So you think you can legislate?
The stage, swathed in more red, white, and blue than a fireworks stand, looked almost as impressive as "Deal or No Deal's" stage. The evening's emcee, Anderson Cooper, radiated as much ministerial gravitas as Jeff Probst. You could tell something important was about to take place.
On Monday evening, CNN aired its first prime-time game show ever. The contestants: Hillary, Barack, and John, plus five guys angling to be the Taylor Hicks of presidential campaigns. The prize: a shot at the White House in '08. The challenge: Are you smarter than a YouTuber?
In recent years, "town hall" forums -- where average Americans pretend to be interested in politics so they can get on TV -- have become increasingly popular. The twist here: You didn't actually have to go through the trouble of attending the event to participate. Through the power of YouTube, you could submit a 30-second video question and get your moment of glory without leaving your bedroom. Ultimately, nearly 3000 people from around the world submitted videos; 39 of these made the cut and were played during the show.
Compared to standard debates, this one was definitely livelier, at least on the interrogatory end. Instead of some pompous, journalist moderator asking broad, abstract questions about healthcare, genuine disease sufferers asked broad, abstract questions about healthcare in visually arresting ways. One woman battling breast cancer pulled off her wig to reveal the ravages of chemo. A pair of brothers spoon-fed their Alzheimers-afflicted parent.
Some questions were sang, one on global warming was posed by a snowman. And there were several clever queries that gave the contestants a moment's pause. Would they be willing to work for minimum wage if elected? Did their kids go to private school or public school? Who would they choose as a running mate if they had to choose a Republican? Hey, Regis, can I get a lifeline here?
The contestants did their best to match the entertainment quotient of the questions. But while John Edwards' feathery coif, chewy phonemes, and goggle-eyed optimism may evoke "30 Rock's" Kenneth the Page, and Joe Biden is blessed with the gruff candor of a sitcom father-in-law, they and everyone else on the stage were politicians at heart. And too often they lapsed into stump-speech set pieces and spoke in bold, well-rehearsed platitudes.
If the goal was to make political debate as entertaining, and therefore as compelling, as a reality show, then some fine-tuning is in order. In future episodes -- a Republican version of the show is scheduled for mid-September -- why not penalize contestants with five minutes of silence if they fail to answer a question directly? If they dance around a question, make them take center-stage and Krump for 30 seconds. And don't think Hillary Clinton wouldn't eat a platter of Madagascar hissing cockroaches if it meant securing the presidential nomination. (Dennis Kucinich, on the other hand, probably not -- he's a vegan.)
Whatever its shortcomings, however, the Great YouTube Debate ultimately established one undeniable fact. Confronted with a candid, comprehensive, up-close-and-personal survey of the oddballs, kvetchers, psychos, and egotists they aspire to represent, none of the contestants so much as flinched. Apparently, they really, really want the job.
A frequent contributor to Las Vegas Weekly, Greg Beato has also written for SPIN, Blender, Reason, Time.com, and many other publications. Email Greg at [email protected]