The West Wing - We're Meant to Keep Doing Better

December 16, 2020

The West Wing is a television series about a fictional group of White House Staffers, and their President, Jed Bartlet.

Even in your average show there's quite a bit to unpackage. Its origins, its writers, its characters, its legacy, its influences, its era, and its heart. But when you have a show like The West Wing, one of the most Emmy nominated shows of all time, and you look at the shows within that upper echelon, it becomes clear that The West Wing is more than just "a good tv show." It is a part of our cultural fabric.

I find myself often thinking about my favourite scenes and episodes. Like old friends and memories. I could take any number of them to use as an example of what the show was about, and break down what made it so meaningful to me, but here's my favourite.

To give you a little background, in this episode Chief of Staff Leo McGarry (played by John Spencer) has to publicly admit his past addiction and treatment to alcohol and valium, which is potentially career-ending.

It's also the episode where President Bartlet (played by Martin Sheen) first admits to Leo that years prior to running for President, that he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Something Bartlet can't hide anymore because he's bed-ridden with a high fever, which for him, is potentially fatal.

There's this beautiful dynamic between Leo and the President. They're these old friends that love and trust each other so much. Leo is actually the one who suggested Bartlet run for President in the first place and ran Bartlet's campaign.

And despite all the inherent problems with the President having a secret MS diagnosis, the thing that bothers Leo the most is that his friend Jed didn't tell him, because that meant Leo couldn't support him. Their lives are figuratively and literally approaching a cliff, with the President potentially at death's door and Leo about to disgrace his and potentially the President's career, and all Leo cares about is their friendship.

In this episode there's also an escalating tension between two nuclear powers, India and Pakistan, and a State of the Union speech to finish. There's actually this really beautiful sentiment one of the speech writers, Toby Ziegler wants to include in the speech. He says,

Tomorrow night we do an immense thing. We have to say what we FEEL. That government, no matter what its past failures, and in times to come government can be a place where people come together and where no one gets left behind.

Then, at the end of the episode the President is speaking with The Secretary of Agriculture. He says, "Do you have a best friend?"

All the while, Leo, overhears this from his office.

There's a lot going on any episode of The West Wing. Each episode has multiple plots, and often deal with an aspect of the American government. There will likely be some international conflict or crisis, and any number of meetings and press conferences, but there will very frequently be an expression of hope. A romantic ideal for the characters, or their country. And at the forefront of all that, friends.

I'm not particularly interested in politics, or the structure of the American government, but I do know what it is to have a friend, who is smarter than me, that I would trust with my life.

That even when it feels like the world is going to end up as cinders in a nuclear war, or my career is over, or I'm lying face down in a parking lot because I'm an alcoholic that relapsed, or I get a disease that's so dangerous that I might die, that I still have friends, and people that love me. That there's always hope.

And I think this is why I and so many others love The West Wing. What made it a part of our cultural fabric, and so influential on television's landscape in its day, and times to come. Which is how much the characters on the show love and care for each other, and their country, and how much we care for them.

That's what brought the show through seven seasons, 95 Emmy nominations, and two Presidencies. Through the hands of a gifted writer and creator, a talented group of directors and producers, and a dedicated ensemble cast that could have each headlined their own TV show.

Because they all believed in the work and each other. And reached for the stars.

Show Origins

The West Wing originated in the mind of writer and creator Aaron Sorkin. Sorkin's writing career began as a playwright. He wrote his first play and sent it to his old theatre teacher, which led to it being performed at Syracuse University in 1984. He then wrote a few off-broadway plays, before writing "A Few Good Men," which debuted on Broadway in 1989. Sorkin sold the film rights to the play, and wrote the screenplay for Castle Rock Entertainment, as his first under contract for the studio. The film was released in 1992.

Sorkin then wrote the screenplay for Malice, before writing the final screenplay for Castle Rock, a film called "The American President."

While researching for the film, Sorkin was unable to spend a lot of time with the President at the time, Bill Clinton, and spent most of his time with the White House Staff, where he earned a great deal of respect for the people and their work. By the time Aaron was done, he turned in an 385-page screenplay to director Rob Reiner, before the screenplay was edited to 120 pages.

But the 385-page screenplay did not disappear, nor did Aaron's admiration of white house staffers.

Years later, Aaron Sorkin was set up to have a meeting with TV Producer John Welles, who produced the show ER. Sorkin had no interest in writing for TV, but took the meeting and realized there he would have to pitch something. Sorkin's friend encouraged him to pitch a story about White House staffers, which is exactly what Sorkin did.

It's easy to see the footprints of The American President in The West Wing. The American President is a romantic comedy-drama about a widowed President, Andrew Shepherd (played by Michael Douglass), who starts dating an environmental lobbyist Sydney Ellen Wade (played by Annette Bening).

President Shepherd is trying to get re-elected for a second term, and already has a great approval rating, which he hopes to cement with the passage of a crime bill. As the President starts to fall for, and date Ms. Wade, his points continue to drop, and he refuses to comment, or allow his staff to comment on the questions the press is asking about their relationship.

There are a number of themes or ideas within the film that get repeated in The West Wing. One is the constant fighting for political support, as President Shepherd's ratings drop, so do those supporting the passage of his crime bill. Another is the idealized vision of politics. At the end of the film, Shepherd gives a speech that denounces his opponents for publically attacking his girlfriend, while simultaneously pledging support for her environmental bill and rewriting his crime bill to "one that works."

Even though John Wells agreed to back Aaron Sorkin's idea for a show about White House Staff, the television landscape of the 90s was not a welcoming place for political television. While there had been political shows on American Television prior to The West Wing, like Slattery's People, The Man and the City, Top of the Hill, and The Bold Ones: The Senator (which won five Emmy nominations), it was still thought that you should never make a show about politics. Though the same might not be entirely true for British Television, which had a number of political comedies, like Yes Minister, The Powers That Be, A Very British Coup, Bill Brand, and more serious dramas, like The Politician's Wife, and House of Cards.

