Mario Cuomo said, “You campaign in poetry. You govern in prose.” He was the long-time governor of New York—his son is the current governor—and is remembered as one of the greatest political orators of recent decades. People often compare Barak Obama to him, but perhaps Obama took Cuomo’s famous words too much to heart. Once elected, especially in his first term, President Obama tried to leave the politics behind and govern as a policy wonk. But many have said that this meant a lost opportunity for leadership. Obama could have advanced his policy agenda further by drumming up political will among the people rather than sequestering himself in meetings, and he wouldn’t have left himself as vulnerable to obstructionism. Good prose is still poetic.
Jackie is another good lesson in this truth. The film presents the few days after John F. Kennedy’s assassination from the perspective of his wife, Jackie. Natalie Portman gives a masterful performance in the lead. She has to handle national and personal tragedy, planning a very public funeral and parenting her children through the death of their father. All the while, the Johnson administration has to transition to power, which means the Kennedys also have to leave the White House. Beyond the wellbeing of her children, Jackie’s highest value in all this is cementing John’s good legacy. Even as a symbol of modern womanhood, she has an old-fashioned devotion to her husband; in spite of his infidelities, she believes he was a great man and would have been a great President.
An interview with a journalist serves as a framing device – we see the story unfold as she tells it to him. Yet she demands complete control over the printed story, keeping much of her story off the record. She tells him, “I don’t smoke,” as she puts down her cigarette. Director Pablo Larrain and screenwriter Noah Oppenheim also dip into two other scenes throughout the film. One is a conversation with a priest, which parallels the talk with the journalist. While the writer represents the American people to her, and will present her story to them, the priest represents God. One helps her to external stability, the other to internal.
The other repeated flashback goes to a television special Jackie recorded, a tour of the White House. Here is where Portman excels. In most of the movie, she is a compelling picture of grief both hot and cold, but here on the tour she is painfully awkward. She’s wooden in speech and has to be coached to smile. She’s at such pains to present the White House as her husband’s Camelot, but the show makes her so nervous, so fake. Portman portrays the contrast between Jackie on- and off-camera wonderfully. As the interviewer tells her, she doesn’t need to compose herself for the people. She has their sympathy. But she can’t get past the image of perfection that she wants to maintain, especially for her husband.
That reporter also seems to speak for American history. Popular memory mostly credits JFK for what he might have accomplished, looking past his faults. Johnson used the political space cleared by Kennedy’s death to enact his agenda. Now, Kennedy lives on as a heroic image while his successor’s legacy is saddled with the Vietnam War. Jackie’s hope for her husband after death came to pass, in spite of her awkward efforts.