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Opinion: Tempted to vote for Jed Bartlet in 2024? 'The West Wing' was always a fantasy

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Opinion: Tempted to vote for Jed Bartlet in 2024? 'The West Wing' was always a fantasy

As another terrifyingly significant presidential election nears, it’s hard not to fantasize about how different things could be. Imagine, for instance, having a president who put deeply held values above the pressures of their biggest donors. Imagine one who was able to truly listen and learn when faced with issues they didn’t understand rather than adhere to whatever stance happened to be the most politically convenient at the time. Imagine, even, a president who inspired you, who made you feel a glow of patriotism, skeptical as you might be of the concept. In short, imagine Josiah Edward “Jed” Bartlet, president of the United States as envisioned by Aaron Sorkin and brought to life by Martin Sheen across seven seasons of the award-winning and critically acclaimed NBC series “The West Wing.”

Two of the show’s cast members, Melissa Fitzgerald (who played Carol Fitzpatrick, assistant to the White House press secretary) and Mary McCormack (who played deputy national security advisor Kate Harper), certainly still believe in the show’s sticking power as well as its overall positive framing of politics. They have written a book about it that is plainly geared toward existing fans of the show: “What’s Next: A Backstage Pass to the West Wing, Its Cast and Crew, and Its Enduring Legacy of Service.”

Look, it’s true: Every so often, I make hot chocolate in my “Bartlet for America” mug and sip it wistfully, imagining a world in which we’d had a President Bartlet instead of a second President Bush, perhaps followed by a President Santos — the character played by Jimmy Smits who had sweeping, truly inspired education reform plans. It’s a lovely dream, a White House that’s more “West Wing” and less “Veep,” functional and nearly scandal-free, earnestly dedicated to bettering the lives of everyday Americans by doing the slow yet essential work of policy change.

Yes, I know this is extremely naive; yes, I’m aware that Bartlet was problematic in plenty of ways, as were his staffers; and yes, I know that “The West Wing” was, in many ways, a liberal fever dream that bought into American exceptionalism and the ideals of patriotism. But that’s just it: The show was a fantasy, one that gestured at an idea of how things could be, but that wasn’t trying to claim that this was how things really were. Sorkin himself insisted that “first and foremost, if not only, this is entertainment. ‘The West Wing’ isn’t meant to be good for you. … Our responsibility is to captivate you for however long we’ve asked for your attention.”

And entertain us it did, across more than 150 episodes, some more memorable than others, but all including at least one rousing monologue that made this viewer, at least, believe in the possibility of a government that really works, or that really tries to work, or that really wants to work. It helps that I first watched bits of it as a tween, long before I’d moved to the States, when my trips to California were strictly family visits during which I was loved and spoiled by my grandparents and aunts with as much frozen yogurt as I wanted, unrestricted TV time during which I enjoyed more channels than I knew what to do with and endlessly fascinating commercials for toys I would never get, and best of all, bookstores so large I could get lost in them. It felt like a more innocent time.

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But, of course, it wasn’t. “The West Wing” was airing as George W. Bush took office following a close and contested election. It was on TV when 9/11 happened, as the Patriot Act was signed, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were launched. The show offered a rosy alternative, which appealed especially to a certain income bracket; its biggest chunk of viewers, according to a 2001 study, were earning more than $70,000 a year — or, in today’s money, more than $120,000. Largely sheltered from systemic injustices contributing to and caused by poverty, affluent people experienced fewer of our government’s shortcomings and probably found the show’s vision more plausible than it was.

As a (rather sheepish) devotee of the show, I bought into it too, especially the first couple of times I watched it front to back, in my late teens and early 20s. It managed to make the American political process — which I found deeply baffling, having never learned how it worked in school — exciting. Partially, I’m sure, it was the speed of the quippy dialogue, which Sorkin is famous for, as well as the way the show was shot, its long walk-and-talk scenes lending a sense of urgency to matters of dry policy. The humor was helpful too, and sometimes educational. I’ll never forget the Big Block of Cheese Day episode during which deputy communications director Sam Seaborn is required to meet with a ufologist — and Press Secretary C.J. Cregg and Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman learn (along with the rest of us) that the maps we’ve all grown up with are both imperialistic and frankly just wrong.