John Wells and Aaron Sorkin pitched NBC about a show about relatable White House staffers, which would then show an understanding of how government really works. NBC shared the research they had done that indicated that audiences didn't want (or like) shows about politics, but agreed to read a pilot script.

When Wells brought The West Wing pilot script to NBC, the heads of the studio did not like it and did not want to make it. Additionally the Monica Lewinsky scandal was breaking, and there were concerns that an audience might not be able to take a show about the White House seriously. So the pilot script remained shelved for a year.

Because NBC wanted John Wells to stay on ER, Wells was able to force the studio about a year later to actually make the pilot.

The pilot was a powerhouse in the making. There was Thomas Schlamme, a director who had worked with Sorkin on his first TV show, Sports Night. Sorkin had written the pilot scripts for The West Wing and Sports Night at the same time, but while West Wing was shelved, Sports Night was picked up. Schlamme has been described by the actors on The West Wing as, "an actor's director." Richard Schiff who plays Toby Ziegler on the show said that he used to have "healthy" fights with Schlamme. Presenting challenging ideas and out of that discussion, creating a collaborative environment. Schiff had a number of strong opinions about his character or the text and he would voice them to everyone. At some point Schiff noticed people walking away when he did so, so he stopped. Two weeks into this silence Schlamme knocked at his trailer door and asked,

Schlamme had earned Sorkin's trust when working with him on Sports Night. Finding ways to respect Sorkin's words, while creating ways to make them work even better. And Schlamme was not afraid to go over budget, if it meant creating something greater.

Theatre Background

The main cast they hired, for the most part, were actors who not only had experience in television and movies, but had a strong background in the theatre. Bradley Whitford who played Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff and Chief Political Advisor, had roles in a number of Off-Broadway, and Broadway productions (including roles in Sorkin's 1989 run of A Few Good Men). In fact, Sorkin had actually written the role with Whitford in mind.

John Spencer who played Chief of Staff Leo McGarry, had been a part of a number of stage productions going back to 1978. When casting for Leo's part, Sorkin said, "we need someone like John Spencer," and Schlamme asked, "What about John Spencer?"

Allison Janney, who played White House Press Secretary C.J. Craig, had done seven Off-Broadway productions and two Broadway productions and quickly became every cast member's favourite actor to work across.

Richard Schiff who played Toby Ziegler the White House Communications Director, was originally an artistic director of the Manhattan Repertory Theater and directed off-Broadway productions.

Even the show's titular role, President Jed Bartlett was played by Martin Sheen who had a tremendous amount of Broadway and Off-Broadway work, in addition to his already legendary body of work.

Robe Lowe, who played Sam Seaborn, the Deputy White House Communications Director, only had one Broadway performance. This is the first in a series of differences between Rob Lowe and the rest of the cast. Initially Sorkin did not want an established star for the role of Sam Seaborn, while the studio was concerned about putting more attractive actors in the cast. Casting Lowe appeased the network's needs and allowed the hiring of the other cast they wanted.

The importance of the work in theatre is that theatre is the basis for Aaron Sorkin's writing. Even today, Sorkin says he is most comfortable writing plays. If you look at Sorkin's work, the most common scene is two people talking in a room. This is why it is so crucial to have people who are both comfortable with, and love theatre work.Because then you get Richard Schiff and John Spencer fostering an environment where there was a lot of rehearsal, which allowed the actors to properly inhabit the work. There are a lot of terms and ideas on The West Wing that can be quite dense, and it serves to give the actors a chance to not only work through it, but work through how they 'feel' about it.

It also helps having a director who both respects the work, and only wants to make it better. The West Wing was notorious for the "walk and talk," a long take that appears to be a single continuous shot of two or more characters walking. The West Wing was far from the first series to do the walk and talk (the steadicam had been around long before The West Wing), but it quickly became synonymous with The West Wing. And the first walk and talk was in the pilot.

Tommy Schlamme's idea was to take the first eight scenes and make them a walk and talk to show the geography of the West Wing. The walk and talks had the feel of a stage performance. By having a series of scenes back to back, it was like a stage production where scenes pile on one after the other until intermission.

Since Sports Night, the walk and talk was a way of making Sorkin's default style of two people talking in a room more dynamic. And the walk and talk became such a staple of the show, that it became notorious for it.

Still, initial screenings of the pilot were not going well. Executives at NBC were concerned they had a show about politics where characters mostly talked. The show's production company, Warner Bros. Television, created new demographics in order to sell the show to NBC. Households earning more than $75,000 per year, households with at least one college graduate, households that subscribe to the New York Times, and households with internet access.

These demographics not only helped get the show on the air, but helped get the show ad sponsors like BMW, and tech companies advertising during the dot-com boom era.

When The West Wing debuted in 1999, it was an extremely competitive landscape for television. It had to contend with strong sitcoms like Friends, Frasier, and Everybody Loves Raymond, Emmy darlings like ER and NYPD Blue, a burgeoning Sopranos, as well as the monolith of television that year, Who Wants to be a Millionaire. And JAG.

But the show had a lot of talent behind it, and was able to acquire more. Because Aaron Sorkin was the principal writer for the series, in the early years the producers would spend money that would have gone to directors. A lot of times this would involve bringing up directors who Tommy Schlamme or Sorkin knew who had directed on Sports Night. Directors like Alex Graves, Robert Berlinger, Don Scardino, and Bryan Gordon. According to Schlamme, Alex Graves in particular had a massive visual vocabulary. Schlamme would watch Graves work, and incorporate things Graves did in his own work.

There were also directors who were not from Sports Night who came to work on the show. Directors who went on to have quite prodigious careers like Alan Taylor who went on to direct episodes of Mad Men, Rome, Game of Thrones, Lost, and Six Feet Under. And directors like Clark Johnson, who directed episodes of NYPD Blue, Law and Order, The Wire, Homeland, and The Walking Dead.

