Political Dramas

Political dramas and comedies are a niche but enduring genre. Most people are (quite reasonably) not particularly involved in or informed about politics, and social studies lessons from high school are only dimly remembered (and unfortunately probably weren’t very good in the first place). Consequently, beyond personal experience interacting with government departments, views of politics and how the state operates are heavily informed by cultural representations and popular media. Today we’ll look at a range of popular shows and examine how the models of governance they present inform how the public understands politics.

Most people of a certain age interested in politics have probably seen ‘The West Wing’, set in a ~2000s Democrat White House. The show is well-acted and Aaron Sorkin’s signature quickfire dialogue holds viewer interest through each episode. Most of the drama of the West Wing revolves around the relationship between The White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court. The mechanics of this are reasonably well represented, but the show has little interest in the mechanics of bureaucracy, the role of appointed and permanent officials, or even the doings of other members of the president’s cabinet. Most characters, even within the White House, have few distinct responsibilities. The Press Secretary and Comms Directors are just as frequently involved in setting policy or shaking down hapless Democrats as they are with writing speeches. The characters themselves are given distinct personalities, but the roles and responsibilities, particularly of non-political officials like the military, are largely interchangeable.

The West Wing could still have been a great show, were it not for the unwillingness of the showrunners to engage with fundamental questions about values and tradeoffs. Instead, the show runs on the premise that there is a correct answer to every policy question, which can be revealed through rhetorical prowess. Republicans, naturally, are mostly idiots holding positions made of straw easily brushed aside by our heroes. The exceptions that prove the rule are characters like Supreme Court Judicial Nominee Mulready, who are built up as having views diametrically opposed to the cast, but whose screentime is devoted entirely to playing ‘devil’s advocate’ for Democratic positions.

Seductive at the time as the antithesis of the Bush Administration, the problems are more obvious in retrospect. The ‘obviously correct’ views of the time often no longer seem so. The show remains the primary framework for understanding politics for many - if only our people were in charge, we wouldn’t have to concern ourselves with unclear and messy tradeoffs, conflicting political philosophies, misaligned incentives, ideological blindness, and the inevitable tensions between appointees and permanent officials. Alas.

British comedy ‘The Thick of It’¹ takes the opposite view. The government is not run by the people at the top, but by the revolving cast of bumbling fools motivated primarily by self-interest who are tasked with actually carrying things out. Drama arises from characters acting reasonably but impulsively (perhaps to avoid a minor embarrassment or after sensing an opportunity to score political points). Unfortunately, they inevitably miss the bigger picture, and the situation descends into farce, usually at the taxpayer’s expense. In swoops Malcolm Tucker, a parody of Tony Blair’s fixer and spin-doctor Alastair Campbell, to salvage what dignity he can for the government and flay those responsible.

None of the characters have any political vision or strategy, least of all senior politicians or even Tucker himself. Indeed, political views and party affiliations matter so little the show virtually avoids them altogether. Political success lies not in tangible results and successful delivery over the longer term, but in whether you play or are played by the media. Government office scenes are filmed by an unsteady handicam, evoking a documentary feel that extends the media’s view behind closed doors to reveal officials just as self-interested and vapid as the politicians.

The show is perhaps the most nihilistic of the lot. Reform is pointless. Humans are simply too stupid and ignoble for good governance. Even Tucker, the solitary hero of competence, is inevitably brought low by the compromises he must make. Asked at the series close to justify himself, or perhaps provide some reflection or wisdom, he can only respond, “it doesn’t matter”.

Sadly, it’s a view of politics broadly shared in modern Britain. One week, everybody from The Guardian to the Prime Minister obsesses over whether ‘Big Ben will Bong for Brexit’, then it’s off to the next circus. MPs and activists alike understand that prominence and notoriety are critically important for promotion, are therefore laser-focused on the ever-shorter media cycle, and are thus incapable of thinking in longer time horizons. The irony is that Britain has 5-year terms, longer than most peer nations, and is thus structurally far less beholden to these dynamics. Whoever can escape the ‘Thick of It’ mindset, credibly promise to deliver what the electorate actually wants, and then actually go about doing that, will be in power for a long time.

