The "Anti-Weaponization Fund," a Grafter Government Unhinged, and the Final Arrival of ‘1984’

 

 

It’s been reported on, but from my perspective without the glacial shock wave it deserves: the so-called “slush fund” ostensibly targeted toward January 6 perpetrators. The act itself feels almost like trolling by this “president,” but more than that, a smokescreen while potentially making him and his family millions of dollars richer by granting immunity from past and present IRS scrutiny.

 

I begin with my favorite political cartoonist’s take on the subject. Mike Luckovich not only points out the hypocrisy of it all, but, more subtly, the press’s lack of focus on the real issue. It is not merely the contrast with the relatively minor transgressions of prior administrations, but the failure of the Fourth Estate to shake its own foundations loudly enough to affect change. At least we still have independent journalists metaphorically riding as Paul Revere, such as Paul Krugman.  In “The Looting of America; MAGA corruption reaches the point of no return,” he writes that “few things shock me these days, but this development — in which a Justice Department that works for Trump is paying a vast sum to ‘settle’ a lawsuit brought by Trump himself — is a new nadir in self-dealing, further revealing Trump’s utter contempt for the American people.”

 

His is only one of many similar voices one can now find on Substack, independent historians, political scientists, ex-government officials, and even perceptive humorists. While the traditional news media may report the same facts, few institutional voices seem willing to say so directly. Heaven forbid Dear Leader be offended or, especially, be laughed at.

 

The broader normalization of conflicts of interest surfaced again when Andrew Ross Sorkin of The New York Times, on a related issue, wrote in his newsletter: “…thanks for all of your notes regarding President Trump’s 3,700 trades. I’d love to hear your thoughts on what trading policy for federal officials should look like. For example, should trading be banned entirely? Restricted to specific windows? Managed through blind trusts? Furthermore, should public disclosures be immediate or delayed, and how should the policy address family members?”

 

I dashed off my response, recognizing that he is perhaps walking on institutionally mandated eggshells: “Andrew, the fact that you can even ask whether there should be a trading policy for federal officials shows the erosion of the core principles on which this country was founded. Of course they should be banned from trading individually, or at the very least required to place investments in blind trusts, as other officials have done in the past. It goes without saying, or once would have. The potential conflicts of interest are simply too numerous, and the temptation too great, as we have witnessed time and again with the current administration.

 

“And what has happened to the rule of law, with the arbitrary establishment of a $1.776 billion ‘Anti-Weaponization Fund’ to ‘compensate’ individuals involved in the January 6, 2021 Capitol attack? This is American justice at work?

 

“It is bad enough that an entire political culture seems increasingly comfortable with graft. The mere fact that we are now publicly debating whether elected officials should trade stocks while possessing inside knowledge and the ability to influence day-to-day market movements, not to mention accepting lobby money to favor industries or causes, makes me lose hope.”

 

In spite of being one of Trump’s most obsequious supporters, perhaps this “Anti-Weaponization Fund” was a bridge too far even for Pam Bondi who resigned as AG. How convenient, then, to have Todd Blanche step in, without Congress now having a further say to block his becoming Acting AG (not that they would if they could). As Trump’s personal lawyer, Blanche represented him in criminal cases including the New York hush money case, which ended with convictions on 34 felony counts, as well as the federal cases brought by special counsel Jack Smith, now abandoned. Apparently Blanche works tirelessly to satisfy his direct report, the President of the United States and not the Constitution.

 

On to other dystopian developments, arriving with such rapidity one can hardly hold them in one’s head long enough to think about them. Among the latest architectural impositions proposed for the White House and Washington, D.C. is the “United States Triumphal Arch,” supposedly commemorating the 250th anniversary of American independence, though in reality seeming more like a monument to Trump himself.

 

It immediately recalls George Orwell’s 1984 and its “enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete,” bearing “the three slogans of the Party: WAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.”

 

Might this be just one of others planned? In 1984 “scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.”

 

And there it is again: the fusion of power, propaganda, and intimidation disguised as patriotism in massive concrete. Orwell understood that authoritarianism eventually expresses itself physically. Not content merely to dominate language and thought, it seeks permanence in gigantic buildings, and endless spectacles celebrating the Leader and the State.

 

What once seemed satirical exaggeration now arrives incrementally, proposal by proposal, outrage by outrage, each one quickly replaced by the next before we have time to absorb it. One becomes exhausted not only by the events themselves, but by the sheer velocity of them. That, perhaps, is part of the strategy, essentially a Gish Gallop applied to governance itself: a torrential inundation of events, too many to process.

 

Anything is now possible with this administration. So, as a citizen, I turned to my two Senators and Representative, sending them the New York Times Op-Ed piece “Trump Just Took Us Somewhere the Country Had Never Been Before.”

Not that I expected them to actually read it, but at least to register my concern. I did get one reply. It was 1984-ish in its own small bureaucratic way:

 

“Delivery has failed to these recipients or groups: Senator Rick Scott (receipt@rickscott.senate.gov); The recipient's mailbox is full and can't accept messages now. Please try resending your message later, or contact the recipient directly.”

