Max Cea

Would Trump’s Impeachment Kill the Economy?

As the prospect of Donald Trump’s impeachment became a shade more real last week following a big day in court for Michael Cohen, the president went beyond his standard “witch hunt” mantra, and warned of the economic impact his impeachment would have. "I will tell you what, if I ever got impeached, I think the market would crash,” Trump said in a Fox News interview. “I think everybody would be very poor, because without this thinking, you would see — you would see numbers that you wouldn't believe in reverse."

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The End Really Is Near: Here's a Play-By-Play of the Coming Economic Collapse as Predicted by 5 Economists

Since June, 2009, the pit of one of the biggest recessions in American history, the U.S. economy has been growing, slowly but steadily. That’s just over nine years of uninterrupted growth. If the good times roll for another year — and most economists expect they will — this expansionary period will go down as the longest ever in American history, surpassing the 120-month-long period during the ‘90s tech boom. But don’t be so quick to pop bubbly and send the confetti raining down. There’s precedence for unprecedented growth: It always ends. The economy, of course, moves in cycles.

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"High Maintenance”: A Much-Needed Mellow in a Harsh Time

f you’re the type of person who watches “High Maintenance,” Ben Sinclair and Katja Blichfeld’s vignette-driven series about New York City and an affable pot dealer called the Guy who floats through it, you’ve probably noticed all there is to be cynical about these days. And probably I don’t need to rattle off a list of those things because they’re fairly obvious to you and you are reminded of them every day when you read the news, log onto social media or even when you walk through your changing city.

But maybe my assumptions about the show’s audience — that it’s mostly young, liberal, urban, concerned — are unfair. To make assumptions runs counter to the very ethos of “High Maintenance.”

Then again, the second season of the show, which began on January 19 and is currently roughly halfway finished, treats the causes for New Yorkers’ distress as tacit. Trump isn’t referred to by name. But a vague disastrous event in the first episode, “Globo,” has the city distraught in a way that’s reminiscent of his election victory. In the second episode, “Fagin,” a group of women gather at a Bushwick apartment to make protest signs and talk about social issues, and it seems like they’re preparing for the New York’s Women’s March, though that's never stated outright. Issues that plague the city, like gentrification and transportation, are also alluded to without being named.

This season of “High Maintenance” has been widely hailed by critics as a return to form. After moving from Vimeo to HBO in 2016, the show experienced growing pains; some of its spark was lost. This season, Sinclair and Blichfeld seem to have adapted to working with a bigger crew, at a faster pace, for a wider audience, and they seem to be in a better place in their personal lives, too. But another part of what’s made this season special is that the series has managed to act as a respite from what’s happening in the world without ignoring or downplaying what’s going on. How?

Well, for starters, lassos. One of my favorite moments thus far this season comes in the third episode, “Namaste,” an episode which is ostensibly about gentrification and the city’s stark class divide but also finds time for a man in a cowboy hat using a fire hydrant to practice his lassoing. The bit doesn’t feed into the plot in any way, but it adds depth to the show’s portrait of New York. It’s as if the show’s acknowledging that New York is changing in ways that are detrimental to minorities and the poor, but is also pointing out that weird, idiosyncratic people and moments remain.

In this way, “High Maintenance” often calls to mind the work of the late Jonathan Demme. Like Demme, Sinclair and Blichfeld are great at bringing the background of a scene to life. In the first episode, the camera passes by a group of foreign diners who, on the day of the undisclosed disaster, wonder whether the 9/11 museum will still be open. In “Fagin,” a stranger in an Uber sneezes, is not acknowledged, and exclaims, “Well, bless me, I guess! Damn!”  

In the same vein, it’s telling that nearly every character is given a name. Everyone on screen, no matter how small their role, is an individual rather than a prop. And even the props, sometimes, are named. A hammock is called Trisha. A snake is Fagin. Each has an arc; every detail is important.

