The West Wing

Most of the time, Hollywood depicts American politicians, and the President in particular, as either buffoons or unlikely action heroes. Exhibits A, B and C: Independence Day, Air Force One and Deep Impact. Thank God, then, for television, which finally enabled people to see these powerful men in a more realistic light. Real-time thriller 24, to name one show, painted a compelling, if somewhat dark portrait of US politics, and the interesting but short-lived Commander in Chief went as far as imagining what would happen if a woman became President of the United States. Neither series, however, comes close to the genius of The West Wing, which dealt with domestic and foreign problems with more precision than most news shows. Most importantly, though, it achieved the impossible: it made politics fun to watch.

Created by Aaron Sorkin (A Few Good Men), who also wrote almost every episode in the show's first four seasons (more on that later), The West Wing can be seen as a small-screen continuation of The American President, since they both combine an accurate analysis of what could happen in the White House with a colorful yet believable cast of characters who are in charge of keeping audiences hooked, thanks to foolproof acting and Sorkin's trademark razor-sharp, quick-fire dialogue.

What sets the series apart from the writer's team-up with Rob Reiner, though, is the fact that it focuses less on the POTUS than it does on his staff and their attempts to solve personal problems and the latest political crisis at the same time. This narrative choice is shown at its best in the very first episode, where President Josiah Bartlet (Martin Sheen) doesn't appear until the last five minutes, the preceding 35 having been carried effortlessly by Chief of Staff Leo McGarry (John Spencer) and his employees, all of whom have some defect that helps provide the fun in the show: speech-writer Toby Ziegler (Richard Schiff) is a bitter man who seems to find no real pleasure in life outside his office; his "sidekick" Sam Seaborn (Rob Lowe) accidentally slept with a call girl in the pilot; Press Secretary C. J. Cregg (Allison Janney) finds it hard to occasionally be elusive when talking to reporters; Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman (Bradley Whitford) has trouble keeping his mouth shut; Leo himself is a recovering alcoholic. Even the President, as it turns out, has some secrets that could undermine the administration.

That these flaws were treated with a light approach was the main joy of the show's first four years: the typical episode had the characters walk through hallways and exchange fast, usually witty opinions on the most recent problem. With very little room for subplots, the series was entirely in Sorkin's hands, his endless conversations covering any lapses in dramatic construction at a killer pace. After all, who needed suspenseful cliffhangers (mostly employed only in the season finales) when there were the countless arguments between Toby and Josh, or the latter's impeccable chemistry with Donna Moss (Janel Moloney), or Bartlet's "loving" confrontations with the First Lady (Stockard Channing)?

Problems ensued at the end of Season Four: prior to that, the only real misstep in the otherwise perfectly oiled machinery had been an out-of-continuity, 9/11-referencing episode which has no significance if deprived of its context. That, however, was and is nothing compared to Sorkin's decision to quit: the remaining three seasons failed to win the Best Drama Emmy (losing out to The Sopranos, Lost and 24 respectively), seemingly confirming that The West Wing was powerless without its creator. The fifth year did little to prove this theory wrong, and only some juicy guest spots (Mary-Louise Parker and Lily Tomlin above all) had the energy to compensate the writing staff's poor attempts to spice the generally good stories with something even vaguely similar to the traditional comedy-inclined dialogue. The difficulty was eventually dealt with at the end of the season, when the producers realized a format change was necessary: the chaotic, verbose style was abandoned in favor of a more plot-centric approach, which made the main story of the last two seasons (the choice of the new President) more poignant and the acting more affecting (Janney and Spencer in particular benefited from this transformation), making Seasons 6 and 7 the best in the show's run. The most vital shot in the arm came from television veteran Alan Alda: as the determined and charismatic Senator Arnold Vinick, he stole the entire sixth season, despite appearing in only six episodes, and won a deserved Emmy for his contribution to the final year, which saw the series at its most endearing and heart-breaking (not least because of the mandatory script changes that were made after Spencer died halfway through production of the last batch of episodes).

Starting splendidly, suffering a midlife crisis and then improving, The West Wing is one of the smartest, wittiest TV programs of all time. If it weren't for the likes of Six Feet Under, The Sopranos and Twin Peaks, it could even be THE best show ever made. Such is the power of the expert writing and spot-on ensemble cast that gave life to the best presidency America never had.