100 Favorite Shows: #72 — The West Wing
“That’s not the right spirit. You’re trying to change the nature of democracy!”
From September 1999 to May 2006, NBC aired The West Wing, a series often considered one of the all-time greats by any group of people convened to discuss the merits of television. As a network series, The West Wing moved the needle on more thoughtfully crafted and artfully shot television dramas. It wasn’t quite the initial torchbearer of the revolution that reformed the medium into something indistinguishable from our most acclaimed stories, but it was still a pillar of optimism and incredibly snappy dialogue during a time when NBC was gearing its entire programming slate around more conventional mega-hits like ER. Created by Aaron Sorkin (who ran The West Wing for the first four seasons and wrote practically every episode before being replaced with John Wells as head writer for the rest of the run), it mainly focused on the staff in the Jed Bartlet (Martin Sheen) administration before transitioning in its later seasons to focus on a campaign for Bartlet’s successor. Still, it remains one of television’s defining dramas — political or otherwise.
(Idealistic as they may be, spoilers for The West Wing are still contained within the contents of this essay.)
The first all-in political series I experienced in my personal television history was Veep. Initially, I thought Veep was just a caustic satire of the government functioning and behind-closed-doors shit-slinging of Washington, D.C. Now, I realize it was also operating on a level that directly rebuked the hopeful competence and inspiration of The West Wing. At the end of Veep, Dan Egan dips out of politics, realizing it’s not the career he’s cut out for, in a moment of honest realism. On The West Wing, however, all the characters were operating within roles they were directly suited for and — in some occasions — reaching for loftier ambitions within the system, as unlikely as that might have been.
C.J. Cregg (Allison Janney) rises from Press Secretary to Chief of Staff over the course of The West Wing, but is always vastly more competent than Mike McClintock (she might be the most talented staffer in the Bartlet administration). Charlie Young (Dulé Hill) is more respected and valued as a member of the team than Gary Walsh, a comparable presidential aide. (He, too, rises through the ranks, contributing to The West Wing’s ardent belief in a true meritocracy and only the occasional acknowledgement of systemic failings.) Toby Ziegler (Richard Schiff) is dryly loving, Leo McGarry (John Spencer) is refreshingly candid, Donna Moss (Janel Moloney) is the team’s most hard-working scout. Even the role of the “Young, Driven Idealist Who Definitely Majored in Poli-Sci” shifted from Sam Seaborn (an understated Rob Lowe) to Josh Lyman (an iconic turn from Bradley Whitford) when Sam sought a Congressional bid. None of them would fit in with the Meyer campaign.
Through this revolving team around Bartlet, The West Wing was able to snake in and out of the vast expanse of a White House team. Sorkin’s series explored the hidden agendas behind political decisions and the intricate job descriptions of many Pennsylvania Avenue staffers. By the time The West Wing debuted, the American public had long since been publicly exposed to the inner workings of presidential administrations. The days of close-chested administrations like Hoover’s and Cleveland’s (who even had a surgery kept secret. Take that, Bartlet’s multiple sclerosis) that operated in relative obscurity were long gone. The accessible, digestible media had blown the doors off the Oval Office and we were now privy to every move and decision levied by a president and his team (the impact of this on the American psyche was buoyed by the fact that the Press Secretary position did not exist until 1929 and not in earnest until 1953 (under a crisp Eisenhower two-termer).
Sorkin’s depiction of his political heroes, however, was more aligned with the viewpoints of directors from the same era as Hoover. The West Wing seems to owe a great deal of legacy debt to Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Frank Capra films in general. The notion that one person really can make a difference against the trust-fund behemoths is one founded in exceptionalities, but on The West Wing it was present throughout the unmandated Bartlet presidency.
