Reagan paraphrasing Eastwood in 1985, his veto pen at the ready, daring his opponents to propose a tax increase. We all remember: “Go ahead, make my day.” Somewhat corny but brutally effective, one of the first of what became known as sound bites, an indispensable weapon of modern campaigning.
And there is nothing more ironic than the contradictory Republican adulation reserved for “The Gipper,” who by any measure would have about as much chance of holding a prominent position in today’s GOP as Nancy Pelosi.
But however unusual or bizarre viewers found it, Harry Callahan channeling Samuel Beckett was actually right out of central casting, maintaining the convention’s overarching narrative, depicting a fictitiously compassionate Republican Party, pledging to support the very people their long-range agenda will devastate.
If truth and honesty still hold any import in American politics, voters would do well to understand that the similarities between Eastwood’s disjointed soliloquy to a fabrication of the president and the GOP doublespeak rampantly on display in Tampa far outweigh the differences.
