Oh, If Only Someone Would Leave His Mic On!
Earlier today, we posted an essay on my Tales From Hollywood & Vine blog entitled Budd Schulberg: Mostly Unknown But Still the Best of the Best. For those who haven’t gotten around to reading it - or simply don’t engage in the joy of my Hollywood blog, it details a bit about the life and accomplishments of a truly great writer, Seymour Wilson (Budd) Schulberg (1914-2005). The son of early movie mogul B(enjamin) P(ercival) and Adeline (Jaffee) Schulberg, who ran one of the oldest and best talent agencies in Hollywood, Budd was a Dartmouth graduate who became a legendary novelist and screenwriter. His best-known novel, What Makes Sammy Run?, which was published when he was still in his 20’s, has long been considered the best piece of Hollywood fiction ever written. It was so good . . . so very true-to-life that no one in Hollywood has ever made a film version of it.
Schulberg also wrote the screenplays for, among other films, On the Waterfront, The Harder They Fall, and A Face In the Crowd, which is perhaps the most haunting, most politically prophetic of all films. Based on a Schulberg short-story entitled Your Arkansas Traveler, A Face in the Crowd (starring Andy Griffith in his first motion picture) tells the story of Larry “Lonesome” Rhodes, a drunken rural hick from Riddle, Arkansas who, with the help of radio publicist Marcia Jeffries (Patricia Neal) goes from being a small-town radio host to a Will Rogers-like national phenomenon with a national following and an ingravescent ego. Before too long, “Lonesome” is approached by advertisers to endorse their products, and politicians who wish both his imprimatur and personal tutorial sessions in how to come across as “just a regular guy.” Before too long, as “Lonesome” is grooming his own presidential candidate, Senator Worthington Fuller (played by former silent movie director Marshall Neilan), he gets his comeuppance: Marcia purposefully leaves his mic on at the end of the show; the nation-wide audience who had believed him to be the heart and soul of down-home morality and virtue (“The family that prays together stays together” is his customary sign-off slogan) now hear him refer to both Senator Fuller, his sponsors, advertisers and listeners, as “idiots,” “clowns” and “jerks.” Within 24 hours, “Lonesome” has lost everything. The movie ends with him screaming “MARSHA, MARSHA, MARSHA” from the balcony of his 25-room penthouse apartment as the woman who created - and has now destroyed - him drives off in a cab with radio writer Mel Miller (Walter Matthau) who loves her with every fiber of his college-educated being.
Whenever I watch A Face in the Crowd (I will be running it tomorrow for FAU Boca) or reread Your Arkansas Traveler, I can’t help think how similar Lonesome Rhodes and “The Donald: are:
Both have titanic egos which likely mask a malignant inferiority complex;
Both claim to know more about virtually anything and everything than people who are actual card-carrying experts;
Both firmly believe they are impervious to the taunts and jeers of those who have seen through him . . . that the masses are asses
Both are notorious womanizers who are as addicted to sins of the flesh as a gourmand is to greasy cheeseburgers, and
Both are like the Platte River: a mile wide at the mouth and six inches deep.
One of the most obvious differences between Lonesome and The Donald has nothing to do with reality versus fiction, for indeed, they are frequently difficult to separate. No, one of the great differences has to do with each man’s audience. Lonesome’s national audience had the ability to be turned off by their idol’s sheer hypocrisy; to turn their backs on him when they learned he was a fraud. The Donald’s core constituency, on the other hand, really couldn’t give a fig if he’s telling the truth or lying through his teeth; whether he knows what he’s talking about or is merely whistling in the dark; whether he’s truly caring and empathetic or merely wearing makeup. Then too, there doesn’t seem to be a single Marcia Jeffries in Trump’s circle of advisors or assistants; no one with the guts to leave his microphone on once the show has concluded. Kellyann Conway? Hope Hicks? Jared Kushner? Stephen Miller? Kayleigh McEnany? I don’t think so.
And even if there were someone - anyone - of a mind to keep the sound running, what would the public response be? Would those who already think the POTUS is nothing more than a fraudulent gas bag start thinking even worse of him? Is this humanly possible? And as for those who would slog through the Okefenokee Swamp on their knees for him, is there anything - like losing a job, falling prey to Covid-19 or getting evicted from one’s house, trailer or apartment, that would cause them to change their minds, don masks and throw away their red MAGA hats? Again, I doubt it.
As much as I pray for but a single Marcia Jeffries to emerge from the sludge surrounding ‘45 and keep his mic on, it is not likely to happen. What can - and must - happen is for those who have long understood that our POTUS is no better than Lonesome Rhodes to become the microphones . . . to sound the alarm through making contributions, campaigning via the internet, making sure that everyone can vote by mail and ultimately sending ‘45 back to his penthouse where he can spend the rest of his days shouting out “MARSHA! MARSHA! MARSHA!
181 days until the next election.
Copyright©2020 Kurt F. Stone