lawrence: Good. Okay.
lawrence rises. At the door:
So, how are you? You okay?
clark opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He closes it again. He tries again. Is he going to cry? lawrence, monumentally embarrassed, looks at his shoes and the ceiling. clark composes himself.
clark: I’m good.
lawrence: Okay, see ya, Joe.
lawrence departs as quickly as possible. crosbie appears at the door as lawrence goes.
Projection:
John Crosbie.
Hey, John.
crosbie: Yeah whatever.
(to clark) Hey.
clark: John?
crosbie: You think the Liberals will hold back a few members, don’t you? You think they don’t want an election, don’t you? That’s why you’re being like this.
clark: I don’t know, John.
crosbie: Or do you think that even if the Liberals as a group choose to defeat the budget, there are enough of them that are too scared to run in the election? So much so that they’d defy their leadership and stay away from the vote?
clark: I don’t know, John.
crosbie: Okay.
crosbie goes. He returns.
Projection:
John Crosbie.
But are you aware we’re down like five members ourselves?
clark: I make it six.
crosbie: Six! Minority government floats a tough budget, and it’s got six members who can’t even be bothered to show up for the friggin’ vote?
clark: I know.
crosbie: Fucking hell.
crosbie goes. He returns.
Projection:
John Crosbie.
Know what I’m gonna do?
clark: What’s that, John.
crosbie: I’m gonna charter a fucking plane. And then you know what I’m gonna do?
clark: What, John.
crosbie: I’m gonna leak it that I chartered a plane. That’s what I’m gonna do. Know why?
clark: To show everyone that we’re ready to fight an election if it comes to it?
crosbie: To show everyone that we’re ready to fight a cunting election if it comes to it. That’s right!
clark: Okay, John.
crosbie: Okay!
crosbie goes. A beat. clark sits. He looks again at the NDP subamendment. Flora macdonald arrives at the door. She watches clark for a few seconds.
Projection:
Flora MacDonald, Secretary of State for External Affairs.
clark: (noticing her at the door) Hey, Flora. C’mon in.
macdonald: John Crosbie just ran past me like he’s late to a pie eating contest.
clark: Yup.
macdonald: He’s jiggling like a boiled plum.
clark: Yup.
She sits.
macdonald: You’ve heard, I assume?
clark: I’ve heard.
macdonald: Think it’s serious?
clark: Possibly. This is the NDP subamendment.
clark shows her the paper. She reads. Hands it back.
macdonald: Incredible. Broadbent. Wow.
clark: Wow indeed.
Projection:
Ed Broadbent was leader of the NDP. He decided to support the Liberals in bringing down the government.
macdonald: He obviously doesn’t care his party’s still broke from the last election.
clark: Fiscal responsibility never was the NDP’s strong suit.
macdonald: So, are you considering delaying the vote? No, don’t answer that. You won’t. It’d be . . . undemocratic.
clark: Yes.
macdonald: Only Joe Clark would put his political life at risk instead of simply delaying a vote.
clark: Not only me.
macdonald: Are you kidding? Do you remember how hard it was to get here? Three years of planning; three years of enormous discipline; three years of—
clark: No, I know. The hardest three years of our lives.
macdonald: Right. Not to mention the people you had to bully, or disappoint, or simply cut loose. And now we’re here. And you’ll risk all that because you need to know, what, that you’re still good enough? That you’re tough or something?
clark: Listen. Either I have the moral right to govern, or I don’t.
macdonald: Jesus. That’s fine in front of me, but don’t let anyone else hear you talk like that.
He rises to shut the office door.
clark: You’re probably right.
macdonald: I don’t know if you’re aware, but parliamentary politics is—
clark: —whatever you can get away with. Yes, I know the quote. Where are we on . . . The thing?
macdonald: The thing?
clark: Yes. You know.
macdonald: Yes I do. We should probably come up with a name for this operation, don’t you think? Something better than “the thing.”
clark: I’m comfortable with “the thing.” It seems appropriate to the level of idiocy of the enterprise. Did you ask about the agronomists?
macdonald: I did. The CIA wants to stick with the movie idea.
clark: The movie idea makes no sense.
macdonald: I know.
clark: It makes no sense.
macdonald: I know.
Projection:
In November 1979, 6 American employees at the US consulate in Tehran escaped out a back gate as Iranians were coming in through the front. They ended up being hidden by the Canadian ambassador and his staff.
clark: Canadian film scouts, looking for Middle Eastern locations. For an American film.
macdonald: I know, I know.
