The Picture of Sen. Dorian Gray
When campaign strategists
politely invite voters to retire an incumbent, they're said to be "giving the
opponent a gold watch." Legacy , a spot from Democrat Elliott Close's
campaign against 95-year-old Sen. Strom Thurmond, is a 14K example of this
technique. It cleverly places the still-popular politician in a time machine
and gives South Carolina voters permission to ease him out of office without
repudiating him.
Juxtaposed with the visual
of a young Thurmond is a reminder from the narrator that Thurmond began in
politics "way back in 1928." As that photo dissolves into one of Thurmond in
his 40s, then one of him in his 60s (70s?), the narrator praises the senator
for serving South Carolina for "most of this century." The spot could have
reminded voters that Thurmond was a hanging judge for blacks; a segregationist
candidate for president against Harry Truman; and a bitter-end opponent of
civil rights. But avoiding the negative is a smart tack. Assailing Thurmond's
record would only appear to upbraid voters for having sent him to the Senate a
half-dozen times.
As the camera zooms in on
the liver-spotted Thurmond of the third photo, the narrator voices what must be
the thoughts of his constituents by now: "We appreciate all he's done." But
that's not just a "thank you"; it's a gentle "goodbye." This is a Dorian Gray
brought out of the attic of memory, aging before our eyes.
The next scene clinches the
argument. It begins with a tight shot of an open book featuring two photos of
Thurmond. In one, he looks as if he's offering a farewell salute; in the other,
he's an old man working out, trying to hang on. The camera cuts away to reveal
that the reader is Close, sitting in his own living room. Literally closing the
book on Thurmond, Close says respectfully that this election is "about the next
century, not the last one."
The succeeding scenes are
more conventional, but Close's every appearance, in vivid color, completes the
case. At what appears to be a Chamber of Commerce lunch, he chats with a woman
while his voice-over offers the assurance that he's for a balanced budget--a
Thurmond priority--"without gutting Medicare and student loans." This is the
only implicit criticism of Thurmond, who voted the other way, but it is stated
in entirely positive terms. Next we see Close in a country store, pledging,
again via his voice-over, that he "won't be owned by the special interests."
The viewer is free to read the cliché either as a soft criticism of Thurmond or
an affirmation that Close will be like Thurmond, unencumbered by liberals and
labor.
Back in his living room,
Close promises to continue to do the one thing that everyone concedes Thurmond
does well. "I, too, will provide great constituent service."
Close is a Democrat, and
South Carolina has a large black population--two things you'd never discern
from Legacy . Race has increasingly become a predictor of party
identification in the South, and Close can't risk conveying, visually or
otherwise, that he's a liberal--or even a Democrat. (Thurmond has no such
worries. Thanks to his record, he is at liberty to build bridges to blacks
without risking white backlash.)
Celebrating the Thurmond
"legacy" and then portraying him as worn-out, Legacy is free to suggest
that a younger version of the senator should replace him. These two points are
efficiently fused together in the last scene, in which Close is surrounded by
his very young, very contemporary family. The narrator gets the last word:
"Elliott Close, a new conservative senator for South Carolina."