Because so much of the show takes place in modern Brooklyn, many scenarios could be set-ups for punchlines — a man who’s left the Hasidic community dancing at a rave; a dinner at an artists' commune; a freelance brand strategist working for a New Age church — but while some of these moments are indeed funny, “High Maintenance” just about always stops short of mocking. Brooklyn isn’t glorified, but neither is it parodied. There’s enough to be cynical about in the world already. The joy of “High Maintenance” — and of this season in particular — is that it pushes all of that to the periphery, and brings the periphery to the fore. Best of all, you can see the small moments that make New York — and the world more broadly — beautiful, and you don’t even have to squint.

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Did Trump’s First Year in Office Inspire Great Art?

In a December 1925 letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway famously referred to war as “the best subject of all” for the way it “groups the maximum of material and speeds up the action and brings out all sorts of stuff that normally you have to wait a lifetime to get.”

Though at the time Hemingway had not published much — on war or otherwise — war would indeed prove to be a ripe subject for the author. The things he experienced and witnessed as an ambulance driver for the Italian front in the first World War would inform much of his fiction — most notably, his 1929 novel, “A Farewell to Arms.” The novel, Hemingway’s second, was written from the perspective of Frederic Henry, an American expatriate who served as a lieutenant in the Italian Army’s ambulance corps, was wounded and carried on a love affair with one of his nurses. It was Hemingway’s first best-seller and a book that his biographer, Michael Reynolds, dubbed "the premier American war novel from that debacle World War I." Of course, Hemingway’s successes be damned — whether or not war is the “best subject” is entirely subjective and will eternally be up for debate. But by classifying it as such, Hemingway was arguably hitting on something bigger: that extraordinarily bad times are rich material for great art.

But what about Trump? The election of Donald Trump to the American presidency being both symbol and harbinger of bad times was the catalyst for Salon dedicating a series to the question of whether bad times make great art at the start of this year. Now, as we near the end of Year One of Trump — a year that saw the empowerment of white nationalists, sweeping deregulation and unprecedented mendacity — can we say whether these bad times make for great art?

On a macro level, probably not — or not yet, at least. Though I’ve written several timesabout how 2017 has felt like a particularly strong year for cinema, the truth is that it’s tough to say for sure whether any year is good or bad for any artform — let alone all artforms — until a decade or so has passed. On the one hand, there are likely some brilliant YouTube videos or Soundcloud songs made this year that have yet to be discovered. On the other hand, there are likely some movies and novels released to great acclaim that will fail to hold up in the future. Will the Trump era be better for art than, say, the Obama era? Only time will tell.

But things get more interesting on a micro level. Trump’s short fingers have centimetered their way into so much of this year’s art that we can begin to spot some trends and evaluate a first wave of Trump-inspired art.

And, by and large, it ain’t been gold. Although all of the richness that Hemingway found in war could be found in Trump — he too “groups the maximum of material and speeds up the action and brings out all sorts of stuff that normally you have to wait a lifetime to get” — unlike serving in a war, the experience of living under Trump is not a tactile experience, nor is it full of gallantry or even much ambiguity.

As a result, the art that has aimed to tackle Trump head-on has tended to be didactic, repetitive and lacking in emotional resonance. Take for instance the current number one album in the country, Eminem’s “Revival.” On it, the 45-year-old MC’s ninth, he raps with his trademark verbal dexterity. But Eminem directs his venom at Trump, and many of his lyrics wind up sounding like they were lifted from a rejected New York Times op-ed: “Didn't wanna piss your base off, did ya? / Can't denounce the Klan, 'cause they'd break off with ya / You stay on Twitter, way to get your hate off, Nazi / I do not see a way y'all differ, at all,” he raps on one song called “Like Home."

To be fair, Eminem is far past his prime, and he didn’t produce any gems during the Obama years either. But arguably because of his Trump verses, “Revival” has been just that for Eminem. (His freestyle Trump dis on the BET Hip Hop Awards in October went viral and kickstarted hype for the album.) And his clunky Trump rhymes have been illustrative of the problem with a lot of Trump art.

