This week the Republican National Convention highlighted the brutal nature of public relations.
Clint Eastwood, a national icon revered by Americans, seemed like a bulletproof choice as guest speaker for Mitt Romney’s big night.
Our culture worships celebrities for playing characters like Dirty Harry, who represent the tough guy all of us would be if we weren’t really the guys who we are.
Throw up the image of Eastwood’s legendary scowl on the big screen, have the aging Eastwood walk out to the podium, and watch a stadium full of well-educated, well-dressed (except for those hats) people cheer like One Direction fans as Eastwood’s thoughts and sanity painfully unraveled before them–all beside an empty chair occupied by an invisible President Obama. Everyone cheered. The whole time.
It was crazy. F-bomb crazy. Read more