Lucille Ball might have been proud. A highly intelligent woman who owned a studio, sound stage, and production company that produced and taped many of television's early hits, her television character, Lucy, was the Queen of slapstick and irreverence. Bombastic and out of control, Lucy's good intentions and impulses often carried her far a field from her original intent. The dialogue lines and stage gags were good for a good humor break from the drudgeries of work and chores. Lucy's humor was so outrageous it was actually reassuring. Anything that funny was a release--laughter meant and did no harm. Lucy took viewers to places they could not go; she was an alter ego.
Along comes Sarah Palin, trained in college to add an emotional patina to paper lines, employed as a sports broadcaster, television savvy with a school girl's voice, with none of Lucy's earthy grit. But in her first appearance before a national audience, Sarah Palin was a big hit. Her latest media victory had much of the deftness of Lucys comedic delivery.
She added a modern dose of the dozens, a game from the African-American community that belittles verbal opponents in order to make them stronger and more durable in the face of the harsh, daily denigration of slavery, and she stirred in a bit of junior high school attitude, a duplicitous tone that heightens by its false innocence the biting vicious putdown it delivers. And lo, behold: you have the convention speech of the first woman to be nominated for nation's second highest office by the Republican Party.
Her first stand up performance for the Republican team a walk off success.
Oh happy days, as Sarah morphed into Lucy with a modern edge, and got it done today, not malingering before the unpleasantries she faced. Unknown to two thirds of the nation only a week before, she eased into the understudy role and stole the scene: by her speech and the cheers it received, civilization was saved, and the natural order was restored. Women should be about family, angels of love, witty, loyal, supportive, know how pronounce those difficult foreign names and leave the nuances to men. Were there echoes in her speech of Lucretius Mott, Susan B. Anthony, the Grimke sisters, Sojourner Truth, Mother Jones, Marian Wright Edelman, Barbara Jordan, Queen Nor, Indira Gandhi, Margaret Thacker, Benazir Bhutto--or Hilary Clinton? Did the mother of fourth, and soon to be grandmother (who holds the very position of supporting an unmarried pregnancy that another Vice-President loudly criticized and called out another television character for) mention education--the need to catch the Swedes or the Chinese or the need to return to a culture that values education as the highest prize and challenge for our children?
Did this 44 year old mother of a child born with Down syndrome mention that she cut the Alaskan budget for children with special needs?
No. Instead, she talked about lipstick. Pit bulls. Being a soccer mom. Sorry; a hockey mom. Somehow she reduced mother hood, the guidance of engaging children in productive activities that teach perseverance, team work, goal setting, and shaking off set backs without developing a penchant for vengeance and vindictiveness, the advocacy of resources to help each child reach his or her full potential--into red smears--lip stick instead of eye black.
In the quick jump from Miss Congeniality to mayor to Vice Presidential candidate, Sarah has warped to light speed and entered a parallel universe connected small towns and big cities by punch lines. In this new world, introduced by her at the convention, and writ by her galvanizing of the faithful assembled, who cheered and applauded each new pundit's point. The human rights we once defended are belittled (rights are read after capture, but if the sequence is shifted, it seems if that the reading of rights is the military and moral equivalent of catch-and-release). The fight in the trenches to bring social justice and economic change are goals that are mere playthings, goals ignored and without worth because they don't have an equivalent responsibility (a paternal, benign sense of "I-know-what's-best"). She seemed to tell us, "My record matters less than my lip."
Lucy would have loved the applause. But Lucy would have cringed at the meaning, the easy way that humor is no longer fantasy but throwaway, a cover for jettisoning of the serious tasks for which it was once relief. The old humor, led by Lucy, celebrated, rewarded, and revived our true engagement. Lucy knew life and comedy were separate spheres, and that the work of engaging the world was no joke.
Sure, Sarah has every right to be pretty (stunningly beautiful with a drop dead handsome husband), light hearted, and witty. And to use quips to make political points.
But the 1950's of Lucy attracted another well known character, the sad clown of Emmett Kelly. Loveable and universal, he made us laugh at ourselves, not at others. He knew the journey of life was a discovery, and that each of us touched a saint as we learned lessons from our sufferings. He comforted our hurts and celebrated our human side by reaching out to join his love to our pain.
Pain is the mantra of John McClain's character, fixed and frozen in a box which broke his will. Partying before and cheating after, his home wreck is honored by a merciful silence. In the depth of indigo night, he promises to fight the storms for ten thousand years, head on. A flash back is no substitute for a clear vision of courage, courage overcomes fear. It is not inspired by fear. Nor does it inspire fear.
America is hurting. While Sarah gave an awesome promise of a campaign full of great performances, she overlooked the tragedies that have descended, like the Greek's
deux ex machina, upon everyday people's lives. Her humor allowed us to ignore that "something is out of kilter." Now laughter makes us good. It is a new Zen: if we laugh at it, we don't have to solve it, just follow the seven dwarfs into the diamond mines, proclaiming admiration and wide-eyed awe for Cindys $300,000 shirt dress, shoes, and jewels. The razzle-dazzle of her happy talk in the splendor of Cindy's glamour pace had the tie wearing, blazer open, sign shaking men and the dedicated party women balling the jack.
But hold that theme. Maybe the appropriate balance to Sarah's speech, was not the staged outrage of political spin that followed. Instead, in keeping with the "politics are reality media" theme the Republicans have engineered, perhaps the best response to add a spotlight on the lives of non-moose hunting Americans who live in big cities and small towns, who, when they field dress their children, don't think of their purpose or their support as analogous to an attack dog, an attack dog who obtained 27 million dollars of federal money for a town of 6,700--is this bit of after speech theme music (with apologies to Sarah Vaughan):
Send in the clowns.
