There was a love triangle in Broadcast News and Holly Hunter has to make a decision between two men. She ends up choosing neither. But when she turns down William Hurt it’s because he represents everything she fights against. Can you imagine such a choice being written for MacKenzie?
By the show’s end, three men putting on the news stand in a room looking like the founding fathers making the “big decisions” while the women stand around and chortle, ruin the media with their gossip rags, fuck anyone they’re told to fuck, send dumb emails, throw jealous fits and so on.
At first, I was fraught with fear, worried that the show wouldn’t he good, worried FOR Aaron Sorkin. But after last night’s episode I too wonder what is the point of this? Where Girls is a show about girls talking about boys (and disappointing in that way) it is far more interesting, better written, with better characters — even if they did nothing else but talk about their fat thighs and which tampon is the best. The Newsroom is more than a waste of time. It is a throwback to a time when men were men and women were nothing. How disappointing. How unforgivable.
So this commentary IS personal. It isn’t that all television has to be politically correct. It isn’t that all women are good and all men are bad. And it isn’t that it’s necessary to only put forth progressive images of women. Sorkin is required to write good drama. He has failed here. He has failed because his show is guilty of everything the critics accused it of, as Nussbaum writes:
There are plenty of terrific actors on this show, but they can’t do much with roles that amount to familiar Sorkinian archetypes. There is the Great Man, who is theoretically flawed, but really a primal truth-teller whom everyone should follow (or date). There are brilliant, accomplished women who are also irrational, high-strung lunatics—the dames and muses who pop their eyes and throw jealous fits when not urging the Great Man on. There are attractively suited young men, from cynical sharpies to idealistic sharpies, who glare and bond and say things like “This right here is always the swan song of the obsolete when they’re staring the future paradigm in the face.”
The show features three people of color. The most prominent is an Indian staffer named Neal Sampat, played by Dev Patel. The dialogue makes fun of McAvoy for calling him Punjab and referring to him as “the Indian stereotype of an I.T. guy,” but the show treats Neal with precisely that type of condescension. Neal is a WikiLeaks fan who writes the show’s blog, but he’s a cheerful cipher, a nerd who speaks nerd talk. There are also two African-American producers, who are introduced to the audience when McAvoy —- who is publicly memorizing the names of his staff, having been accused of not remembering them —- says, “Gary. Kendra. Gary’s a smart black guy who is not afraid to criticize Obama. Kendra got double 800s on her S.A.T.s, makes Gary crazy. I studied.”
Nobody reacts, and I suspect we’re supposed to find his behavior charmingly blunt or un-P.C. But, again, neither Gary nor Kendra is at all developed, or given any role in the show’s wince-worthy set of love triangles. It gave me flashbacks to one of the worst plots on “Studio 60,” in which the comic played by D. L. Hughley -— the “smart black guy” who was always reading the newspaper — went to a comedy club to anoint the one true young black comic among the hacks and mediocrities. Sorkin’s shows overflow with liberal verities about diversity, but they reproduce a universe in which the Great Man is the natural object of worship, as martyred by gossips as any Philip Roth protagonist.
Despite a few bad bets, HBO is on a truly interesting run right now. It has built a solid Sunday lineup, with “Game of Thrones,” the excellent “Girls,” and “Veep,” a political sitcom that just ended its funny, prickly, but also rather dead-hearted début season. Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who plays the title role, is a skilled comedienne, and the cast knows how to sling the writer Armando Iannucci’s nasty zingers. And yet the series was so cynical that it somehow felt naïve. When Louis-Dreyfus’s character got pregnant, she promptly miscarried, and then had no meaningful reaction to either condition. This was disappointing, but I still have hope for the second season, when many sitcoms find their feet, as did NBC’s “Parks and Recreation,” the one excellent political series on TV.
“The Newsroom” is the inverse of “Veep”: it’s so naïve it’s cynical. Sorkin’s fantasy is of a cabal of proud, disdainful brainiacs, a “media élite” who swallow accusations of arrogance and shoot them back as lava. But if the storytelling were more confident, it could take a breath and deliver drama, not just talking points. Instead, the deck stays stacked. Whenever McAvoy delivers a speech or slices up a right-winger, the ensemble beams at him, their eyes glowing as if they were cultists. The series turns Will McAvoy into the equivalent of the character Karen Cartwright, on “Smash,” the performer who the show keeps insisting is God’s gift to Broadway. Can you blame me for rooting for McAvoy’s enemies, all those flyover morons, venal bean-counters, sorority girls, and gun-toting bimbos? Like a political party, a TV show is nothing without a loyal opposition.
But what I take personally is the show comes at a time when women have to fight hard for equality in the media — only one of the nine films up for Best Picture last year was even about women at all. Women have to fight every day for validity. It is as important as the causes Sorkin fights so hard for on this show. What gets me the most, what hits me the hardest is that he doesn’t see that — or worse, doesn’t care.
“He got the better of that exchange.” Mackenzie says after talking to Will. He always does.