If Hillary Clinton is Broadway, Bernie Sanders is off-Broadway. If Clinton is Meryl Streep — talented, tireless, accomplished, a star who’s been the center of attention for as long as anyone can remember — Sanders is Gene Hackman, who only became a marquee name after years in lesser roles and retained the supporting actor’s knack for stealing scene after scene.
It’s true that the Sanders candidacy has been powered by his unrelenting focus on economic inequality and the depredations of Wall Street. But presidential campaigns unfold in a cultural context, not just in the arenas of politics and policy. As we toggle back and forth each night between CNN and HBO, we inevitably see campaigns through the prism of culture. The candidates who achieve unexpected success, as Sanders has, are often those whose personas resonate in ways that can’t be measured by any poll.
I’m not referring to his direct connections with pop culture, like the instant-classic campaign ad that draws from the emotional wellspring of Simon & Garfunkel’s “America,’’ or the recent event in Iowa City where he climbed onstage to sing “This Land Is Your Land’’ with the band Vampire Weekend. No, what’s at work here is something more indirect and subtextual. It has to do with the archetypes and associations that we — the viewers and voters — carry around in our heads and into the voting booth.
These subtle cultural bonds relate to how we see ourselves reflected on screens and stages, and whom we instinctively identify with — and it’s often not the leading man or leading lady. Our attention is frequently drawn to the one who was previously ignored or underrated, who doesn’t seem to belong in the picture. (Sanders actually had a small role in a 1999 low-budget comedy, called “My X-Girlfriend’s Wedding Reception,’’ in which he played — I kid you not — Rabbi Manny Shevitz.) When some long-respected but unheralded performer finally nabs a Tony, Emmy, or Grammy after decades of toiling in the trenches, don’t we find it more gratifying than when a mega-star cruises to a preordained victory? When a quirky indie film starring a bunch of nobodies prevails at Oscar time over a prestige picture with a big-name cast, doesn’t at least some part of us feel somehow vindicated?
Which brings us back to Bernie Sanders, the septuagenarian socialist from Vermont with the sometimes-unruly white hair and the undiluted Brooklyn accent. His persona, that of the gruff and unfiltered truth-teller, flourishes in the world of standup comedy, where we count on performers to peel away the facades and tell us what is really going on. Think Lewis Black, Wanda Sykes, Louis C.K. And perhaps, in a different vein, Larry David, a former standup comedian who has played Sanders on “Saturday Night Live.’’
While forcing the tightly scripted Clinton into a much closer race than she ever expected, Sanders is tapping into an enduring myth that is deeply embedded in theater, film, and sports alike: the underdog who claws his or her way to top dog, the bit player as unlikely star, the obscure member of the ensemble who ascends to a leading role. This myth is all the more potent because every so often it becomes a reality.
Patriots fans revel in the fact that fully 198 other players were picked in the 2000 NFL draft before Tom Brady was finally chosen. Theater fans know that Sutton Foster was elevated from understudy to lead role during the out-of-town run of “Thoroughly Modern Millie,’’ and proceeded to win a Tony Award. They know, too, that some of the biggest game-changers in theater history — from “Hair’’ to “Rent’’ to “Hamilton’’ — began life off-Broadway before they moved to the Main Stem and the bright lights. “Rocky’’ fans savor the back story to that 1976 film: A then-unknown Sylvester Stallone had to fight for the chance to play the career-making title role, doggedly refusing to sell his screenplay to producers unless he was cast as Rocky Balboa.
The against-the-odds dynamic central to the plot of “Rocky’’ is woven through countless other movies as well, seeping into our collective psyche in ways that subconsciously shape how we respond to candidates like Sanders. Of course, Clinton and her supporters can legitimately argue that no matter how strong her support may be from the political establishment, a woman candidate faces inherently steep odds in American politics (not to mention a double standard) and that her election as president would represent an important cultural milestone.
Live performance has mattered in a big way in the 2016 campaign, just as it did in 2008, when Obama electrified huge crowds. As the two Democratic rivals prepare for Tuesday’s New Hampshire primary, Sanders can partly attribute his standing to the size of the crowds at his early campaign events, which were the first signs that a new force was stirring to life. Their fervor generated buzz and momentum while giving fresh currency to the idea of presidential campaigns as a quadrennial exercise in participatory theater, not just made-for-TV events.
Supporters of Republican candidate Donald Trump, who has drawn massive crowds, also clearly feel part of the process. As for Trump himself, whose narcissism even Narcissus might find excessive, I suspect he would nod his head in agreement at the lament by legendary actor John Barrymore: “My only regret in the theatre is that I could never sit out front and watch me.’’
In certain ways, the Democratic primary campaign seems like a battle between two kinds of theater. On the one hand you have Clinton, presenting herself as the pragmatic progressive, the candidate of continuity who will protect and build on President Obama’s accomplishments. Her essential message to Obama’s supporters is similar to those ubiquitous ads for “Mamma Mia!’’: “You already know you’re gonna love it!’’
Then there’s Sanders, who has managed to sustain the insurgent vibe of nonprofit theater even as he became a national force and fund-raising powerhouse. Like the late Joseph Papp, founder of New York’s Public Theater and a pioneer in the world of nonprofit theater, Sanders has energized young audiences with edgy programming — hey, what’s more edgy than socialism? — and a catchy slogan (“Feel the Bern’’). The effect is to make supporters feel like they are members of a cool club, part of a movement against the machine.
Don Aucoin can be reached at aucoin@globe.com.