Breakdown of Characters

Despite the show’s prestigious cast and crew, the show received endless criticism. One of the criticisms of the show is that all the characters are interchangeable with one another.

Toby is like that misfit in a group of friends. You love him, but he's so frequently annoying that you kind of hate him too.

Toby is the absolute moral center of the show. He pushes everyone around him to a moral high ground, especially when they don't want to be pushed. (which is, actually kind of funny now that I think about how Richard Schiff had all those "healthy fights" with Tommy Schlamme)

Schiff described Toby as "someone who was formulating and ruminating and gurgling like a volcano, you know what I mean? Until he had to speak and he had to say something."

Introspective to a point of almost self-loathing. It's as if the reason Toby tries to be so good, is that that's the only value he'll see in himself.

One of my favourite Toby scenes is when he gets drunk in season five, and starts singing the theme from M*A*S*H, because of course Suicide is Painless is what Toby sings when he's drunk.

Then there's Josh. Josh is a petulant child. He's often the smartest person in the room and he's dying to show it. He thinks he's handsome, funny, and God's gift to everything. And it doesn't help that some people tend to see him that way too.

And yet, more than anyone else, he's reliant on the people around him. It's like growing up he was always so far ahead of everyone else, it made it difficult to notice sign posts for maturity. And his mind and ability took him so far ahead of the pack that he never got to slow down to stop and notice what he was missing.

Leo is the most weathered among the staff. He's the boss, not just by the title, but by the example. What Would Leo Do. He's a war veteran who survived the Korean War. Sometimes there's this, authoritative quality to people from the military. They've been trained in so much, and for so much that they have an ease and confidence about them. If you can survive being dragged on your friend's back for days, your threshold for what concerns you is quite high.

And if you're a relapsing alcoholic that's able to pick yourself off the pavement of parking lot and chase sobriety and life again, then you have an even deeper well of life and experience and struggle to draw upon.

C.G. Craig probably changes the most over the series. She starts as the Press Secretary and becomes the Chief of Staff. It's a bit of a weird transition and I can't help but wonder if they had C.G. do it not because the character was qualified, but because the show runners were confident Allison Janney had the acting chops to take on anything.

C.G.'s character is actually a little harder to pin down. Like the other characters she has a strong moral center, she has playful relationships with most of the other characters, and she has this kind of supreme confidence at times. Handling people requires an enormous skillset, and C.G. seems to often be at ease not because she can handle any situation, but because - if she needs to - she can handle the people in them.

I feel like Sam Seaborn is the heart of the show. The West Wing is a Frank Capra-esque version of politics. Frank Capra's work was often so sweetly idealized that it was saccharine. Capra was a director of films like It's a Wonderful Life, It Happened One Night, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Capra's films not only presented more hopeful, idealized versions of the world, but also had the ability to elicit emotion from the viewer.

And more than any other character, Sam always seems to inhabit these qualities. In fact, Rob Lowe always "thought that Sam was an idealized version of Aaron." He seems to be the most naive of the characters, but only because his hope outweighs his street sense.

Josiah "Jed" Bartlet may be the most interesting character on the show. He is probably the most intelligent of the group. He scored 1590 out of 1600 on his SATs, twice, was a tenured professor, and received a nobel prize in economics.

He is a passionate man, so much so that he is sometimes temporarily ruled by them. He cares deeply about people, and the state of the world. And when the safety of the world, or its people are at risk (particularly Americans, and especially those close to him) he is furious.

He is also devoutly Catholic. I think his Catholicism is actually more of a burden to him, than a solace. His life is in a constant state of crisis, overwhelmed by the injustices and dangers of the world. And I think that a part of his moral centre is tied to his religion, as he tries and fails to play the role of a "just God."

He seems to be two men, as Toby puts it. "The absent-minded professor with the 'Aw, Dad.' sense of humor. Disarming, unthreatening, good for all time zones. And the Nobel Laureate. Still searching for salvation. Lonely, frustrated. Lethal."

There is a very patriarchal sense to him in a lot of ways, not just in his Aw, Dad, demeanor, but also in how he may remind the audience a lot of their Fathers. Seeing, at times, a caring individual, and when pushed into a corner, the most ferocious force we will ever see or experience in our lives.

Favourite Episodes

Like all West Wing fans, I have a number of favourite scenes or episodes.

Like the episode Excelcious Deo, where Toby discovers a homeless veteran who dies in a park, and arranges an honour guard funeral for him.

There's this storytelling technique I once mentioned in my Steven Spielberg video, Intimacy in Character. It's not the only way, or the required way to establish a connection between a character and the audience, but it can be a very effective way.

In these moments you almost give a soliloquy to the character, where they reveal a deeply personal story about themselves. It also helps in cases to tie this story to what the character needs or wants, or situates their personality for the viewer so they intrinsically know how the character will react in the rest of the story.

Aaron Sorkin is a skilled practitioner of this technique. Like in this episode where Mrs. Landingham is explaining to Charlie about her general malaise with Christmas, and the loss of her sons.

There's this easy-going, plainspoken nature to it. When you're aiming to pluck people's emotional strings it sometimes helps to be direct and not too wordy.

So when Mrs. Landingham shows up as Toby is about to go to the funeral he set up using the President's name, even after chewing him out for doing so, and says, "I'd like to come along," we're not surprised. We've followed the character's soliloquy where they've expressed what they want, in this case, another chance to spend Christmas with her boys, and now we are rooting for her to get it.

