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This article discusses the entertaining qualities of the Republican National Convention. With the candidates in the bag, and no hope of drama, the Democratic and Republican conventions can be fairly judged only as extended advertisements for the parties that staged them. Just as Mel Gibson's recent cross-and-sandal epic succeeds as Passion play and disappoints as conventional movie narrative, the goal of the undertaking is disconnected from that of the critic. The convention mix of carefully orchestrated speechifying, recorded campaign ads and tributes, and live entertainment adds up to something not quite sport, not quite news and not quite commercial--it is a pageant without a competition. Entertainment at the convention came in two categories--that meant to inform, excite and influence the viewing audience and that meant just to keep the extras from getting restless between setups. The appointment of Frank Breeden, former head of the Gospel Music Association, to coordinate this aspect of the pageant suggested a religious bent to the performances that did not pan out. With celebrities of various luminance like Ron Silver, the Gobernator, reality-show Survivor Elisabeth Hasselbeck, football favorites Lynn Swann and Jason Sehorn and Miss America taking the platform to speak, the thin line between politics and entertainment was faintly drawn. The house band--New York professionals dressed usually in a neutral black--filled gaps and generated pep-rally energy with a supply of upbeat R&B standards: "Knock on Wood," "Dancin' in the Streets," "Soul Man," "I Feel Good"--the stuff you hear canned during timeouts at professional sporting events and that seems to have become, since Animal House, a locus of frat-boy nostalgia. With little rehearsal time, their Big Apple chops were impressive--if anybody's got a wedding reception planned, I'm sure the RNC can help you track them down.
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