The Convention
Of course, political conventions have certainly had their moments of drama and dark humor over the past few decades. The honorable Mayor Richard J. Daley yelling “fucker” and “Jew son of a bitch” at Abe Ribicoff, who accused him of engaging in “gestapo” tactics for quelling political demonstrators in ’68. Harold Washington chewing out Ed Bradley on the convention floor, calling the CBS reporter “the lowest of the low.” A stammering Jimmy Carter accepting the Democratic party nomination and paying tribute to “Hubert Horatio Hornblower…er, Humphrey.” Bill Clinton brushing away a crocodile tear as he recalled “a place called Hope.” Pat Buchanan’s insane battle cry to cultural war during the ’92 Republican convention, which few satirists, however twisted, could equal.
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Writers Andy Cobb, Bob Craig, and Chip Schubert have seemingly aimed to offend no one–a fatal error in political comedy. They primarily attack easy targets, frequently relying on funny names to get laughs, dubbing an anchorwoman Diane Sawmill, for example. Thankfully, Ann Filmer’s fired-up direction distracts us, as do the frenetic “behind the scenes” squabbles that spill out into the audience and onto the streets, conveyed via live video “broadcasts” and the ultracommitted performances, especially by Christina Gausas as the all-business political handler Houseman, Chuck Quinn as way-shallow candidate Hartwood, and Bob Dawson as a meathead Secret Service agent named (ho, ho) G. Gordon Haldeman.