Projection:
Canada and the CIA were working on their exfiltration, using Canadian passports and personas for the 6 Americans.
clark: Or petroleum engineers. What about saying that? We have oil; they have oil. They can be Canadian petroleum engineers. It’s a more credible story.
macdonald: They seem pretty committed to the movie idea. I believe they even have a script.
clark: For the fake movie?
macdonald: Yes.
clark: Good God. They’re all going to get killed, and we’re going to have to wear it. When are they going to try to get out?
macdonald: We’ve created all the fake supporting documents and identities, which we sent to Iran in a diplomatic pouch. All that’s left are the Iranian visa stamps on the fake Canadian passports. The CIA insisted on forging those stamps themselves. When the passports come back to us with the forged stamps, we’ll send them along. We expect them any day.
clark: Okay.
macdonald: Meanwhile, there are two CIA operatives in Tehran now who are drilling the six on their new Canadian identities, preparing them for interrogations should they occur. The operatives are also experts, I’m told, in makeup and disguises.
clark: Makeup?
macdonald: And disguises.
clark: They’re all going to get killed.
macdonald: Thought you’d appreciate that detail.
clark: Okay. Anything else?
macdonald: No. I’ll let you know when the passports are returned to us.
clark: Thanks.
She rises.
macdonald: You know, Joe. It wouldn’t be considered weakness to make a few moves to hold onto power.
clark: I’m not worried about looking weak.
macdonald: You sure?
clark: I’ve looked weak my whole career. Look how far it’s gotten me.
macdonald: True enough.
clark: Hey. How’s it going. We haven’t checked in for a while.
macdonald: Fine. No complaints. Learning the file.
clark: You’re doing
great. But how’s it going?
macdonald: Joe. You can’t take care of me. I can’t come to you whenever someone calls me “baby” or puts a hand on my behind.
clark: No, I know. I’m just saying—
macdonald: You ever ask Erik Nielsen if he gets groped?
clark: He’s old and wrinkly. Groping Erik would require you to genuflect or something.
macdonald: Sorry?
clark: He—I’m saying you’d have to bend way down to fondle his bottom.
macdonald: Ah.
clark: Due to his age.
clark’s phone rings.
macdonald: Okay. See you, Joe.
clark: Yeah. Hey, Flora, stick around, why don’t you. There might be a budget vote later or something.
She goes. He picks up the phone.
Hello. What? Why? No, I mean (starts to whisper) why is he here? Okay. Okay.
He hangs up.
Jesus.
He looks around. He goes through a door that’s located behind his desk.
After a beat, “Poets” by the Tragically Hip begins playing.
Projection:
Pierre.
Elliott.
Trudeau.
trudeau enters, dancing to the music. He holds a very small chainsaw. After a bit of dancing, he notices the audience. He’s now dancing for them.
clark enters, watches for a while. He then finds the remote and clicks off the music.
trudeau: Joooooe.
clark: Pierre.
trudeau: Look what they gave me.
clark: It’s . . . That’s a nice one. What is that, a Husqvarna?
trudeau: (like he’s stupid) No, Joe. It’s a chainsaw.
clark: Right. But—
trudeau: You know, for cutting down trees. Making lumber. You know.
clark: I—yes, I do.
trudeau: Or logs for the fire. To put in the fireplace.
clark: I, yes.
trudeau: Honestly, Joe, it’s like you’ve never been outside.
clark: I was actually—
trudeau: So, I don’t know if you’ve ever been begged for anything, Joe. Have you? Really been begged for something? Because I have. People have, at various points in my life, begged me for things. And not just, you know, on the phone, “Come home now, I beg you; I don’t care where you’ve been or with whom, just please, I beg you return home to us,” not that kind of thing. I don’t mean domestic begging. I mean begging in the professional sphere. People have begged me for lots of things, over the years, to lend my various talents to various activities, some righteous, some insipid. But you’ve never seen, Joe, real begging until you’ve witnessed a group of men and women who smell an opportunity to reacquire power, but who have come to the realization that none of them is qualified to lead and they need you to do it.
Projection:
Having lost the election earlier that year, Trudeau announced his resignation as Liberal leader, and his retirement from politics. He was marking time until the Liberal Party leadership convention, planned for early 1980.
clark: And what did you tell them? These people?
trudeau: Resolutely, I told them no.
clark: I see.
Projection:
The chainsaw was a gift from Liberal MPs who hoped he would change his mind about retirement and return as leader to “cut down the government.”
trudeau: I remain firm in my resolve to disengage from public life. In favour of life itself. My boys need a father.
Projection:
Trudeau and his wife had separated; Trudeau had custody of their 3 boys.
clark: Yes.
trudeau: Also, please, Joe, this job? Prime minister? It’s revolting. One is nothing more than a glorified civil servant and loudmouthed shill. Traipsing across the world trying to advance the interests of an ungrateful country, an in fact openly hostile country.
clark: I see.
trudeau: Having done the job, I can’t honestly understand why anyone would ever agree to being prime minister of Canada. It’s like having rotten chum tossed at you while you shake your, ehm, pompoms and sing a show tune.
clark: Colourful.
trudeau: You know, with a little hat in front of you to collect change.
clark: Busking.
trudeau: Hmm? No. You know, like a street performer. With a hat to collect change on the sidew—
clark: Yes. Yes.
trudeau: I could not be happier to be leaving politics. I came here to tell you that, Joe.
clark: Thank you. And thank you, Pierre, for your years of service to the country.
trudeau: Hmmm. My legacy will be . . . fraught, I think. Mixed.
clark: No no. You’ve done an enormous amount for the country.
