Playing The Rating Game

By Richard Zoglin

Abandon all substance, ye who enter here. This is the realm of television, not politics. Issues are passe. What matters is style and image, sound bites and photo opportunities.

TV has so dominated the 1988 presidential campaign that even network correspondents seem embarrassed. "Most of what candidates do is aimed at your television screen," began a Bruce Morton report on the CBS Evening News last week. Campaign appearances are orchestrated for the cameras (George Bush in Boston harbor; everybody in front of the Statue of Liberty), and speechwriters strive for one piquant quote a day aimed at the nightly news (Bush asserts that Michael Dukakis has been "opposed to every new weapon system since the slingshot"). And now come the commercials. The candidates have just released the first of an expected blitz of TV ads: upbeat and "presidential" in Bush's case; tartly critical of Republican economic policies in Dukakis'.

All of which, sober analysts contend, has trivialized the political process. A debatable proposition, but never mind; let's get trivial. Candidates who shape their campaigns for TV deserve to be judged, for a few moments anyway, by TV standards. Some themes that have emerged on the road to the November sweeps:

HOLLYWOOD SQUARES. The biggest question swirling around Republican Vice Presidential Candidate Dan Quayle is not his service in the National Guard or his legislative record, it is which show-biz celebrity he most resembles. The blond hair and glamorous mien initially got him cast as Robert Redford. More discerning observers have found his bland good looks reminiscent of Wheel of Fortune's Pat Sajak. Actually, Quayle doesn't have even Sajak's low-watt charisma. Despite his reputation as a "telegenic" candidate, Quayle looks better from a distance; as the camera closes in, the uncertain eyes and thin, twangy voice emphasize his immaturity.

But then, none of the candidates live up to their TV models. Lloyd Bentsen, the tall, craggy Texan, could go for either tough (the late Jim Davis as Jock Ewing on Dallas) or folksy (Andy Griffith as Matlock). But his passionless style fails to register as either character. Dukakis has the mark of a man doomed to be portrayed in TV movies by Sam Waterston. And Bush is still overshadowed by the era's only politician actually to define and surpass his Hollywood model: Ronald Reagan.

THE GONG SHOW. Getting booed is an unavoidable part of the campaign trail. How one responds to it, however, is crucial for the TV image. When Dukakis faced rowdy antiabortion demonstrators in suburban Chicago last week, he tried to settle them with lawyer-like reasonableness ("I respect your right to disagree . . .") but looked sweaty and abashed on the screen. Bush's reaction to boos from shipyard workers in Portland, Ore., was similar, except for the forced-folksy dropped g's ("You're exercisin' your right; I'm exercisin' mine"). Bush's performance, however, depended on the particular network vantage point. On CBS his counterattack sounded namby-pamby; on ABC, with longer clips of his remarks, he came across more as a feisty battler.

Bush's running mate has avoided the gong for now, but Quayle's early response to questions about his military service and other matters was wobbly and defensive, like a fifth-grader trying to explain his missing arithmetic homework. When reporters accosted him at his Virginia home while he was emptying garbage, Quayle reacted with evident anger ("I'm getting a little bit indignant about one bum rap after another . . .") but sounded petulant rather than persuasive. His self-confidence has grown since then, though his overeager, puppet-like demeanor still reminds some critics of Howdy Doody.

GROWING PAINS. Are any of these candidates ready to lead the nation? Not if one listens to the nightly stream of wisecracks from Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, David Letterman -- and the candidates themselves. Tongue-in-cheek self- deprecation has become a favorite rhetorical tactic. Dukakis initiated it at a Democratic luncheon before his acceptance speech in Atlanta, joking that his wife had fallen asleep while reading the text. Bush's own acceptance speech was peppered with such put-downs as "I'll try to be fair to the other side; I'll try to hold my charisma in check." The aim is both to lower expectations and defuse the critics with humor. But does anybody want Rodney Dangerfield for President?

WHO'LL BE THE BOSS? Nevertheless, Bush and Dukakis have developed into better TV performers than one might have expected. The Vice President still steps on too many of his own applause lines, and cannot shake a penchant for bloopers (last week's premature observance of Pearl Harbor day). But his very awkwardness has become a sign of sincerity, and anger becomes him -- woundedly defending, for instance, his reference to some of his grandchildren as "little brown ones." If Bob Newhart took assertiveness training, he might turn out to be George Bush.

Dukakis' TV reviews have jumped around in approximate relationship to the polls. Early on he was derided as an untelegenic bore. After Atlanta, his TVQ soared. Now a backlash is setting in ("His tone is at once annoyed and complacent, that of a self-satisfied scold" -- George Will). In truth, Dukakis may be close to the ideal TV candidate: physically ungainly and ill- proportioned when seen from a distance but a compelling presence in close- up. His speaking style is a good blend of the conversational and the resonant, and he makes the canniest use of pauses since Jack Benny. That may not get him elected, but it could put him in the running for an Emmy.