Or the episode where Bartlet and his staff are reconsidering the death penalty for this one particular case, and perhaps, for the country as a whole. At the end there's a scene where Bartlet's priest from when he was attended church as a young man, comes to visit him in the oval office. As Bartlet complains about praying for wisdom and receiving none, Father Cavanaugh tells him:

You remind me of the man that lived by the river. He heard a radio report that the river was going to rush up and flood the town, and that all the residents should evacuate their homes. But the man said, "I'm religious. I pray. God loves me. God will save me." The waters rose up. A guy in a rowboat came along and he shouted, "Hey, hey you, you in there. The town is flooding. Let me take you to safety." But the man shouted back, "I'm religious. I pray. God loves me. God will save me." A helicopter was hovering overhead and a guy with a megaphone shouted, "Hey you, you down there. The town is flooding. Let me drop this ladder and I'll take you to safety." But the man shouted back that he was religious, that he prayed, that God loved him and that God will take him to safety. Well, the man drowned. And standing at the gates of St. Peter he demanded an audience with God. "Lord," he said, "I'm a religious man, I pray, I thought you loved me. Why did this happen?" God said, "I sent you a radio report, a helicopter and a guy in a rowboat. What the hell are you doing here?"

I love these Sorkin stories. Whether he has written them himself, or borrowed them, they are their own fables in the Sorkin universe. Fables are some of our oldest stories, passed on from person to person, generation to generation. There's a kind of universal and ageless humanity to them. Even as they age, they do not grow old. They remain meaningful.

And Sorkin has a way of making his own fables, throughout much of his work. Which ties us to his work, the same way fables tie us all together.

Another one of my favourite scenes is the intro to the episode Galileo. It's an almost perfectly condensed version of what makes the early seasons of The West Wing great. The first is that quality that some TV shows have where you become so involved or enamoured with a show's characters that they feel like friends. Sometimes I think this is an aspect of the show where the characters, or the style of the show, becomes very familiar. Sometimes I think the viewer takes a role in this relationship, whether by binge-watching, or by watching the show at a time in their lives when, for whatever reason, they could use a friend. It helps to have fully formed characters with well-defined characteristics or tendencies, so their interactions become a sort of game where the rules and systems are well-known to the viewer. Like how The President has a love for seemingly meaningless information, and an even greater love for talking about them. And how the rest of the staff is thoroughly unenthused by either of these passions.

This is where the episode Galileo begins, with The President talking about the many exciting names NASA has created in the past and CJs inability or unwillingness to take part. A joke that gets expanded upon when the President is showing off his Mars knowledge, despite CJ's protests.

And it moves to Sam, the loudest beating heart of inspiration in the series making an off-the-cuff, beautiful speech that not only acknowledges the information of the Galileo V spacecraft, while simultaneously adding that inspirational spirit to the show that expands the surface level material into a greater dialogue and hope for America, and humanity.

Before giving us our punchline.

And of course, I love probably the most celebrated West Wing episode, Two Cathedrals. Everything about the episode builds. The pressure the entire White House staff is under as they are about to reveal to the country for the first time, that the President was hiding his Multiple Sclerosis. The funeral for The President's surrogate older sister and secretary, Mrs. Landingham. The President's rant against God. The constant question of whether or not the President will run for re-election. The flashback to the beginning of Bartlet’s and Mrs. Landingham's relationship. The impending tropical storm. That moment when, because the President refuses his jacket, Charlie takes off his. A Father that hits his son. And in that betrayal of family, a woman that says, "You never had a big sister and you need one."

It all builds to this moment where the President is about to give his first speech since the announcement of his MS. This isn't just a scene echo where, when he was young Mrs. Landingham figured out that, when Jed puts his hands in his pockets he decides something.

It's a sequence that takes all the momentum building up through the episode, and adds that tension and excitement to the movement of the camera, in order to accentuate the question: will the President run for re-election? The camera swivels around the reporter who CJ has arranged is not going to ask about re-election, and leaving space in the frame behind him so that when we go back, we can see the President is seeking, that re-election question. The reporter from behind that pops up in that empty space in the frame. The faces of our leads in anticipation, a slight zoom in on them all. And then in the next frame you break the repetition because the moment cannot stand still, and you swivel Leo's head around to the front of the frame. It's a movement that demands our attention, not only because of how Leo moves in the frame, and how the camera moves around him and the additional movement of the American flag in storm in the window behind them. Because next to the recently deceased Mrs. Landingham, Leo knows him the best, and he can announce to Toby, he knows the President is about to do something remarkable.

And then we get the movement on the President, who appeared weak the entire episode. Low from his feet, watching his hand go in his pocket, then circling behind and around his head, like a hero shot.

The Unrelenting Quality of the American Spirit

There's this unrelenting quality to the spirit of America. Two days after the bombing of the Boston Marathon, the Boston Bruins were set to play the Buffalo Sabers at home. The coach of the Bruins said before the game, "we have the ability to help people heal and find some reason to smile again, by representing our city properly." As Rene Rancourt began to sing the national anthem, he began to hear the crowd take over.

Everyone began singing. An entire arena of Boston's citizens, in one voice said, "no matter what terror befalls us, we will not be discouraged. We will stand together, and stand tall."

I've seen this video many times and always find new faces to look at. Some people just singing along as though pulled by the force around them. Others, with a near militaristic seriousness. Some, holding onto their loved ones in this moment of solidarity. And pride.

It's a remarkable little moment for America, but it is not unique to its history.

The national anthem itself was created with the same sentiment of the audience in that hockey game. The author of the anthem (which began as a poem) was by Francis Scott Key, a lawyer who was in Chesapeake Bay, during an attack on Baltimore in the war of 1812. Key was on a vessel in the bay as the British attacked Fort Henry. From there he witnessed the attack from a distance, as the British fired shells on the fort all night in what Key referred to as a "sheet of fire and brimstone." In the morning, Key wrote, "a bright streak of gold mingled with crimson shot athwart the eastern sky, followed by another, and still another, as the morning sun rose." And he was able to see that the fort still, defiantly, flew the American flag.

I know that, like a lot American history from this era, this poem that eventually became America's national anthem, is not without its problems.

But it touches on this unrelenting quality of the American spirit.

In the book, Land of Hope: An Invitation to the Great American Story (by Wilfred M. McClay), he writes

From the ancient Greek tales of "the isles of the blessed," a winterless land to the west, filled with heroes, gods, and the Elysian Fields, to the self-rule of the English colonists, to the Massechusetts Minutemen who sought to maintain that self-rule against British interference, to the Quakers colony established in what was eventually called Phillidelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, a place for freedom of worship for Christians, Catholics, and Judaism. America has always exemplified a fresh hope for renewal.