The series is based on an earlier British show (and book) of the same name, which in turn draw heavily from Shakespeare’s Richard III and Macbeth. Both are best understood in this light - not as shows about politics per se, but envy, power, and corruption.

One of the last gasps of the ‘Golden Age of TV’ where competing distribution platforms poured enormous funding into prestige dramas to create ‘must-watch’ shows to draw viewers into their particular subscription service. The show’s A-list cast and cinematic production values give the show greater cultural salience than the writing strictly deserves. While many individual scenes and episodes contain the sort of gripping drama and tension one would expect from the auteur producer & director David Fincher, the plot arcs are increasingly absurd and divorced from reality. In the earlier seasons, this arises from the writer’s attempts to cram the story beats of the British show into the American context, despite the incompatibility of the political systems. Later, the forced departure of Kevin Spacey led to even greater contortions to keep the show running.

’House of Cards’ presents an image of politics where the mechanics of governance are essentially irrelevant. All that matters is raw power inevitably seized by those unshackled by moral constraints, even as those same traits make their downfall inevitable. Old tales, but a thin window through which to view a complex world.

Australian comedy ‘Utopia’ depicts the inner workings of the fictional ‘Nation Building Authority’, an independent (in theory, but not in practice) agency tasked with delivering public infrastructure. The show explores the tension between the technocratic value-for-money approach of the somewhat naive Chief Executive and his staff, and the demands of political ministers keen to announce projects and favour particular constituencies. Meanwhile, the organisation is mired in various modern absurdities. Underperforming staff can’t be fired; the sensitivity training is extremely insensitive; pointless regulations strangle all feasible developments; risk management processes create longer delays than the risks they address; tertiary policy objectives like buying local or avoiding workplace conflict are allowed to take precedence over primary objectives, and so on.

It’s a great show for introducing people to public bureaucracies and moral mazes. Unfortunately, it fails to live up to its potential to become more than a mere introduction. The show suffers from a lack of direct experience and technical knowledge on many of the subjects it confidently covers, particularly in seemingly simple but fundamentally complex areas like economics and geopolitics, often verging into dilettantism.

Utopia’s view of governance is one of a minority of public servants acting in good faith, stymied at every turn by the systems we’ve allowed to take precedence over outcomes. There’s obviously truth to this, but the show is too committed to the format of short, self-contained sketches to depict the characters learning to navigate the system or using leverage to occasionally score a big win. As such, we’re left without any positive theory of change. Depressing.

Yes Minister² revolves around the relationship between the fictional Minister ‘Jim Hacker’ and his opposite within the civil service ‘Sir Humphrey Appleby’, who controls all hirings and firings, directs staff and internal budgets, etc. Bernard Woolley completes the trio as Hacker’s secretary, in theory there to support the minister but ultimately beholden to Sir Humphrey.

On the surface, it’s a classic British political satire. The politicians are equal parts self-serving and well-meaning, but ultimately bumbling fools - glorified PR specialists in opposition suddenly thrust into high office with limited knowledge of procedure or experience of leadership. No wonder the permanent civil service runs rings around them, loading their schedules with public appearances and burying critical information amidst a mountain of irrelevant documents. Look a little deeper though, and we see a show that’s highly philosophical about the nature and proper role of government. Should it primarily concern itself with doing good, or upholding order? When is a harsh cost/benefit analysis appropriate versus taking a moral stand? Who should be responsible for what, given the experience of the civil service, and the electoral mandate of politicians?

The show’s magic comes from the political opposition of the writers Jonathan Lynn and Sir Antony Jay. The former hated Thatcher, while the latter would go on to advise members of her government. The result is an almost Dostoyevskian drama where the opposing perspectives on each issue are given utmost advocacy before the result is usually decided not by argument but by political incentives and leverage. Sir Humphrey is eloquent in defence of tradition, technocracy, Chesterton’s Fence, and utilitarianism. This frequently leads him to defend the indefensible (often successfully), and he can often fail to separate his advice from the interests of his peers. Meanwhile, Hacker is the emotive voice of public sentiment, deontology, common sense, and reform - both conservative and progressive. Yet he lacks a certain nobility, being primarily motivated by popularity rather than making an impact, and he’s consequently led by media narratives rather than seeking to shape them. Episodes showcase a dialectic between the characters and the systems they represent, the outcome only loosely related to the public interest at best.

