Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/071392/0713unk.000

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                                                                                THE POLITICAL INTEREST, Page 27

On TV, It's All Deja Vu


By Michael Kramer


    Ross Perot, the king of content-free sound bites (whose
favorite, of course, is "I could sound bite it for you, but I
won't"), is preparing his first wave of television commercials.
Though filming has yet to begin, Perot's ads will probably ape
his insistence that campaign promises are made to be broken, so
he won't make any. In other words, as befits the man who seems
so far to be running for President of Hallmark, there will be
lots of homilies and little else.

    Welcome to the beginning of The Big Act, Campaign '92 --
The General Election. The candidates will appear on the TV talk
shows for as long as they can, but the big-bucks paid-TV
campaign is coming, and it promises to resemble its
predecessors. A review of political commercials since they began
40 years ago (currently on display at New York City's American
Museum of the Moving Image) is instantly familiar. The themes
and techniques are timeless. Sophistication varies, but the
efforts of all the candidates routinely combine soft biography
and positive ads with a whole lot more of the other kind -- the
attack spots designed to skewer an opponent.

    In 1948, when only 400,000 U.S. households had TV sets,
Tom Dewey called political commercials "undignified" and
refused to run them. Nineteen million homes had television by
1952, and Dwight Eisenhower didn't need convincing. The
predominant feature of Ike's $1.5 million effort (which had as
its slogan the nonincumbent's perennial favorite: "It's Time for
a Change") was forty 20-second spots called "Eisenhower Answers
America." In tone and substance, the same ads have been run by
almost every candidate since the '50s (including George Bush and
Bill Clinton during this year's primaries) -- softball queries
served up by ordinary voters that the candidates hit out of the
park. By today's standards, Ike's spots were crude, but they had
a bit of Perot about them. Corruption was an issue in 1952, and
Ike said (as Perot would) that while he didn't know "how many
crooks" there were in Washington, he would "find out" and "get
rid of " them. No specifics, just the inchoate hope that a "man
of action" would act.

    Adlai Stevenson was appalled. "This isn't Ivory soap vs.
Palmolive," he said. "I think the American people will be
shocked by such contempt for their intelligence." With four
years to rethink, Stevenson got the message. In a technique
repeated subsequently whenever the "outs" face an incumbent,
Stevenson in 1956 recounted Ike's unfulfilled 1952 promises.
"How's that again, General?" Stevenson intoned endlessly,
adding, "Yes, it's time for a change."

    In a swipe at Stevenson, who was divorced, Ike's spots
targeted the women's vote by portraying the President as a
"traditional family man." Mamie was used repeatedly; her "smile
and modesty and easy natural charm make her the ideal First
Lady," said the G.O.P. spots. Bush may be more subtle, but
Barbara will undoubtedly surface as the Republicans seek to
remind voters of Clinton's once troubled marriage.

    In commercials that may foreshadow yet another aspect of
Bush's offerings this year, Richard Nixon in 1960 turned every
question toward the strength he and Bush share -- foreign
policy. Even civil rights took on a foreign dimension in Nixon's
hands. "When we fail to grant equality at home," he said, "it
makes for bad news around the world." John Kennedy couldn't
match Nixon's experience, so (as Perot and Clinton might do)
J.F.K. used a jingle to say that he too was "seasoned through
and through, but not so doggone seasoned he won't try something
new."

    Negative commercials have run the gamut from benign to
sledgehammer. Kennedy ran a tape of Eisenhower's inability to
recall anything significant that Nixon had done as Vice
President. In 1964 Lyndon Johnson became the first candidate to
use the words of his opponent's challengers in the primaries,
replaying what they had said as they considered the horrific
prospect of Barry Goldwater's ascendancy. Does anyone doubt that
Bush will find some use for Paul Tsongas' derisive description
of Clinton as a "pander bear"?

    "Weather vane" commercials, attacking an opponent's
flip-flops, are a decades-old staple. Goldwater had changed his
mind on a range of issues; Nixon said the same of George
McGovern in 1972; and everyone this year will strike at his
opponents' waverings -- and probably over the same issue, taxes,
where all three have bobbed and weaved at one time or another.

    Another oldie but goodie destined for recycling is the
man-in-the street commercial, in which residents of Arkansas
will trash Clinton's governance. Similar spots failed against
Carter in '76 and against Reagan in '80, but Bush will be sorely
tempted to try again.

    We may not see any Willie Hortons in 1992 (the voters seem
wise to such blatant manipulation), but there is little cause
for optimism. A survey of Bush and Clinton media mavens
confirms that only a fool would ignore the lesson of 40 years.
As a Bush aide puts it, "Negative works. Everything else is
fluff that cushions the impact. We'll be down in the gutter
again -- and probably sooner rather than later." To which a
smiling Clintonian says, "Yep, that's right. History teaches
that the high road only takes you home."