On September 11, 2001, Allison Crowther's phone recorded a message from her son.

Flight 175 had just struck the South Tower. 24-year-old Welles was an equities trader and former volunteer firefighter. In the lobby of the 78th floor, Welles said in a "strong, authoritative voice,"

He led survivors down seventeen flights of stairs, while carrying an injured woman on his back. And then went back up, into the crumbling building. They found his body amongst the rubble in that appeared to be a command post in the tower lobby, presumably established to help others.

One year later, fifteen days after the 9/11 anniversary, NBC aired an episode of The West Wing in which a pipe bomb kills students at a university swim meet. In the episode, President Bartlet gives a speech in which he talks about sustaining hope in this winter of anxiety and fear.

He talks about how some of the swimmers, having heard the explosion, ran into the fire to help get people out.

He says, "Every time we think we have measured our capacity to meet a challenge, we look up and we're reminded that that capacity may well be limitless. This is a time for American heroes. We will do what is hard. We will achieve what is great. This is a time for American heroes and we reach for the stars."

The West Wing not only delivers a message of a hope for its fictitious world, it's a hope that mirrors our own.

In its seven years and beyond, the show is a beacon that suggests that the best is still in us, no matter how far away it seems. That hope is boundless, as long as we remember to help and love one another.

The West Wing and Real World Politics

There's this irreversible tie between the fictional world of The West Wing and real world politics; both the politics of its day, and all administrations to come. Some people see The West Wing as an indulgent, idealistic, left-wing fantasy that provided an escape for democrats in the years where George W. Bush was President.

Some went as far to measure The West Wing as a tool for students to have a better framework for understanding political knowledge and political theory.

Some have troubles with realism of The West Wing's politics, how it portrays things like, "by winning a debate, you've won the whole election."

Some see The West Wing as encouraging triangulation, a middleground where you appeal to voters and policies from both opposing parties, which results in less ambitious policy.

Some say that by the nature of drama, The West Wing simplifies or even glorifies the idea that being morally right and persuasive can effect change in politics, like in season five, when they solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

It doesn't help that the actors on The West Wing themselves are actively involved in politics. On Oct 15, 2020 HBO Max released a West Wing reunion with Michello Obama, Bill Clinton, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. The reunion was to support When We All Vote, a program made to encourage voter participation.

In October 2016 Richard Schiff, Allison Janney, Bradley Whitford, Dule Hill, Joshua Malina, and Mary McCormack helped campaign for Hillary Clinton.

Around that same time, in an interview with MSNBC, Bradley Whitford said, "There’s no doubt in my mind that Hillary would be President Bartlet’s choice — nobody is more prepared to take that position on Day One. I know this might be controversial, but on behalf of Jed Bartlet, I want to endorse Hillary Clinton."

In making a show about politics, it was also next to impossible not to make a commentary (though sometimes indirectly) on the politics of the day. Like the episodes in the fourth season that deal with genocide in the fictional nation of Khundu, an obvious nod to the genocide in Rwanda.

Or the confrontation between Governor Ritchie and Jed Bartlet at the end of season three. Barlet accuses Ritchie of being unengaged, and Ritchie accuses Barlet of being superior, an academic elitist, and a snob. Their confrontation is reminiscent of the Gore Bush election of 2000. During the election, Bush was presented as the kind of plainspoken, manly candidate. There was a photo op of him during the campaign, clearing brush from his farm.

Aaron Sorkin felt that during the Bush / Core campaigns, there was a glamorization of lack of curiosity, and the demonization of being an intellectual. He placed this feeling into this Bartlet / Ritchie scene. It's why the crux of the scene revolves around when Bartlet tells Ritchie about the murder of a secret service man, and Ritchie says, "Crime, boy I don't know." Bartlet tells him that, "in the future, if you're wondering, 'Crime. Boy, I don't know' is when I decided to kick your ass."

There's also a dedication to a realistic context of the show. The show employed a number of former White House staff, like communications director George Stephanopoulos, and White House Press Secretary Dee Dee Myers, who were often consulted about specific issues or items while writing the show.

When there's so much blurring of the lines between the fictional world of The West Wing, and real world politics, it's almost impossible to separate the two. Something that's made more difficult by how successful the show was. And there becomes an expectation that one should be in service of the other.

Would The West Wing work today? I don't know. Would JAG?

The real question is does the show work dramatically? Of course as with all media, I think it's important to consider the show's era and context, but I'm not sure the politics are what people loved about the show. I know I'm not the best person to suggest this, since I don't personally have any interest in politics, but I suspect that people who liked the politics of the show liked politics to begin with. But the reason people loved the show, loved it for the same reason I did -- the characters.

At its heart, The West Wing is not a show about politics. Yes, because the characters are White House staffers, and they're almost always there, politics is the context of 90% of the show. But the show seeks to humanize the staff. To make relatable the kinds of questions and challenges people in the upper echelon of American politics would face. To address who they are, how they feel about things, and most importantly -- how they feel about each other.

One of my favourite relationships on The West Wing is between President Bartlet and his body man and personal aide, Charlie. Charlie is a bright young man who recently lost his Mother just before he joined the White House Staff. We don't really know what happened to his Father, just that he's not in Charlie's life anymore and has not been for some time.

The President naturally fills this parental void in Charlie's life. In fact this bond extended beyond the screen, as when Martin Sheen met Dule Hill for the first time, he taught Dule the handshake that Laurence Fishburne had taught him during Apocalypse Now.

Charlie and The President have the most familial of the relationship on the show, because while Charlie's absolute loyalty and devotion to the President is somewhat part of the job, Charlie sees him as more than that.

In season five, when Charlie feels like President has been threatened, he exclaims

But what he means is, "He's my father."