Comedy, for instance, has similarly suffered from a preoccupation with Trump. The nation has looked to comedians to make sense of — and provide comedic relief from — Trump. And while Trump has provided ample material and led to massive ratings spikesfor political satire and impressions shows, the jokes have tended to be homogeneous, providing surface-level insights and cheap laughs. As entertaining as it is, there’s nothing deep or affecting about Alec Baldwin’s Trump impression, for instance.

And comedians have talked a lot this year about why joking about Trump is difficult. Shortly after Trump was elected, Janeane Garofalo expressed reluctance to joke about Trump, telling me “you can’t parody it, because it’s self-parody.” In a piece published in the Scotland Herald this summer, the stand-up Sara Schaefer added that the rapidity with which Trump creates material poses problems: “Comedians are now struggling to get the distance needed to make something awful hilarious.” But Vulture’s Jesse David Fox hit on the heart of the problem in an excellent year-end piece about “Our Year of Bad Trump Jokes”: “Currently, our political comedians are doing a fine job of telling their audience what is true and what is false, but it’s difficult for them to find something deeper — ‘a truth’ — because Trump isn’t deeper. His lies are transparent.”

The works that have succeeded in going deeper have been ones not necessarily inspired by Trump but, rather, inspired by the same forces that elected Donald Trump. Jordan Peele’s horror-satire “Get Out” and A Tribe Called Quest’s “We Got It from Here . . . Thank You 4 Your Service,” for instance, captured contemporary racial tensions, fears and hypocrisy. And, as such, each felt like a profound response to the Trump era. But in reality, each was composed before Trump was elected.

Kendrick Lamar and Kara Walker were similarly successful at aiming their efforts Trump-adjacent. The election of an egomaniac inspired Lamar to look inward and be self-critical — to great effect — on his April-released “DAMN.” And Walker took a historical view in a series of powerfully frightening and funny cartoons — described by the art critic Jerry Saltz as a “mad Boschian American Babylon of race, irredeemable evil, barbarity, hatred, demons, white people self-cretinizing, lynchings, dominance, submission, rage, modern Black Power figures, shuffling black cleaning ladies, beneficent whites, Civil War soldiers, plantation owners drawn and quartered by rebellious slaves, pickaninnies and Sambos sexually servicing white masters or being castrated” — she crafted this summer and displayed at Sikkema Jenkins Co. in September.

Though it feels like Trump has been president for an eternity, it’s important to remember that it’s actually still quite early in his tenure. For comparison’s sake, “A Farewell to Arms” was published more than a decade after Hemingway served in World War I. Trump will likely inspire very much art for very many years. At this moment, whether it winds up being great or not seems dependent on whether it can operate at a remove from Trump himself.

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Billie Jean King and the Tennis Classic 'Battle of the Sexes,' Now a Movie, Is Just as Relevant Today

There are a few different ways you could tell the story of the 1973 “Battle of the Sexes” tennis match between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. In the movie “Battle of the Sexes” (out Sept. 22), Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris (“Little Miss Sunshine”) opt for the most conventional. Simon Beaufoy’s (“Slumdog Millionaire,” “127 Hours”) screenplay doesn’t wade into the conspiracy theories that Bobby Riggs threw the match. Nor does it fictionalize the event the way, say, Todd Haynes fictionalized Bob Dylan’s life in “I’m Not There.” Instead, “Battle of the Sexes” is a three-act PG-13 sports movie that climaxes in a monumental moment of odds-defying, sports-transcending triumph. It’s the same playbook used in “Rocky,” “Remember the Titans,” “Rudy,” “Miracle” and a million other sports movies. But man is it resonant now!  

Billie Jean King (Emma Stone) understands Riggs’ angle. And she doesn’t want any part of it. But when Riggs beats Margaret Court, the other top women’s player, King finds herself boxed into a corner. The movie introduces King by showing her fighting for equal pay in a tournament. When the tournament promoters refuse, citing a variety of reasons that barely veil the underlying sexism (from “men draw more fans” to “men are more exciting to watch”), she starts her own tournament. The match against Riggs is part of the same battle. If she refuses the challenge, she’ll be perceived as a coward; if she loses, it will validate the sexism. But if she wins the match, she could chip away at systemic male supremacy.

