There was this one day in 2000 where I kind of lost it. Bush was looking like he was going to emerge victorious from the Florida clusterfuck, and the Republicans had won back both houses of Congress. I wasn’t so much angry about the temporary shift in power as I was discovering what it felt like to be disillusioned with politics in general. If our country keeps with this back-and-forth in prioritizing, I thought, then nothing was ever going to be accomplished. The feeling hasn’t dissipated in 10 years. When I start to feel hopeful about something, like the passing of gay marriage laws or a comprehensive health care bill, there are always plenty of detractors that, somehow, are always louder than the proponents. What’s worse is that even when nothing’s on the table, those detractors are furious. Their hateful screeds find audiences on a purely emotional level alone.
Then, just the other day, Obama had a Bartlet moment in which he directly addressed the building of a “ground zero mosque” (though it appears it’s not really a mosque nor is it truly “at” ground zero) and told detractors, essentially, to shove it. It was beautiful and immediately shit upon. This country makes me angry in the worst kind of way: I feel totally helpless because, truly, there is almost nothing I can do besides vote and hope for the best. [Cue someone lecturing me about political activism; fair enough.]
But for a few minutes at the end of “Two Cathedrals,” I witnessed the most pure, least distilled act of political optimism I’ve ever seen. It was such a moment of catharsis that I burst into tears.
Where do I even begin talking about these two unbelievable hours of television? How about that brass knuckle to the face that was the end of “18th & Potomac”? The episode had such an extraordinary amount of build. The communications team is preparing for the announcement and ensuing press conference that will define their political careers, and as the news of Bartlet’s startling omission seeps through the White House, a startling silence has gripped the staff. That’s to say nothing about a growing situation in Haiti during which the country’s new president finds himself in the trunk of a car to escape a political coup. Tensions are high, and the only thing the administration can possibly hold on to is that no matter how bad things get, they’ve got their people to rely on.
Of course—of course—it couldn’t be that easy. And geez, I’m using the term “easy” very loosely here. For just when there was that faintest flicker of hope, The West Wing snuffed it out in the least frillsy, most realistic way I’ve ever seen a TV show treat a death. There was no big send-off of Mrs. Landingham in “18th & Potomac”; her death was announced quietly, as one would probably receive news they simply cannot believe is true. Mrs. Landingham spent her final episode (sort of) bantering with Charlie and Bartlet about cars and paying sticker price, which was a choice I was led to believe would illustrate her stickler-ness for the rules, and perhaps make the big reveal of Bartlet’s MS more painful than originally anticipated. Last week, actually, I wondered at one point what it was Mrs. Landingham and Charlie did to complement each other, and if both were really necessary in the organizational structure. I truly felt blindsided by this sad piece of news.
In the case of assistants on The West Wing, I get the sense they are far overqualified for the jobs they hold. (Well, I guess it's mostly Donna, who has really been knockin' these episodes out of the park lately. Her collected reaction to hearing Bartlet's news from Toby, followed by her muted excitement in telling Josh she knows—just so thrilled to truly be able to be there for him—was unbelievably sweet.) They stick it out because they ostensibly love the people they work with and for, plus they work at the freakin' White House. Even among all the assistants, though, Mrs. Landingham seemed to come from another era. She was powerful and held a unique kind of influence over the President Of The United States, yet had zero ego about it. She did her (at times) menial job with no complaining because that's just the way things happen. She almost never missed a day of work, and never let up on the President about the tiniest things—just because he's the most powerful man in the world doesn't mean he is excused from not learning how to work the intercom. And when the President has made a decision that puts him in jeopardy of losing the trust of a nation if not all of humanity, he cares most deeply about betraying the trust of this woman. She is important in all the ways The West Wing rarely talks about, yet in all the ways The West Wing excels. It's uncanny how perfectly gut-wrenching her death is.
I'd be lying if I said my judgment of "18th & Potomac" is balanced. After all, 41 of the minutes in the episode had nothing to do with Mrs. Landingham's death, yet that final minute is seared in my brain. On a purely emotional level, I initially had a hard time remembering anything that happened before Charlie breathlessly informed Leo of the news, and Leo told the President as we watched through closed glass doors. But there was so much about "18th & Potomac" that made it one of the finest West Wing episodes so far. I especially loved the little ways the show—and the administration—has retained its sense of humor during these cloudy times; fittingly, the jokes have delved into darker territory. The pre-credits sequence, for example, found a stone-cold Joey Lucas delivering the polling results (with the President speaking for those watching at home and questioning the trustworthiness of the interpreter). Nothing was good. If those Michiganders are any indication of how the rest of the country is going to react, Bartlet is screwed. And…cue opening credits! Plus, when CJ's under the gun, her sarcasm/wittiness circuit goes into overdrive. She avoids a reporter's question, and when that reporter follows up not surprisingly with, "You didn't answer my question," CJ's retort is, "How 'bout that?" As CJ herself says, the water is exactly at her head, and the same goes for the entire team. If learning the Bartlet news mirrored the steps in the grieving process, everyone is at "acceptance" now, and the undeniable forward momentum, in the face of potential professional heartbreak, makes the other 41 minutes of "18th & Potomac" a cohesive piece of West Wing drama and wit.