Today, while many senior British civil servants continue to be Oxbridge graduates, the tradition-oriented fraternity that gave rise to characters like Sir Humphrey was dismantled by the Blair Administration of the late 90s and early 2000s - in part as a deliberate response to the popular perceptions created by this show. For better or worse, decision-making now looks much more like ‘The Thick of It’ or Utopia than two old boys calling the shots in smoke-filled club rooms. Nevertheless, while the forms of government have changed, the show is perhaps all the more relevant for it. Modern audiences know the details are outdated, allowing it to be viewed not as an exposé but as a timeless meditation on the dynamics of power, truth, and the state.

With a poor civics education and lacking personal experience, media provides the frameworks through which most people understand politics. For many, the model is of a Disney-like struggle between good and evil. Trump as Marvel villain/hero. Anti-Semitic terrorists as noble anti-colonialists. These models break down and are uncompelling to most people in more mundane circumstances like local elections and planning policy debates, leaving TV to have outsized influence in shaping public perception. These fictional frameworks can influence voter expectations, shape policy debates, and even impact the behaviour of politicians themselves. Life imitates art imitates life. Understanding the hold stories have is necessary for navigating the often blurred line between political entertainment and political reality.

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Honorable Mentions:

‘Borgen’ - Danish political drama about an idealistic centrist politician unexpectedly forming a minority government and having to deal with the inevitable familial and political compromises. Relatively limited in scope, focusing primarily on the new PM and her immediate staff, but generally well executed. The lead character gains a large bump in the polls following a heartfelt campaign debate speech about how politicians have become lost in the media landscape and no longer connect with ordinary people. The show serves as a rebuttal of the idea of a non-political politician, a woman of the people. Yes, results matter, but as Nyborg learns, to eschew spin is to cede control of the narrative to your opponents and consign yourself to irrelevance. Modern politics requires a communications strategy to cope with the inevitable compromises you must make to hold together a coalition. The show possibly would have been better served as a miniseries, as the episodes begin to feel increasingly formulaic after the first season.

‘Parks and Recreation’ - Set in the parks department of the fictional town of Pawnee, the show is mostly played for laughs rather than to attempt to reflect the truth about society. That said, it does a entertaining job of highlighting some of the daily absurdities of local government. The sorts of people who make the effort to show up to public meetings and consultations often have wildly disproportionate impact on decisions, even as their views are not representative of the wider public. Residents want better services, lower taxes, and their pet boondoggle funded. The show gets off to a weak start, as the main character, Leslie Knope, is played as an earnest but ditzy butt of many jokes. As it develops, Leslie grows to become more competent and familiar with the system, and manages to achieve a great deal for the city. It’s not a bad model for local government - the payoffs are obviously not as grand as becoming President, but diligence and perseverance lead to many tangible outcomes that one can point to and say, “I helped make that happen”.

‘The Wire’ - Often considered one of the greatest TV shows of all time, the series is a depiction of the city of Baltimore written by former detective and a former journalist. Many of the characters and plot lines are based on real people and events, and while the show has much to say about the nigh-impossibility of systemic reform from within - however, with a little luck and extraordinary will and discipline, some do succeed. Primarily of relevance as a model not of governance generally, but of how failure can persist for generations where a subsidiary entity (e.g. a city or state) is propped up by a larger entity (in this case, the U.S. government and economy) and is neither allowed to fail nor given the attention and resources to succeed.

1. The universe of the show also includes a feature-length film, ‘In the Loop,’ which follows the same characters and their American counterparts in the lead-up to the Iraq War. The show’s creator, Armando Ianucci, would also go on to run the American TV show ‘Veep’, which has a similar focus on public relations and incompetence.

2. Later seasons are titled ‘Yes, Prime Minister’ to reflect Hacker’s rise to that role.