 

Instead I heard:  “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”

‘Vineland Place’ at Palm Beach Dramaworks: A Literary Thriller of Secrets and Deception

 

 

This is the world premiere of an intriguing play from Palm Beach Dramaworks’ Perlberg Festival of New Plays: Vineland Place by Steven Dietz. If the playwright’s name sounds familiar, it may be because Dietz has long been one of the country’s most produced dramatists, with some forty plays to his credit. This latest work sits squarely within his wheelhouse: part murder mystery, part psychological duel, wrapped in a highly stylized production where every theatrical element contributes to the whole. Look to the shadows, the pauses, the sidelong glances, and the accumulating unease to find both the meaning and the pleasure of this play.

 

It begins innocently enough. A young writer, Henry Sanders, is hired by Victoria Brody, widow of novelist Fenton Brody, a one-book literary phenomenon whose lone success, Sheridan Road, became a cult classic, “a thriller wrapped around the harrowing emotional drama of a family.” A publisher, having paid a substantial advance, was eagerly awaiting the sequel, Vineland Place, until Brody died in a nine-story fall from the couple’s penthouse apartment (“the best thing that could possibly happen on the eve of publication”).

 

Victoria promises the publisher the nearly completed manuscript and hires Sanders to finish it. He must work inside the apartment where the notes and manuscript remain, taking nothing home at night, even signing an NDA before beginning. Nothing suspicious here, right? Sanders appears the ideal choice, idolizing Brody as he does. You might say he belongs to the cult’s vanguard.

 

This is a two-hander, and I cannot think of a more ideal actor for Victoria Brody than Anne-Marie Cusson, who excelled in another memorable PBD two-hander nearly a decade ago, Collected Stories, likewise a play with writing and authorship at its heart. That production remains one of my favorite Dramaworks offerings from that period, in no small part because of Cusson’s performance.

Christopher Ryan Cowan and Anne-Marie Cusson; Jason Nuttle Photography

 

Opposite her is PBD newcomer Christopher Ryan Cowan as the eager, star-struck Henry Sanders, hired to complete the unfinished novel. What could possibly go wrong? Plenty.

 

What begins as a seemingly straightforward story about a young writer finishing the work of a dead literary idol gradually becomes something far more layered and psychologically combative. Dietz turns the relationship between Sanders and Victoria into an increasingly dangerous duel of shifting sympathies.

 

This is where the acting of Cusson and Cowan truly shines, the two performers handling these reversals like a finely tuned piece of counterpoint. Director J. Barry Lewis makes the most of these high-wire moments through precise pacing, furtive looks, and carefully measured pauses that allow the tension to build layer by layer. He understands how to transform what at first resembles a sophisticated drawing room drama into a genuine murder mystery. Clever dialogue and concealed secrets become dangerous weapons, and Lewis capitalizes on every opportunity the script affords him.

 

The play demands close attention from its audience. Some of the necessary back-story must be explained rather than dramatized directly, occasionally brushing against the fourth wall, and the intricacies of the plot matter greatly. Still, Dietz keeps these mechanics moving smoothly, and this cast and production team seem particularly adept at making those transitions feel effortless. One can easily imagine Vineland Place adapted into a Netflix miniseries where some of the back-story might unfold more expansively onscreen.

 

Anne-Marie Cusson and Christopher Ryan Cowan; Jason Nuttle Photography

Cusson delivers another bravura performance. Is Victoria seductive, manipulative, vulnerable, or victimized? Cusson walks that line throughout the evening, sometimes bewildering the audience, sometimes delighting it, often doing both simultaneously. Cowan proves an effective foil. Was Henry hired merely to finish a manuscript, or perhaps for companionship by a woman widowed only six months earlier, amid the wine, candlelight, and increasingly suggestive atmosphere? Or was there another motive altogether? Cowan balances defensiveness and aggression effectively, his character alternately powerless and empowered depending on the shifting terrain of the scene.

 

Anne Mundell’s scenic design hangs heavily in a film noir, “bad-decisions-that-make-great-stories” atmosphere perfectly suited to the play. The upper-class Boston apartment, perched on the ninth floor of a building where the elevator goes only to the eighth, becomes part of the mystery itself. Watch carefully: even that seemingly incidental detail carries implications. The set proves ideal for bringing together both the elegance of drawing room drama and the menace of noir.

 

Costume designer Brian O'Keefe has ample opportunity to chart Victoria Brody’s shifting personas, from a striking red pantsuit to a seductive kimono-style jacket that lends a bohemian allure to her appearance. Henry Sanders, by contrast, is appropriately subdued in utilitarian young-writer attire, complete with a weathered leather tote bag: nothing flashy, nothing memorable.

 

The lighting design by Paul Black deepens the atmosphere as the evening progresses, gradually moving the play from drawing room sophistication toward full noir sensibility, the illumination dimming into low light and candle glow.

 

PBD newcomer Robertson Witmer provides both sound design and original music. The opening music is somber and almost liturgical, with echoes of Erik Satie in the piano passages, at times underscored by droning sustained notes that quietly suggest dread beneath the civilized surface.

 

Projection designer Adam J. Thompson reminds us that while this is indeed a murder mystery, writing itself remains at the center of the play. Letters occasionally stream across the set, coalescing into words and phrases — including the ominous “I know what you’ve done” — while even the ellipsis takes on unexpected significance.

 

And so the play finally arrives at its central question: which secrets have been deliberately withheld, and which thoughts remain merely unfinished? “One of us is smart enough to pull this off,” a character observes, and the audience spends much of the evening wondering which one it is. The answer leads to a satisfying and memorable denouement. This is a thriller very much worth seeing.

 

Vineland Place; Jason Nuttle Photography