But as funny and inspiring (often at the same time, as in the brilliant two-parter “20 Hours in America”) as the show can be, there are glaring issues in it. When I rewatched it more recently, I was incredibly disturbed, for instance, by the dynamic between Lyman and his assistant, Donna Moss. What was framed as a cute “will they/won’t they” relationship between boss and devoted employee now read to me as not only extremely unprofessional but even downright abusive, with Donna bearing the brunt of Josh’s temper tantrums and putting up with being constantly belittled by him. But it’s more than the interpersonal dynamics; the show’s occasionally over-the-top optimism and sincere belief in the United States as the greatest nation on Earth — not to mention its very white casting and casual yet consistent sexism — has, speaking anecdotally, made it feel cringey to many leftists of my generation.

The old critiques about the show’s idealism still ring true. Cynicism about and frustration with the slow gears of government have likely always existed throughout the left-right spectrum. Now, with social media adding a second-by-second commentary on an already speedy 24-hour news cycle, these sentiments feel much louder and more visible.

The authors of “What’s Next” don’t address the ways the show has aged poorly. They’re instead relentless in pointing to its positives, and to be fair, when it was originally airing there was no other TV show depicting government functions, and so the policies that “The West Wing” explored were likely eye-opening to many of its viewers. An episode in the first season, for instance, includes a compelling argument for financial reparations for the descendants of enslaved Black people, a concept as old as abolition but which plenty of the show’s viewers might have never encountered before.

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This particular example isn’t mentioned in the book, though, which focuses instead on the broad idea of service and lionizes the show’s cast members for their various social and political activism. Many have worked to support veterans and treatment courts, which emphasize rehabilitation for individuals with substance use disorders. “What’s Next” is a cheerleading text, a fun and breezy read that doesn’t delve into any cringe aspects or difficulties on set.

But “The West Wing” would, like almost any piece of enduring media, only suffer from an insistence that it’s perfect. The show is a messy piece of very entertaining — and occasionally educational — television, full of extremely talented actors giving incredible performances, but it’s not a road map for reality, nor should it be.

After President Biden’s debate debacle this summer, the show’s creator, Sorkin, penned a bizarre op-ed suggesting that the Democrats nominate Mitt Romney, a moderate Republican, for president, a strategy to poach enough conservative voters to keep former President Trump from regaining power. But when Biden stepped out of the race, Sorkin quickly took back the suggestion. His op-ed was, depending on whom you asked, a frustrating or entertaining thought experiment, but it should never have been seen as real advice for the real world. Like “The West Wing,” it was a break from reality.

Ilana Masad is a books and culture critic and author of “All My Mother’s Lovers.”

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Movie Reviews

‘Hoppers’ review: Who can argue with hilarious talking animals?

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‘Hoppers’ review: Who can argue with hilarious talking animals?

Just when you think Pixar’s petting-zoo cute new movie “Hoppers” is flagrantly ripping off James Cameron, the characters come clean.


movie review

HOPPERS

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Running time: 105 minutes. Rated PG (action/peril, some scary images and mild language). In theaters March 6.

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“You guys, this is like ‘Avatar’!,” squeals 19-year-old Mabel (Piper Curda), the studio’s rare college-age heroine. 

Shoots back her nutty professor, Dr. Fairfax (Kathy Kajimy): “This is nothing like ‘Avatar!’”

Sorry, Doc, it definitely is. And that’s fine. Placing the smart sci-fi story atop an animated family film feels right for Pixar, which has long fused the technological, the fantastical and the natural into a warm signature blend. Also, come on, “Avatar” is “Dances With Wolves” via “E.T.”