In reality, the figures who populated the series at the turn of the century would have been snuffed out of the game by more powerful players who prioritized pandering over policy. On The West Wing, though, their earnest competence was their strength. Each of them genuinely meant well and their screw-ups were the results of honest mistakes. No one served the position of bumbling comic relief because every character in the family (yes, they became more than just colleagues — same for the actors!) had a chance to be funny (Sam’s insistence against Toby that a storm is not coming to town and, as such, his speech for Jed does not need to be rewritten) and tactical, in equal measure.
Their humor mostly came from their cleverness rather than any supposed incompetence. Each character could quip a turn of phrase (“If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for red lights.”) at any moment. Many of these zingers came from the patented Sorkin “walk and talks,” which conveyed the high-octane pace of the job and the efficiency with which they managed it. Sorkin’s one of the smartest writers to ever work in Hollywood, so I doubt he saw his vision for D.C., humorous or not, as all too realistic. I hesitate to describe his bleeding heart optimism as naïve because of this. Through all the rousing episode conclusions, flying conversational witticisms, and busied palms, Sorkin was never reflecting D.C. Rather, he was crafting the writerly, Capra-esque ideal of what it could be. What our history classes teach us it is.
Still, much of what we associate with The West Wing today took a while to grow into the fabric of the series. The nineteenth episode of the series, “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet,” came towards the end of its first season and wrestled with the lack of political identity present in Jed Bartlet and the lack of any real television identity in The West Wing. Once the proverbial leash was removed in this episode, Sorkin’s drama was free to become the West Wing we know today (later morphing instead into a less-engaging series more closely resembling a campaign narrative/Will Bailey (Joshua Malina) vehicle than the ensemble that anchored its early days), growing in confidence and purity of spirit right alongside Jed Bartlet.
The impetus for Bartlet’s pivot stemmed from a playbook Mandy (Moira Kelly) wrote, outlining the exact strategies for opponents of Bartlet to defeat him during the next campaign cycle. As the episode unfolds with a thunderstorm in the backdrop (sorry, Sam), it becomes increasingly obvious that Mandy is right. Her memo might be a headache for the staffers, but underlines what viewers instinctively felt from the series: Jed was too wishy-washy. Driven by morals, Jed often compromised in the early days so as to ensure his later re-election. Others in the racket noticed this and used it to their advantage, knowing they could play catch with their weight and Jed would be hamstrung to sit and watch without a mitt.
“We can’t have this meeting every time the president wakes up and decides to make the world better,” a representative remarks to Josh when pushing for their preferred names on the newly open FEC seats. The opposition recognizes Jed’s burning desire to make the country a better place and they also recognize that the burning flames out every day. When they proceed to threaten political retribution against Josh, who is pushing for more progressive nominees, Josh gives up. It’s frustrating, but it also allows him to realize that Donna and Mandy are correct. The administration operates like a one-termer, stuck in patterns of neutrality and inaction. It takes an impassioned plea from Leo to wake Jed up to the energy he should have been chasing all along.
Jed eventually engages in a mantra of speaking out versus achieving re-election, recognizing that the checks and balances system has completely ignored the executive branch. “Let Bartlet be Bartlet,” Leo scrawls on a memo as the new political strategy. Finally, The West Wing lionized its own morality, refusing to see it as a weakness, and it opened the series up to be even more thrilling and even more impressive, both technically and narratively.
The brilliance of “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet” is also in that it sidelines Jed Bartlet for the majority of the episode. He appears in the cold open and then again at the fiery finale of the installment, but for the most part, “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet” focuses solely on the perceptions of Jed. From his team, from his political opponents, from those who serve at the president’s pleasure. This was one early instance of an important underscoring throughout The West Wing.
History will always acknowledge presidential administrations as being the benefactors of one man, a few key players, and some bipartisan deals sprinkled in. Sorkin, through all his bombastic rhetoric and quippy timbres, recognized that the four years in office are not only the president’s. They’re hardly even mostly the president’s. The legacy of the Commander in Chief belongs to the people he impacts with his legislation and the ways in which he treats and upholds the honor of his staff members. But it’s also in how his team reacts to him. Just as the United States will always maintain the identity of those who push for change (sadly, both forward and backward), so too does a presidential term. Bartlet’s tenure in office is defined by his own agency, yes, but it’s also owed to Leo’s courage and Josh’s advocacy and C.J.’s aplomb.