Projection:
Reforms to the public service had created chaos and widespread unhappiness among bureaucrats.
Inflation was 9.8%.
Unemployment was 8.4%.
The October Crisis of 1970 had damaged Trudeau’s reputation as a civil libertarian.
Wage and price controls were having a high social cost with little economic benefit.
Official bilingualism as a method of staving off Quebec separatism was unpopular everywhere else in the country.
Trudeau’s refusal to negotiate power-sharing with provinces was stoking separatist sentiment in Quebec.
His focus on Quebec left the West feeling excluded.
His proposal to abolish the Indian Act labelled him an assimilationist.
Federal debt had exploded since 1972, as had federal spending.
Trudeau hated the press. The feeling was increasingly mutual.
trudeau: Well, it’s been a grand experiment, at any rate. So: tell me. What are you going to do?
clark: Regarding?
trudeau: The vote later. How will you avoid it?
clark: Why on earth would I tell you my strategy?
trudeau: Ooooh, come on, Joe. I won’t tell anyone. After all, we want the same thing. For your government to survive. Even if every other Liberal in this building is desperate to bring you down. All I want is to sail through the next few months doing as little as possible until they come up with my replacement.
Projection:
Trudeau had recently cancelled an appearance at a Liberal policy conference, claiming he had the flu. He was photographed in New York City that evening entering a discotheque with a model on his arm.
So what is it? Are you going to delay the vote somehow?
clark: No.
trudeau: No? You realize there’s no way I’m going to be able to hold the caucus back? I believe they’re going to pull a couple of our guys out of the hospital for the vote.
clark: Yes.
trudeau: Broadbent won’t back down. His subamendment is going to be palatable to Liberals.
clark: I’ve got a copy right here.
trudeau: And my count has you losing even if the Socreds back you. Even if I abstain. Not that I could.
clark: I wouldn’t expect you to.
trudeau: Then what? Some sort of procedural play that lets you keep power after losing the vote?
clark: No.
trudeau looks at clark.
trudeau: Are you bluffing?
clark: No.
trudeau: No, you’re not. So you intend to . . . lose?
clark is silent. trudeau walks around. A few beats while he thinks. Finally:
You cunt.
clark: Pierre?
trudeau: You disrespect power. It’s the only unforgivable thing in politics. Is it your age? I don’t know. You’re young, but you’re not stupid. But you have no respect for it. It’s just . . . You know, God, when I think of everything I went through, not only to acquire po
wer, but also the million shitty things I had to do once I had it to maintain it. Every moronic hand I shook. Every piece of advice I was forced to listen to, from well-meaning idiots. Every dollar I raised, every baby I shook, every goddamned plate of awful food I ate in front of people! Speeches, carefully crafted and a joy to deliver, soured in my mouth from the sheer idiotic repetition of them! Repeated until I thought I’d go mad, until I thought going mad would be preferable to mouthing the wretched speech one more time.
clark: Listen, I’ve got things I should be—
trudeau: All I went though, just so I could wield a little power. It’s not a lot of power; you must realize it by now, being prime minister isn’t like running a bank or owning a few newspapers or anything, it’s not even like manning the door at a popular disco—a, what do you call those guys, hulking—
clark: The doorman?
trudeau: No, not the doorman. The doorman. A doorman at a disco has more power at his disposal than I did. Than you do. But nonetheless, it’s yours. You have it, however briefly. And the fact that you do nothing, at this stage, to protect it, to keep it, it’s incredible, Joe.
clark: What’s incredible is that you would try to take it away from me this early in my mandate.
trudeau: that’s my job. That is my job, Joe.
clark: If you wanted to, you could go into that Christmas party, tell your caucus the timing is wrong for bringing down this government. Let’s get our own house in order first, you could say, get a leader in place, then develop a set of policies to counter the Conservatives, give the country an alternative. And then confront the government. Have an election on merits.
trudeau: Sure, or I could stand amid a pack of rabid, retarded jackals and recite William Blake. Individually, the members of the Liberal caucus are decent, pleasant men. Many unmolested by intelligence, but happy. But, together, they are an amoral beast, hungry for nothing but the dollop of power you possess and seem perfectly content to throw their way. If you are under the impression I can save you, Joe, disabuse yourself.
clark: I don’t need you to save me, Pierre; I thought you might be compelled to do the right thing here.
trudeau: The right thing? Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition giving your fledgling government time to bloom through some sort of morbid passivity isn’t the right thing to do. Joe. The right thing here is to keep what you’ve achieved by any means available to you. You may not have been listening closely when you were sworn in, but you’re now obliged to fuck, eat, or kill to stay behind that desk. Fuck, eat, kill. For as long as you can. That’s what you agreed to.
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