There's this scene where the secret service are locking down the Oval Office, and Charlie overpowers secret service men from another part of the West Wing, all because he thinks someone might have hurt his Father. And when he shows up, Barlet's face is so proud. And then he reassures his son.

In perhaps the most powerful scene on the show Bartlet sends Charlie on this unending mad quest for one episode to get a new carving knife. Forcing Charlie to buy a knife, inspecting it, rejecting it, and sending Charlie to go and research and find another knife. Near the end of the episode, Charlie has finally had enough and confronts the President on the importance of this knife.

Bartlet explains that it isn't just a knife for cutting meat, it's something we pass on down through our family and generations.

It isn't just a symbolic gesture that Bartlet considers Charlie a son, it's filling a space that Charlie no longer has in his life. To have someone we look up to, not just as an authority figure, but a role model, and hero. And have them tell us that they're proud.

The bond amongst the staff is more than mere friendship. Even at a normal nine to five job, those people become a family of sorts. Because this is a sometimes six AM to midnight job, sometimes a six days straight job. That "work family" bond becomes deeper, because no one else really fits in these people's lives. Everyone else, are at best, visitors.

So when Josh receives an NSC card that protects him in a nuclear attack, and he realizes none of the other senior staff got one, he cannot abide it. He says,"

Josh tells CJ about his card, listening to Ave Maria, the song his sister listened to all the time in her room, before she died in a fire one night while babysitting him. The transference of the importance of family is a seemingless one for him. And he cannot, will not, leave his loved ones in a blazing inferno to die, ever again. Even hypothetically.

Then of course there's the paternal way that Bartlet watches over them all. In the flashback scene where Bartlet was running for President, he visits Josh at the airport when Josh's Father has died. In the flashbacks up until this moment, Barlet has been very quite dismissive with Josh and the rest of the people on the campaign. But in this scene he not only comforts Josh, but tries to take care of him, like a Father.

Up until this moment, Bartlet had told Leo that he wasn't ready to become the President, but after this instance he says, "Leo, I'm ready."

And I think it's because the mantle of President of the United States carries so much responsibility. Much more so than becoming a Father. In a sense he must now take care of everyone. And if he's able to take care of Josh, then maybe he's able to take care of everyone.

Misogyny

As high-minded and idealistic as the show appears to be, there are times when it falls short of its promises. Particularly in its treatment of women. It could be a product of its time (some of these things you wouldn't say on television today), or it could be a product of its author. Either way, there's an occasional, casual misogyny to the show. Like how Donna often takes the role of, "the person who doesn't know anything so it must be explained to them." Or the scene in season one where Josh gives CJ a report on sex education and tells her to pay attention to certain pages. Or the multiple scenes in season three where Leo hits on his lawyer. Or when Sam says you could make a good dog break his leash, or when Sam says he would watch Carol have sex with CJ on the couch, or when President Barlet refers to Ainsley Hayes as blonde sex kitten.

Sometimes these elements even creep into the idealistic message of the show. Like when Ainsley receives a harassment plant from someone, and Sam gets to be the big strong hero that goes and makes it right. And while Ainsley is mousey at times, when things matter she doesn't seem to have any problem standing up for herself.

Then later the staff shows up in Ainsley's office singing, For He Is An Englishman, in a show of solidarity, and unity in their mutual dedication to duty. It's a warm, heartfelt sentiment, but to get there, Ainsley had to be harassed and protected, when she could have easily stood up for herself.

It's not a constant, every-single-episode problem, but it's not great.

Applying Aaron Sorkin's MasterClass to The West Wing

Not long after Aaron Sorkin's MasterClass came out, I purchased it. I originally got it to create a different video, but now it offers some additional insight into Sorkin’s work.

So I'd like to apply just a couple of those lessons to the Emmy-award winning episode from the second season, Noel, in which Josh talks to a psychiatrist who diagnoses him with PTSD. In a previous episode that season, Josh had been shot, and has since been reliving the shooting, particularly when he hears loud music, which he associated with sirens.

According to Sorkin, every story begins with intention and obstacle. The greater the obstacle, the better.

In the beginning of the episode Josh is called into a room with Dr. Stanley Keyworth, a trauma psychiatrist. Much like Josh, at first we are just trying to figure out what he is doing there. Immediately Josh seems confrontational, accusing the doctor of lying to him and flexing his position and intellect. But the doctor flexes right back, catching an instance when Josh has lied.

This is expanded upon in the scene following the intro, and it's a little subtle in the beginning, but the intention and obstacle is still clear. Josh doesn't want to be in the room with a psychiatrist, and wants to keep his problems and his truth, to himself. And the doctor wants to reveal Josh's problems and truth. Josh may have a prestigious job and a massive intellect, but the psychiatrist can tell when he's lying.

One of the other things Sorkin discusses is "launching from one scene to the next." It isn't a hard rule, but the idea is that you ask a question in one scene that gets answered in the next. The episode Noel doesn't follow this rule completely from one scene to the next (particularly when it's establishing its B plot, a story about a painting), but it does follow it quite well.

In the first sequence after the intro with Josh and Dr. Stanley Keyworth, Stanley asks, "what happened three weeks ago?" which takes us into a flashback of what happened three weeks ago.

Just as an aside, this is the first time we see the music that's triggering his PTSD, and watch the unsettling way the camera spins around them. It makes us uncomfortable without telling us why yet. I love that.

At the end of the scene, Josh mentions to Toby something the Energy Secretary did, which causes Toby to go to Sam, and Sam to go to CJ.

Here in the Press Briefing with CJ we get the question from the reporter about a woman screaming at a painting, setting up the B plot, while also setting up the next scene where Sam and CJ discuss people going crazy on white house tours. At the end of the scene Josh comes from behind CJ and says the President is in the situation room.

Now is a good chance to talk about another lesson Sorkin teaches, about a character that knows as little as the audience does. This character allows the audience to learn what they need to know more seamlessly. Nine times out of ten on The West Wing, this role falls to Donna.

But it's very interesting that here, in the situation room, that role falls to the President.