Sorkin’s vision for the nation on The West Wing never was the United States, nor will it ever be. But still, I appreciate how he saw the best in people. How he believed a Republican would secure his party’s presidential nomination even with pro-choice beliefs. How he believed a staunch, traditional batch of military leads would eventually back down after being persuaded by an inspirational speech (neglecting the other, non-pathos factors that might go into a legislative decision). The West Wing was not D.C. as it is. It was Epcot. It was an ideal with soaring music and heterogeneous architecture and the need to change all the time, even when many post resistance to this concept.
In the face of this mistrust in change, it became even more vital for the characters to adhere to their core beliefs and most-valued causes. Occasionally, Josh’s policy pushing veered into the territory of evaluating matters as they should have been, rather than as they were. (Namely, Josh often struggled with accepting that he was in the “big show” in the White House. A foreign policy endeavor that costs $20 billion is seen by Leo as being “not much,” which puts Josh’s railing against special interests into context.) “Money isn’t [free] speech,” Josh bemoans in his traction-devoid meeting in “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet,” pushing an agenda that is at a different stage of advocacy than his team was prepared to operate within.
This “stick to your guns” mentality re-emerged in season two’s masterful (and likely peak of the series) “Two Cathedrals.” The episode questions whether or not Jed will seek re-election after it’s revealed to the American public that he lied about his MS diagnosis. Sam is on the side of suppressing Jed’s interactions with the public regarding his debilitating disease. When C.J. chastises him for advocating for this position, he snaps back with rare fury, “I got shouted down the first three times and I work here just like you do!” If this was Veep, Sam would probably be fired for his outburst. But on The West Wing, C.J. trusted that Sam’s expertise was a valuable perspective to have and she stepped aside for his argument to manifest.
Ultimately, the myriad strategies for handling MS fallout are ignored by Jed because he, too, refuses to compromise the principles in which he believes. (Which makes this a perfect episode for Josh to bring back the motto, “Let Bartlet be Bartlet.”) Of course, “Two Cathedrals” is not just about the consequences of MS disclosure. It’s also about the loss of Mrs. Landingham (Kathryn Joosten), who was killed in a car accident in the preceding, “18th and Potomac.” While managing the media reaction to a political scandal, the team is also tasked with attending the very human event of a funeral.
“Two Cathedrals,” in a harrowing moment, shows Bartlet being Bartlet alright. He seals the National Cathedral after Mrs. Landingham’s service and monologues with rage against God. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” he sneers as the Steadicam swirls around his frame that proceeds to march down the aisle between the pews. He demands answers from God and questions the intent behind sticking Josh with a bullet (in “What Kind of Day Has It Been”) and killing Mrs. Landingham with a reckless drunk driver. “You feckless thug,” he levies before launching into a Latin language tirade and stomping cigarette ash into the floor of the altar. Not only must this have been pretty shocking for pious network television viewers, but it was also another moment of reclamation for Jed Bartlet. If oiling his policy machine in “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet” was a professional redefinition, then this iconic television monologue was a personal one.
Jed challenges his own preconceptions of faith and righteousness in the world, as he feels like he’s sunk by the barrage of personal punches inflicted against him. We see the president at his most vulnerable, glaring at his source of faith in the world, and to fully understand the depths of his frustration, “Two Cathedrals” deposits us directly into the mindset of young Jed (Jason Widener) at a boarding school operated by his father. We have to see why it wounds him when his idealism fractures, due to circumstances out of his control — especially when he spent so much time flexing his own control.