There’s an illuminating scene that comes just prior to the match, in which Billie Jean King tells Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) why she won’t play if he is the game’s commentator. Kramer is the same promoter who refused King’s demands for equal pay. And during the Riggs-Court match, he picked Riggs to win because of his belief that women aren’t built to handle the pressure. The difference between Riggs and Kramer, King tells Kramer, is that Riggs is a clown and Kramer doesn’t respect women. One is a provocateur, the other is a propagator of harmful prejudice.

Perhaps it’s obvious, but the great insight on the part of King — and the film — is that she and Riggs primarily exist as symbols. “I think everyone cares what I do,” King tells a female love interest after she has listed off all off the reasons they can’t be together. The film juxtaposes King agonizing over the world’s perception of her with Riggs blatantly disregarding what other people want from him. They’re held to different standards. She has to be perfect. He doesn’t have to be anything (again, sound familiar?).

I’m not sure whether “Battle of the Sexes” is supposed to be a reminder of how far America has come in the past 45 years or proof that the nation has made hardly any progress at all. Maybe both. Equal pay for equal work is practically universal consensus. And Jack Kramer comes across as a dinosaur. But then, how far removed is James D’Amore? And what of Trump stalking Hillary Clinton on the debate stage? And on and on.

Billie Jean King clearly didn’t shatter American sexism with a few sharp swings of her racket. But the movie is a testament to the importance of clearing barriers. Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris didn’t need to make a Haynesian fictionalization; their film inspires viewers to imagine an alternative history of both the past and the present. The stakes of a presidential election are much greater than those of any tennis match, but there’s a universe where King loses and it empowers misogyny in the same way as Trump’s victory. And conversely, there’s a universe where Hillary Clinton wins the presidency and the victory moves national policies and norms forward, faster.  

The history of American biopics is littered what Tom Brown, in “The Biopic in Contemporary Film Culture,” refers to as a “Great White Man-centric” view of history. The biopic has often been an engine of American myth-making, by and for white men. Without casting all white men as evil, “Battle of the Sexes” succeeds at myth-disassembling. Trump may be a chauvinist pig, but more pernicious than Trump is the system from which he benefitted. There are more artistically inspired versions of the “Battle of the Sexes” story, but in art, like in tennis, the moment dictates the shot; this moment called for a crisp forehand smash, and “Battle of the Sexes” delivered.

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Why We Can Safely Expect Many More Idiot Celebrities to Run for Office Now That Trump Has Shown the Way

The 2003 California gubernatorial election was nutty. It seems less so now because 18 months of being virtually lobotomized via tweets, Access Hollywood tapes, debates over hand (penis) size and dossiers detailing pisscapades has a desensitizing effect. But so wild was the 2003 California gubernatorial election that the Game Show Network constructed a game show debate entitled “Who Wants to Be Governor of California? – The Debating Game,” in which some of the race’s made-for-reality-TV candidates competed for notoriety and the chance to win campaign funds.

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The Impossibility of Being Trump Supporter on TV and Making Any Sense

If there’s one thing that Americans agree on it’s that we are living in a moment of great political polarization. The most common prescription is to venture outside of the bubble: follow some people you disagree with on Twitter; read what the other side is reading; if you live in Brooklyn, talk to your relatives from Kansas. This has especially been the mantra for liberals. Don’t assume every Trump supporter is a fool or a bigot, you elitist; try listening to one!

On television this usually becomes a Catch-22. There are intellectually diverse panels and cross-party interviews aplenty. But if you listen, you hear Trump’s backers spouting something really foolish and at the very least racially insensitive about, say, Trump not lying but speaking “Americanese” or about Trump’s birther claims having nothing to do with race.

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