From these interactions we're left with a question: What are we going to do with the pilot? This connects into asking Josh about the pilot.

One of the great things about this method of storytelling is that it works very well within the episode because it allows a seamless jumping between recollection and the discussion in the present with Josh and Stanley. Because now Stanley asks what Josh's assignment was with the pilot, and we immediately jump to Josh getting that assignment from Leo.

One of the other things Sorkin discusses in his MasterClass is Aristotle's Poetics. According to Sorkin, the rules of story come from Aristotle's 2300-year old work Poetics, which is a text about dramatic theory.

What Aristotle says about drama and story in Poetics has been contested over the years, with plenty who both agree with the rules Aristotle discusses, and plenty who disagree. While there are many who contest what Aristotle was saying in the first place.

One theory I read online was about what Aristotle says about Catharsis.

At the end of Noel, Josh has gone through a very difficult struggle of admitting how he cut his hand, as well as a realization that, when he hears music, he hears sirens and relives the shooting.

There's this touching, talk between Leo and Josh. One of Sorkin's fables about friendship. And Donna takes Josh out of the White House, to take him to the Emergency Room. As they leave they pass carolers singing, and ringing their bells. Josh stares at them somewhat distantly, mesmerized, and is again, reliving the shooting.

The entire episode has been a journey with Josh, struggling with him in therapy, to uncover his pain. We've been through his whole process. Now, amplified by Sorkin's fable of friendship, we get one last moment to experience Josh's pain, even after all that difficult work, to see that, he's still trapped there. At Christmas-time no less. A time of hope and renewal. And in that moment, we pity him, and those like him. And perhaps in that moment, we not only appreciate the storytelling journey, but we purge that pity from our soul.

There's also a kind of energizing quality to Sorkin's work. There's this intersection of character, moral or ethical ideal, and rousing speech. The ideas, scenes, and moments all lead to a seminal moment where a speech ultimately and completely defines a character, or a theme of the work.

In a Sorkin work, the speech is everything. It doesn't hit every episode or every moment of The West Wing, but it is most certainly present. There's this moment in the episode 20 Hours In America, where Sam Seaborne admits he stole part of his speech from Camelot, a Broadway production from 1961 starring Richard Burton and Julie Andrews, about the fabled King Arthur.

At the end of the play, a despondent King Arthur meets a young boy, Tom, who wants to be a Knight of the Round Table, and believes in Camelot's ideals. Arthur realizes Tom can carry on the ideals he once had, if he spreads the story of Camelot.

There are times, perhaps when The West Wing is at its best, when it speaks to us as though we are Tom.

There is a thread of plays throughout Sorkin's work. Plays have been the center of Sorkin's world since he saw, Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe as a boy. More than other art forms, theatre has a reliance on the written word. Theatre can have music and innovative staging, but for the most part, the words and the performances must convey the plays meaning. There are no close-ups for intimacy, no hero shots, no cutting between sequences to build tension. It's all out there naked on the stage.

Perhaps that's part of why Sorkin's words are so important to him, because they are so important to a play.

It's also part of why empowering speeches are so often the crescendo of his works. Because words have the power. Without them, there is no kindling an actor can use to make us feel. And it's also why references to plays are littered through Sorkin's works and characters, because they are what make HIM feel.

The other important thing to note about Sorkin’s work is its beautiful blend of drama and comedy. In an episode of The West Wing he'll deal with the most intense, interpersonal drama between two characters, while offsetting it with characters working on writing jokes for a speech.

The interchange between the two tones helps each other, and not only creates better drama, but some of the most enduring humour I've experienced in a show.

Sorkin, Schlamme, Lowe Departure

It's difficult not to look at the talents of Sorkin and those around him, and see that as the reason why, despite the odds, succeeded in making a popular, political show. In November of 2001, The West Wing was winning its second Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series, along with seven other Emmys. The show was a hit.

But in its success, the wheels were beginning to come off the kart. In July of that same year actors Allison Janney, John Spencer, Bradley Whitford, and Richard Schiff came together, demanding equal raises and threatened not to show up for work until they got them, a tactic popularized by the cast of Friends.

Also in July 2001, Aaron Sorkin had a row with Rick Cleveland, one of the writers for The West Wing on an internet forum. In it, Sorkin claimed he threw out Cleveland's script for what became the episode Excelces Deo when in fact, Cleveland was largely responsible for the "A" story that followed Toby.

Then there was Rob Lowe. Rob Lowe was always set apart from the rest of the cast. As an already established star there was a kind of,

to his inclusion on the show. Even though Lowe had offered half his rate, he was still getting paid more than the other cast members (except for Martin Sheen). And in addition, there was some sort of understanding that his role on the show would be more prominent, hence the top billing and Sam-heavy storylines in the initial season.

Though, as the show progressed, Lowe's role was less prominent in favour of a more ensemble piece.

As the actors around him received raises, Lowe received none. Which would have been acceptable to Lowe if his character could have more prominent roles, as was initially discussed. But that didn’t happen either.

The behind the scenes of the show was never easy, but there were growing tensions. Warner Bros. chief concern was how much more money the show could make, while executive producer and director Tommy Schlamme was only concerned with how good he could make the show. Tommy would often go over budget for an episode he was directing because he believed that money invested into a show being better would yield greater returns in the end. But this difference in outlook for the show put Schlamme and Warner Bros. at odds, so Schlamme and Sorkin began to discuss their departure.

According to John Wells, Rob Lowe began to frustrate Sorkin to the point that Sorkin wanted to fire him. But certain members of the studio were a fan of Lowe, and refused.

Likewise, Sorkin refused the suggestion from the studio that he should not write all the episodes, so that they could save money. By refusing, Aaron Sorkin effectively quit.

I think I have to talk a bit about seasons five to seven, after Aaron Sorkin, Tommy Schlamme, and Rob Lowe left the show. In their absence, John Wells took over the show, and from season six onward, made Alex Graves and Christopher Misiano executive producers.