We see his abusive father as a form of hostility against the blessing of “inspiration” a young Mrs. Landingham (Kirsten Nelson) observes within him. Recognizing the chance she has to use Jed as an instrument for enacting changes for gender equity at the school (there’s a massive wage gap throughout the staff, including non-professors), Mrs. Landingham diligently dogs him to speak to his father about the inequality she’s facing in the future. (Aside from Leo, Mrs. Landingham was Jed’s biggest key in life. She was one of the only ones who could be wholly honest and direct with him. Considering her sense of a fair society, Mrs. Landingham would have probably made a good president, too.)
Eventually, Jed relents, which she always knew he would. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t “even wanna know” him (a refrain that returns in their relationship, similar to Jed’s “What’s next?”). When young Jed washes a car at the outset of their discussions regarding the wage gap, Mrs. Landingham points out a spot he missed, to which he replies, “I just haven’t gotten to it yet.” It’s maybe a bit on-the-nose in comparison to the issue of the wage gap (which is and has been real), but it’s also an emblematic allusion to the wide swath of problems that cross through the Oval Office during any given day of a presidency.
It’s a moment that’s paralleled later when a tropical storm lashes D.C. (in May, of all months!) and an Oval Office window slams open from the winds, just as Jed neared the decision not to run for president again. In his frustration, Jed hollers for Mrs. Landingham (still deceased), who enters as a ghost/figure of Jed’s imagination. She scolds him for raising his voice, rather than politely using the intercom, a tool he claims he hasn’t “learned yet.” There’s that concept of “yet” again. For all of Jed’s lofty ideals and achievements (he’s the president, after all!), there are still tasks he’s yet to get to and skills he’s yet to learn. He’s fallible and there’s more to be done; it’s a refreshing political sentiment.
That’s the crucial tone of his conversation with Mrs. Landingham. The loss of his dear friend and the endless mudslinging from the American media is damaging to Jed’s spirit, but he needs only a brief moment of reflection to understand how many people are worse off than he is in the nation he was elected to lead. If he doesn’t run (out of fear of losing or being challenged), he puts the homeless, the sick, the disenfranchised, the helpless at risk of never receiving aid. If Jed does run again, then his staff might just stand a chance at turning the U.S. into the utopia a piece of parchment promised it would be.
There’s no feeling bad for Jed from Mrs. Landingham (and not once does her specter mention the fact that he might be anguished, but she’s literally dead). Instead, she provides one last pep talk, showing that even presidents need guidance in moments of doubt. Well, Sorkin presidents do anyway.
From this moment, the Dire Straits’ “Brothers in Arms” plays out (in full, believe it or not) over the conclusion of the episode and of season two. (It’s the best musical moment in the show, which is a mega-testament when considering the incredible use of Don Henley’s “New York Minute” in “Somebody’s Going to Emergency, Somebody’s Going to Jail.”) Bartlet arrives at his stadium-sized press conference and ignores a softball question about his medical status, instead calling on a reporter who demands an answer about a second term. The camera glides around his head, Mark Knopfler croons, Bartlet places his hands in his pocket. And the season ends. But anyone following Bartlet’s growth into the role knows exactly his decision. The show has taught us time and again that this version of D.C. is one where our leaders do exactly as we hope they would, ignoring all political norms along the way.
For as flawless as the conclusion is (Charlie rushing over to Jed with a coat still gives me goosebumps), The West Wing was never quite as quality again. It was a product of the Clinton era (thanks to the similar sensibility in Sorkin’s The American President), which rapidly came to an unceremonious conclusion before the series could ever find its own long-tenured identity. In many ways, the irrevocable horrors of 9/11 (despite the series’ best efforts to address the tragedy in bottle episode form) killed the series. Parts of the optimism helped many endure the hopelessness embodied by Ground Zero, but parts of it were unattainable in the face of such an atrocity. Through to the end, even in spite of the cynicism that unfolded throughout W’s administration and the loss of Sorkin, The West Wing remained optimistic in a political landscape that could thrive under the best intentions of our best minds. The hallways of the White House were filled with dense pages of dialogue and Steadicams rounding corners, but they were also filled with the best of us. And maybe they can be again.
