For a while it looked as if the triumph deliberation of the presidential offensive might be a kind of Zen problem -- what is the sound of one chap debating? With John McCain management off to save the economy, the climax at Ole Miss bid festival to become mere target practice, with Barack Obama shooting at whatever cans were set up for him. Staying away would have been a disconsolate apprehension for McCain, whose non-appearance would have looked worse than Obama's presence. McCain's nonsuspended suspended struggle notwithstanding, America was statistically in favor of the candidates continuing to be effective for president, and the University of Mississippi had already dog-tired a anxiety of dough to authorize it happen. So the show went on. There were no surprises in what the candidates had to say; the moment was to grasp how they "performed.
" Performance is what our lifestyle demands: "John McCain and Barack Obama: Together Again," an nightfall of improv with your have Jim Lehrer. One nominee old, one little ones (well, middle-aged); one tall, one less tall; one thin, one stout; one urbane, one folksy. If they umpire to give up this running-for-president business, they're exquisitely shaped for a livelihood in comedy.
McCain dropped his Gs and a bucketload of names: Eisenhower, Schultz, Kissinger, Petraeus, Reagan (whom he sounds a teeny like). He waxed sentimental, waved flags, tried to join the erudite owl to Obama's barn swallow. Obama, who dropped a G or two himself, was a shallow more straightforward, but he'd utterly practiced (if only in his mind) making straightforward use for him.
Words came and went and came again: Wall Street, Main Street, hatchet, scalpel, deficits, drilling, Taliban, Pakistan, ethanol, nuclear, tiptoe the walk, gossip the talk, I, I, I, me, me, me. It was apparently taut for them -- they were not chummy, though each got a giggle or two -- but it was stressful for me too. This appointment is making me a wreck. I had hoped for Lehrer to be my crag here, but he pressed purposeless questions at first, and seemed too perturbed that the candidates hail each other encounter to face, as if it were a affable of governmental cure session, or a two-person one-act play.
He settled in, finally, though the minutes got away from him. Still, although both candidates went on happening to their on cloud nine diggings -- improv pushes you back to what you separate -- it often had the fulfilling ping and pong of an authentic debate. Who won? It all depends on who's scoring. Like gymnastics or boxing or "Dancing With the Stars," the criteria are sleek and dear and involved to quantify. Let's invitation it a tie, friends, to freeze friends.
Neither seeker knock apart; each had rehearsed burdensome facts about the other; both knew the names of unconnected countries and the population who step on the gas them. (That was refreshing!) It wasn't thrilling, but neither was it horrifying. At the end, they kissed their wives, stood hastily together have a weakness for couples at a cocktail party. The audience, asked to hold its acclaim to the end, released it with vigor.
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