And so we come to Gordon Brown. Stalin one minute. Mr Bean the next, the bedraggled Prime Minister has lurched uncomfortably in front of the baying public for months, like a punch-drunk boxer crying out for the final blow – but still he stands. One of British politics' greatest survivors, Brown has withstood countless coups from within his own party, savage personal attacks from a bloodthirsty media, accusations of bullying and even a budget-crippling worldwide recession to somehow make it to May 6th. Now, for the first time as Prime Minister, he faces the public – and undoubtedly his greatest challenge yet.
It is remarkable, given the depths to which Brown's popularity has plummeted, to reminisce over just how rosy things were at the beginning of his tenure. With the public supposedly sick to the back teeth of the glitz and spin of the Blair years, Brown was ushered in as the perfect antidote: dour, fiercely intelligent and thoroughly uninterested in personal appearance, his arrival was acclaimed as the end of personality politics in the UK. As the months have worn on, however, it seems the British public has gradually changed it's mind – and when the first X Factor Election arrived, Brown was found seriously wanting compared to newer, more exciting choices. Chuck in the credit crunch, the continued erosion of the working class communities which form Labour's base vote, and the natural desire for something new after 13 years of the same government, and Brown looks to be toast – even if the latest polls suggest our bizarre electoral system may see him clinging to power by the tips of his fingernails in 48 hours time.
Of course, Brown's problems are not just to do with presentation: loyal Labour supporters have been leaving in droves since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan began, while Brown's cuddly relationship with City bankers – New Labour were, famously, 'very comfortable with some people becoming filthy rich' – has alienated the left yet further. But there is no doubt that his lack of media savvy is a critical problem. When among friends, he can be a formidable performer, expressing populist left-leaning principals with fire and vigour; when exposed to the wider public, it all too often goes horribly, horribly wrong. On the one hand, this is the man who inspired world leaders to follow his interventionist lead in the banking crisis and took a £20,000 pay cut upon becoming Prime Minister – on the other, this is the monster who savaged a little old lady from Rotherham who was just out to do a bit of shopping. If he had more successfully sold the public one view, rather than being consistently shown as the other, he may well have been sleeping a little easier tonight as the public prepares to go to the polls and deliver its final verdict. Sleep tight, Gordon; it should all be over soon.
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There is a famous scene from Mel Gibson's epic kitsch storm, The Passion of the Christ, in which Jim Caviezel,gets the sweet hell flogged out of him for about five minutes. It's like a long music video, but in aramaic and latin, without music, and with more blood. Midway through, Jesus takes a knee, the punishment appears to be over and the audience -- including the isrealites on screan (but excluding ol' Judas who's lurking in the backround) -- breathes a sigh of relief. But no! Mel Gibson's friends love the punishment, especially if its semi-nude and from behind! Jimbo stands back up and submits to another two minutes of good old fashion scourging. I bring this up because watching Gordon Brown try to save his sinking ship has been a lot like watching Gibson's Jesus, complete with slightly fucked up face, get flaggelated for an unconscionable period of time. It has been mercifully shorter, but no less cringe inducing. Every time you think he has hit rock bottom and it's safe to take a breath and stop watching, he stands up, brushes himself off, and motions for more.
It's obvious from watching every movie that Mel Gibson has ever even breathed near, that he is a man who likes to be punished. Well, Gordon Brown makes that slavering nut job look like a cub scout. He is the most hated man in Britain since Beckham was sent off and still he won't step down.
The poor Scot couldn't catch a break with a drift net and a baby pool full of cyanide. Imagine you are on a relaxing walk through Rochdale (however unlikely that may be) when you get ambushed by a rabid pensioner raving about Eastern Europeans flocking to britain. You deal with her as best you can, allay her fears of the great Eastern threat, shake her hand, kiss her grandchild, and get the hell out of Dodge wondering why you got into politics in the first place. Once you think you are in private, how would you describe said woman? Even if I were feeling charitable, I would have called her a lot more than 'bigoted.' That's not a value judgement, that's not even a disparaging comment. That is the dead on, ugly truth. In fact, there is no better description for that woman than what the Prime Minister called her. But he'll be scourged for it, and we'll all keep watching, up until the final agonizing moments where he is nailed to the cross. At this point, the only thing i can figure that keeps him going is his love of the pain.
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