In fact, Mitt Romney was so riven by conflicting desires that he deserved a Faye Dunaway Award (named for her “She’s my sister! She’s my daughter!” rant in Chinatown) for his “Make me president! Don’t let me be president!” ambivalence. He expressed it passive-aggressively, by allowing himself to be bullied ever farther to the right during the primaries—even as he bullied his opponents personally from still farther right. It made him seem both weak and nasty. And you could see the ambivalence in his body language. When Mitt walks forward, his short, halting steps seem to pull him back, turning a brief trip to the microphone into a parody of a middle-aged white person moon-walking. On stage, during debates, he’d often look on wistfully, almost dreamily, at the other candidates while they spoke, as if he’d be “ecstatic,” as Tagg says, if only somebody like that could win the coveted office.
Mitt, the Jello Candidate. Amorphous, jiggly, and gelatinous in his properties.