What separates “Hoppers” from the pack of recent Pix flix, which have been wholesome as a church bake sale, is its comic irreverence. 

Director Daniel Chong’s original movie is terribly funny, and often in an unfamiliar, warped way for the cerebral and mushy studio. For example, I’ve never witnessed so many speaking characters be killed off in a Pixar movie — and laughed heartily at their offings to boot.

What’s the parallel to Pandora? Mabel, a budding environmental activist, has stumbled on a secret laboratory where her kooky teachers can beam their minds into realistic robot animals in order to study them. They call the devices “hoppers.”  

In Pixar’s “Hoppers,” a teen girl discovers a secret device that can turn her into a talking beaver. AP

Bold and fiery Mabel — PETA, but palatable — sees an opportunity. 

The mayor of Beaverton, Jerry (Jon Hamm), plans to destroy her beloved local pond that’s teeming with wildlife to build an expressway. And the only thing stopping the egomaniacal pol — a more upbeat version of President Business from “The Lego Movie” — is the water’s critters, who have all mysteriously disappeared. 

So, Mabel avatars into beaver-bot, and sets off in search of the lost creatures to discover why they’ve left.

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From there, the movie written by Jesse Andrews (“Luca”) toys with “Toy Story.” Here’s what mischief fuzzy mammals, birds, reptiles and insects get up to when humans aren’t snooping around. Dance aerobics, it turns out. 

Mabel (Piper Curda) meets King George (Bobby Moynihan). AP

Per the usual, “Hoppers” goes deep inside their intricate society. The beasts have a formal political system of antagonistic “Game of Thrones”-like royal houses. The most menacing are the Insect Queen (Meryl Streep — I’d call her a chameleon, but she’s playing a bug), a staunch monarch butterfly and her conniving caterpillar kid (Dave Franco). They’re scheming for power. 

Perfectly content with his station is Mabel’s new best furry friend King George (Bobby Moynihan), a gullible beaver who ascended to the throne unexpectedly. He happily enforces “pond rules,” such as, “When you gotta eat, eat.”   

That means predators have free rein to nosh on prey, and everybody’s cool with it. Because of bone-dry deliveries, like exhausted office drones, the four-legged cast members are hilarious as they go about their Animal Planet activities. 

Mayor Jerry (Jon Hamm) plans to destroy a local pond to build an expressway. AP

No surprise — talking lizards, sharks, bears, geese and frogs are the real stars here. They far outshine Mabel, even when she dons beaver attire. Much like a 19-year-old in a job interview, she doesn’t leave much of an impression. 

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Yes, the teen has a heartfelt motivation: The embattled pond was her late grandma’s favorite place. Mabel promised her that she’d protect it. 

But in personality she doesn’t rank as one of Pixar’s most engaging leads, perhaps because she’s past voting age. Mabel is nestled in a nebulous phase between teenage rebellion and adulthood that’s pretty blasé, even if a touch of tension comes from her hiding her Homo sapien identity from her new diminutive pals. When animated, kids make better adventurers, plain and simple.

AP

“Hoppers” continues Pixar’s run of humble, charming originals (“Luca,” “Elio”) in between billion-dollar-grossing, idea-starved sequels (“Inside Out 2,” probably “Toy Story 5”). The Disney-owned studio’s days of irrepressible innovation and unmatched imagination are well behind it. No one’s awed by anything anymore. “Coco,” almost 10 years ago, was their last new property to wow on the scale of peak Pixar.

Look, the new movie is likable and has a brain, heart and ample laughs. That’s more than I can say for most family fare. “A Minecraft Movie” made me wanna hop right out of the theater.

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Ulysses Jenkins, Los Angeles artist and pioneer of Black experimental video, dies at 79

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Ulysses Jenkins, Los Angeles artist and pioneer of Black experimental video, dies at 79

Ulysses Jenkins, the pioneering Los Angeles-born video artist whose avant-garde compositions embodied Black experimentalism, has died. He was 79.

