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The Political Desk's Manchester Memo, Whodunits, Charlie Chaplin, Brittney Spencer, and More ....

Let’s not get crazy.

Dear Wags,

This dates us, but the first time we visited the New Hampshire Primary it was aboard a bus trailing Future President Howard Dean. You may not remember the sizzle of that bygone Democrat. But in some nooks, Dean was hailed as a fresh face, the great hope, etc. Actual voters did not agree. The Vermont governor finished third in the Iowa Caucuses. In the Granite State, he came in 12 points behind eventual nominee John Kerry. From there, he continued to lose. Dean believed he could upset Kerry in the Wisconsin primary. He was third again, and bowed out the next day. Still, his name was on the ballot for Super Tuesday, which provided him with a lone victory in his home state. The failed contenders in this year’s GOP primary are unlikely to limp away with such a consolation prize.

If you recall Dean at all, you remember the so-called Dean Scream. After losing in Iowa, he delivered a concession speech in West Des Moines, during which he attempted to rally the crowd: Not only are we going to New Hampshire… we're going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we're going to California and Texas and New York. ... And we're going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! YEAAAH! Lord, that yeah. It was so manic and desperate, it curled young toes. That moment turned Dean into a late night punchline, because he was clearly not going to do any of those things. It was also poignant. Anybody who has been close to a faltering campaign knows how touching the death throes can be.

Running for president is mostly a fool’s errand, so it attracts the delusional. The contestants spend millions visiting counties one ought to speed through. They endure interrogations from arrogant billionaires, cranky retirees, and precocious 13-year-olds. They weather humiliations straining to shift stubborn realities. Bloody-mindedness can be admirable. When somebody says with a straight face that they are going to bring it home in Timbuktu, and they plainly aren’t, well, Don Quixote believed things, too.

So much has changed since Dean stalked off, blaming the media (who else?) for his failures. Ego and a cursed need to be part of the national conversation endure. Consequently: We're going to New Hampshire and South Carolina and Nevada, and then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! YEAAAH! Off these candidates go, pretending to love the middle of nowhere, peddling inane horse race narratives to a crumbling media, and lying most extravagantly to themselves.

The political fundamentals of 2024 are cast in cement. Most of the populace is waking up to the reality of the ultimate contest, and they aren’t thrilled. We are at a point in the cycle when the incumbent looks weakest, but that’s not predictive of anything. His forever nemesis, the Bogeyman, is back with a vengeance, for now. Curiously, the bogeyman’s primary challengers never made a case for themselves. Then again, the voters who now decide GOP primaries cannot be budged.

Go elsewhere for chin tugs about the decline of retail politics and the nationalization of discourse. In short: people in rural Iowa vote like people in rural Alabama, and people in Minneapolis vote like people in San Francisco. The result is that Donald J. Trump can pummel all comers in a small Midwestern state without eating funnel cake or pretending to milk a cow.

Trump faces many days in court, but for the pretenders, the jury is in. We will indulge them for a little while longer, as they try to preserve their political viability. We will watch, embarrassed, as they genuflect before a don who never forgives disloyalty. The also-rans hector each other as they go down in flames, leaving the frontman untouched. Why did they surrender without firing a shot? To have their tickets (among other things) punched? To mouth clichés about wokeness and the national debt? In the vague hope that El Jefe would be done in by cholesterol or the justice system? Don’t expect a straight answer.

Four years may be an eternity in politics, but it’s a good bet that the vanquished will not be palatable in the next presidential election cycle, when a new crop of contenders will call for generational change. Howard Dean did not become a kingmaker.

For now, they will shiver in Nashua and stump in swampy Moncks Corner before hobbling off the national stage. They will suffer hushed conversations with advisors and calls from donors, urging them to get out with what remains of their dignity. And they will get out. What does the bogeyman get about an inflamed corner of the electorate that they could not grasp? That what’s left of a great political party doesn’t care for strivers in suits, smiling tightly and pantomiming populism, They don’t like what was once normal. They want only him.

Spare a little sympathy for those challengers, lying about fighting another day. Yeaaah, we’re headed exactly where you think. Nobody will even hear them scream.

Yours Ever.

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Eye Candy Patinkin

Death and Other Details (Hulu). We have Wag Supremo Rian Johnson to thank for the whodunit revival. He had nothing to do with this fizzy pop created by Mike Weiss and Heidi Cole McAdams but his fingerprints are there — the vast cast, the sumptuous sets, and a quirky detective (played by Sir Mandy Patinkin, trying out a few accents). Oh, and murder! The result is a just-diverting-enough mystery, featuring Violett Beane as a foundling with tragic backstory who winds up assisting the Great Sleuth. After a vile guest is harpooned, they question a luxury cruise full of suspects. More than a dash of Wes Anderson’s style gives the affair a Candyland vibe, which makes it interesting to look at even when you’re not buying the killer voyage conceit. The mystery behind Beane’s Louise Brooks bob remains unsolved. — Mary Debenham

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Are We Having Nun Yet?

The Woman in the Wall (Showtime). Ms. Intensity Ruth Wilson returns as Lorna Brady, a wild-eyed Irishwoman who does bizarre things when she sleep walks. Such as, heaving a hatchet into a picture of Jesus Christ (“Sorry Jesus,” she says upon waking). Lorna is a survivor of the infamous Magdalene laundries, and her infant was spirited away by nuns. Now she’s on a mission to find the kid, which intersects with the investigation of a cop (Dashing Daryl McCormack) looking into murder of a priest. The trail leads past a few corpses to a convent where ghastly things happened. The atmosphere in Joe Murtagh’s thriller is as thick as Guinness, but Wilson cuts through it with characteristic fire. — Caithleen Brady

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Wag Oona Chaplin’s grandfather Charlie was one of cinema’s greatest stars. He also ran afoul of J. Edgar Hoover and became mired in scandal and political controversy. Chaplin left Hollywood in 1952, returning only to receive a special Oscar 20 years later. Now Oona (named after his wife, Oona O’Neill) narrates the story a complicated genius and others caught up in the Red Scare. — Connie Sachs