A lot of fans don't like seasons five to seven as much as the first four seasons. Some fans don’t even consider them part of the series at all. For many years I had only seen most of the first four seasons, so I wasn’t even aware of the change in the show. It wasn't until preparing for this video that I finished the rest of the series.

And there's a kind of darkness to some of the final seasons. Even from the very end of season four, which, I know, is still Sorkin days, and is still Alex Graves directing, just feels so contrary to what had come before. There's an ugliness to it.

I know that Zoe being kidnapped and returned is going to have quite a fallout, but everything afterward for a time feels so bleak. Josh basically loses his job, Tobey tries to resign, Leo just loses the plot. He almost seems like a witness to the world going on around him instead of being able to make effective change. And I don't even know what to say about the Bartlets. On The Sopranos, Tony and Carmela swept aside so many of their issues for multiple seasons, but it led to something. On The West Wing Abbey is so mad at Jed that she isn't talking to him, and then she suddenly shows up again. And they, what? Don't talk about their issues?

It's not all bad, but there are definitely times when it is very dark and it's almost uncomfortable to see the characters we love, and who love each other, fight and hate one another. I'm not saying that I need my characters to love each other all the time, but it feels almost foreign to the show.

Season six and seven almost became entirely about the next election between Matthew Santos (played by Jimmy Smits) and Senator Arnold Vinick (played by Alan Alda).

Matt Santos is the new hope for the show. He's the underdog, mostly making his following by his compelling speeches, which are built on his passion for education.

Senator Vinick is a political titan. Leo describes what a Vinick campaign looks like before it begins, as though it was legendary. He's extremely likable and takes a high road, mutual respect approach to almost everything he does.

Even though the show sides Matt Santos with Josh Lyman, which gives an added boost or incentive for the audience to cheer for him, it feels like the characters are structured so that you won't feel particularly bad if either opponent wins.

What I love about their characters is how they kind of match the actors playing them. Alan Alda starred on one of the greatest TV shows of all time, M*A*S*H, and continued having a successful career in television, films, and broadway, garnering multiple awards and nominations on each stage. Jimmy Smits gained notoriety for his roles on L.A. Law and NYPD Blue, and to me at least, became this proven actor who briefly joined your show, and killed it. Like his role on a season of Dexter that, apparently, I am alone in appreciating. He has this line he keeps using on the season where he intensely clasps his hands together to show his and Dexter's unity. I love it.

Both actors are such powerhouses in their own way, it really adds an additional dynamic to appreciating their conflict.

But even still there were so many great moments in those final seasons. Like the ending of the episode in season six, “Faith Based Initiative.”

I can’t imagine how it must feel for someone with MS, or Multiple Sclerosis, to watch The West Wing. To not only to see those with your disease on TV, but to see them as powerful, capable, and accepted.

Gail Kerr, of the National MS Society commented, "For the first time on national television or even in film, the public encountered a lead character with both an MS diagnosis and the hope for a continued productive life. Because [The] West Wing is a fictional drama and not a medical documentary, writers could have greatly distorted MS facts to further their story line [but did not]."

The closest I can come to understanding is my experience with my Father. In the last years of his life my Father suffered from a neurological disease. I watched as he gradually lost his balance, and his ability to walk, or stand.

In season six when the President's MS began affecting his ability to walk, or stand, I couldn't help but think of my Father. The only difference being, there was no chance of my Father standing or walking again.

But to see Bartlet, struggling to walk and regain balance, in season six, while Matt Santos makes his speech about hope, felt like, just for a moment, like I “could” watch my Father walk again.

There's a precious space media can occupy in our hearts. It can take those moments of our lives that are real, and merge them with make-believe. When executed right, there can be a symbiosis between media and our memories, our thoughts, and the emotions of our lives. To take our negative experiences and feelings, and, temporarily, release them.

At its worst, TV can be a crutch that impedes our purpose and lives. But at its best, it can help us look at the wounds in our heart, that weigh us down, and help us rise.

America Today

I have a friend who lives in the United States. We've been online friends for about ten years. We both had webcomics in 2010 and started emailing each other with shop talk before messaging each other.

I live in Canada and we mostly talk about our creative efforts or how to best promote them, but from time to time we talk about America.

He lives in Florida so sometimes it's checking to see if he's OK with whatever hurricane is bearing down. On rare occasions it's politics.

I sometimes make him like a spokesperson for his country, which I know is silly, but we're silly people, and I mean no disrespect.

Earlier this year I sent him a message. "Dude, is your country OK?" He said he didn't know. I'm not sure if I made him uncomfortable, so I didn't pursue it any further.

Then a few months later I told him I was working on a video about The West Wing. I told him, "I think America could use a little hope right now."

He said, "you'd better hurry. We might not be here when you're done."

We joke around a lot. It's almost the foundation of our conversations. But there was something about his dark humour I can't shake.

I spent far too long trying to write a script that not only addressed The West Wing’s ideals, it’s history, and the structure of its gears, and its heart, but also could address just some of the unending pain that seems to be rife in America right now.

I think I was trying to convey a message that would offer a kind of hope. Just something hopeful, in a day that might feel, hopelessly, and endlessly challenging.

I don’t know if I achieved that. I don’t know if The West Wing can achieve that anymore. I just wanted you to know that I love you. And I tried.

I tried.

Over the course of seven years, a lot of things changed about the show. But the one thing it retained was the idea that, in all of us there is a willingness and ability to help one another.

These sentiments encircle The West Wing. Not just a government that was working to do its best for its citizens, but a group of people working for them, and for each other. Ceaselessly.

A group of characters and actors and creators where the bonds of family and friendship extended from each other, to a whole country of people.

America still has tremendous challenges in its way, and a long, unforgiving road. But The West Wing believes that America is a country where the way things are initially given to us cannot be the final word about them. That we can never settle for that.

That if we work on our problems

we stand a fighting chance.

Because as difficult as today’s America is, there’s always tomorrow’s.

Originally published on YouTube