Jenkins’ death was confirmed by his alma mater Otis College, where he studied under renowned painter and printmaker Charles White in the late 1970s and returned as an instructor years later. The Los Angeles art and design school shared a statement from the Charles White Archive, which said, “Jenkins had a profound impact on contemporary art and media practices.”

“A trailblazing figure in Black experimental video, he was widely recognized for works that used image, sound, and cultural iconography to examine representation, race, gender, ritual, history, and power,” the statement said.

A self-proclaimed “griot,” Jenkins throughout his decades-spanning career maintained an art practice grounded in the tradition of those West African oral historians who came before him. Through archival documentaries like “The Nomadics” and surrealist murals like “1848: Bandaide,” he leveraged alternative media to challenge Eurocentric representations of Black Americans in popular culture.

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He was both an artist and a storyteller who sought to “reassert the history and the culture,” he told The Times in 2022. That year, the Hammer Museum presented Jenkins’ first major retrospective, “Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation.”

“Early video art was about the problems with the media that we are still having today: the notions of truth,” Jenkins said. “To that extent, early video art was a construct that was anti-media … a critical analysis of the media that we were viewing every night.”

Born in 1946 to Los Angeles transplants from the South, Jenkins was ambivalent about the city, which offered his parents some refuge from the blatant systemic racism they encountered in their hometowns, but housed an entertainment industry that had long perpetuated anti-Black sentiment.

“What Hollywood represents, especially in my work, is the classic plantation mentality,” Jenkins told The Times in 1986. “Although people aren’t necessarily enslaved by it, people enslave themselves to it because they’re told how fantastic it is to help manifest these illusions for a corporate sponsor.”

Jenkins, who participated in a group of artists committed to spontaneous action called Studio Z, was naturally drawn to video art over Hollywood filmmaking. “I can address any issue and I don’t have to wait for [the studios’] big OK. I thought this was a land of freedom, and video allows me that freedom and opportunity that I can create for myself and at least feel that part of being an American,” he said.

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Jenkins went on to deconstruct Hollywood’s vision of the Black diaspora in experimental video compositions including “Mass of Images,” which incorporates clips from D.W. Griffith’s notoriously racist “The Birth of a Nation,” and “Two-Tone Transfer,” which depicts, in Jenkins’ words, a “dreamscape in which the dreamer awakens to a visitation of three minstrels who tell the story of the development of African American stereotypes in the American entertainment industry.”

Jenkins’ legacy is not only artistic but institutional, with the luminary having held teaching appointments at UCSD and UCI, where he co-founded the digital filmmaking minor with fellow Southern California-based artists Bruce Yonemoto and Bryan Jackson.

As artist and educator Suzanne Lacy penned in her social media tribute to Jenkins, which showed him speaking to students at REDCAT in L.A., “he has been an important part of our histories here in Southern California as video and performance artists evolved their practices.”

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Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

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Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

4/5 stars

Bounding into cinemas just in time for spring, the latest Pixar animation is a pleasingly charming tale of man vs nature, with a bit of crazy robot tech thrown in.

The star of Hoppers is Mabel Tanaka (voiced by Piper Curda), a young animal-lover leading a one-girl protest over a freeway being built through the tranquil countryside near her hometown of Beaverton.

Because the freeway is the pet project of the town’s popular mayor, Jerry (Jon Hamm), who is vying for re-election, Mabel’s protests fall on deaf ears.

Everything changes when she stumbles upon top-secret research by her biology professor, Dr Sam Fairfax (Kathy Najimy), that allows for the human consciousness to be linked to robotic animals. This lets users get up close and personal with other species.

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“This is like Avatar,” Mabel coos, and, in truth, it is. Plugged into a headset, Mabel is reborn inside a robotic beaver. She plans to recruit a real beaver to help populate the glade, which is set to be destroyed by Jerry’s proposed road.
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