3x09 Bartlet for America

[8.2/10] I’ll be frank. I never really cared for the M.S. storyline on The West Wing. It always felt a mere hurdle for President Bartlet to overcome, rather than a transgression for him to reckon with. It’s a challenge that makes for dramatic T.V. showdowns, but the sentiment of the show always seemed to be, “yes it was a mistake, but he’s a great president, and that makes it okay,” which just never sat right with me.

And yet, “Bartlet for America” is one of those episode that turns my stance on its ear, that is about the collateral damage of the President’s decision to hide his illness. The episode tries to explain that decision, to account for it, but doesn't try to minimize the shame and hardship faced by the people who tried (and are trying) to protect him.

The most prominent of those in the episode is Leo, who has to face questioning from a Congressional subcommittee on what he knew and when he knew it. The episode, penned by Aaron Sorkin himself, does a superb job of teeing up the notion that there’s a bomb waiting for Leo in that hearing, something that could disrupt his position and public face significantly enough that Josh is scrambling to find a shield for him, and the President himself is trying to intervene. There’s a tension there, a build to when whatever the big bombshell is will be released, that sells the significance of Leo’s admission before he starts in on it.

Sorkin’s name on the top of the screenplay is a blessing and a curse, because he gives you excellent story structuring for television and progression like that, but it also has the casual sexism toward women and some of those too writerly speeches or monologues crowd out the humanity in a moment. As strong as “Bartlet for America” is, it features too many moments like Leo repeatedly asking out his lawyer or FBI agent Michael Casper telling Donna that he’d be hitting on her if he didn’t have a job to do, or the President and Leo having a chat about what Jordan is wearing. And there’s too many of the usual “this isn’t who we are” moralizing monologues that pervaded Sorkin’s tenure with the show.

But it also gives you compelling and amusing moments of Leo’s gamesmanship with the committee, balances a standard but endearing crisis of the week, and peppers in a handful of revealing flashbacks to how this whole shebang got started. Each is winning in its own way, and filled with that ratatattat back-and-forth, occasionally oversentimental, but undeniably affecting energy that The West Wing specializes in.

The flashbacks are easily the most crowd-pleasing part of the episode. It’s fun to see C.J., Sam, and Toby, with their sleeves rolled up, palling around while plotting on behalf of a longshot candidate instead of strategizing with the President. It’s fascinating to see Jed offer Hoynes the Veep slot and offer his confession at the same time, something that intensifies, if not necessarily begins, the bad blood between the two of them. And it’s particularly intriguing to see Jed try to reassure Abbey, and in some ways assuage himself, that releasing the results of a physical is fine because he thinks he’s going to lose the nomination and head back home not too long from now anyway. That last one toes the line between the willfulness of Jed’s omission, but also the sense that he didn’t know what he was getting into, or at least didn’t believe it would go as far as it did.

It’s almost as encouraging to see FBI Special Agent Michael Casper (Clark Gregg, whom I’m convinced is just playing Phil Coulson under a nom de garre while he bounces around the nation’s intelligence apparatus) be so hesitant to receive an attaboy from the President for his team saving the day. I like that in the midst of this dramatic episode with flashbacks and a Congress-facing setpiece, Sorkin & Co. include some nuts and bolts governance. The President having to hobnob with the Tennessee governor, the FBI, and community representatives to handle a series of threats against black churches in the state not only gives the show a chance to make Leo conspicuous in his absence, but also to show that the wheels of government still turn away from the bright lights and cameras. And it puts Agent Casper in the middle of the milieu, trading quips and carrying dignity with the best of them.

The scenes in front of the Congressional committee are a little showier, whether the cameras are rolling or not. It’s fun to see Leo joust with his adversaries and outline the contours of the Bartlet campaign. It’s less fun to see him jerk Jordan around over what he’s hiding. And I’m even less enamored with Cliff Calley delivering his big “you can’t do this!” ultimatum to the chairman, to prevent another Congressman on the committee from slinging mud at Leo from the lectern.

But it builds up to the answer to what all the trouble is. Leo is an alcoholic. Before the third presidential debate, he relapsed and got tanked after a drink with some donors, and the Congressman in question saw the whole thing. When you write it out like that, it sounds simple, quaint even. Lord knows that in 2018, it feels like the type of story that would be forgotten in a week. And yet “Bartlet for America” builds up both the stakes and the artistry of that moment.

It has stakes because the characters act like it does, because Josh is tirelessly crossing his fingers and pounding the pavement for his mentor, because the Chairman of the committee wrestles with whether to “win” the hearing with this. But it has artistry because Leo narrates his addiction for us, because the director gives us nigh-romantic shots of Leo admiring that scotch, because the camera swirls around Jed Bartlet as he starts to collapse, because the sound designer lets us hear that clink of ice on glass, and the lighting and production team let us see Leo shrouded in darkness having lost himself in his fermented fog. It’s this show going big to be sure, with Sorkin’s dialogue in particular giving off some of his trademark cheese in Leo’s oratory, but it drives home the personal failing this is for Leo, the struggle it reflects, the danger it creates.

It’s almost X-mas though, a time when miracles happen, at least on television. So Leo has a last minute reprieve; Calley’s speech worked, and Leo is granted enough time for his gang to “circle the wagons.” And they will. Because whether he wants to admit or not, those people love him. You can see it in the episode’s definitive flashback, which shows how it all began.

Jed’s face lights up when his friend walks into the room after a dull presentation on New Hampshire tourism. Leo talks to him about a crazy idea, an idea to get back into politics, an idea that won’t get out of his head. And with a lick and a bar napkin, “Bartlet for America” and an American presidency is born.

That napkin has become one of the holy objects for The West Wing, its fandom, and its legacy. It’s iconic enough that Bradley Whitford’s cameo/homage on Parks and Recreation included a “Pillner for Pawnee” takeoff on it. Those three words on a crumpled piece of paper don’t just represent the start of the administration at the center of The West Wing. They represent the beginning of a deep and abiding friendship between two men apart from the profession they practice.

That’s why it’s so moving when, after that unexpected bit of clemency, Jed stops by Leo’s office and returns the napkin to the man who gave it to him. Leo breaks down (as John Spencer shows off his chops yet again), and you feel the weight, the care, the support among people in an environment that leaves most folks not wanting to betray that they could buckle or scare or worry. The M.S. storyline on The West Wing is still a bit unsatisfying to me, because of how much blame and censure it lets the President sidestep. But when it goes to places like this -- to Jed acknowledging the people he put in harm’s way, the way that those closest to him are forced to account for his secrets -- and shows how damn much he cares about and appreciates them for it, you feel the core of the show, of good people doing good work with people who matter them, reverberating beneath the surface.