Studio 60 on the Soapbox Strand

"You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God."

Writer and producer Aaron Sorkin penned that memorable line in 1993 for the movie Malice. It was one of the first times the American public got a taste of his often vitriolic take on matters of faith. Then in 1999 Sorkin created The West Wing and kicked off his most successful TV series to date with fictional President Josiah Bartlet throwing Scripture back in the face of a "pro-family" advocate before telling him and those like him to "get [their] fat a--es out of my White House." A couple of years later, the Bible-reading Catholic Bartlet walked into a cathedral to call God a "feckless thug," and tell Him to go "to hell" (in Latin).

After a three-year hiatus, the mastermind behind such spiritual showdowns is back on the small screen with a new semiautobiographical drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. And yes, he's still fuming about either God or His followers.

Aaron Sorkin's Network Moment
Before a single episode of Studio 60 had aired, it was dubbed "the most exciting new show of the season" and a potential "small-screen classic." Critics heralded Sorkin as the long-awaited savior of NBC and praised him for his acerbic yet "accurate" take on matters few other writers are willing to touch.

Studio 60's early episodes have revolved around whether the series' centerpiece, a Saturday Night Live-esque sketch show, should include a skit called "Crazy Christians." The bit's writer, Matt Albie (played by Matthew Perry), is brought back with his producer pal (played by West Wing alum Brad Whitford) to salvage the same show that fired them four years before. They, of course, lobby hard for the routine, despite knowing that it will incite the criticism (and boycotts) of an increasingly vocal Christian audience. The stuffy network suits, on the other hand, threaten to pull the plug, not wanting to lose red-state viewership.

It's a typical Sorkin standoff that gets kicked off with a typical Sorkin tirade. "We're all being lobotomized by this country's most influential industry that's just thrown in the towel on any endeavor to do anything that doesn't include the courting of 12-year-old boys," the show-within-a-show's aging (soon to be ex-) director rants to his live audience. "The two things that make [networks] scared gutless are the FCC and every psycho religious cult that gets positively horny at the very mention of a boycott."

Sorkin explained that "the theme of [the director's] rant is how TV has failed society, but the show and the characters on the show are very aware of the great things that television can do, the great things that it's done in the past and its place in society."

Sticks and Stones...
Oddly, at an earlier press conference, Sorkin also stated, "When things that are very mean-spirited and voyeuristic go on TV, I think it's bad crack in the schoolyard." So "Crazy Christians" isn't mean-spirited? And calling conservatives "psycho religious cult" members isn't bad crack? Just in case viewers didn't make the leap from "cult" to Christians, Sorkin has Albie call The 700 Club founder Pat Robertson a bigot a few minutes later. "Throw in the Halloween costumes and you've got yourself a Klan rally," he spits.

And there's more. In following episodes the Emmy award-winner mocks those who believe God created the world. He takes shots at Christian universities and publications. He makes fun of a small-town community for taking a moral stand on what plays its high school will be allowed to produce. In short, he paints moral conservatives in general and the entire "Christian Right" in particular as the big, bad wolf that (finally) needs to be put in its place.

Interestingly, Sorkin claims the scales aren't—or won't be—tipped as badly as they seem. "I don't think the religious right will be demonized," he said before his series began, "and I hope that it's Sarah's character that will send that message the loudest."

He's referring to the show's lone Christian, Harriet Hayes (Sarah Paulson). She, like President Bartlet, is portrayed as having an "authentic" faith—one that stands strong in the midst of a completely secular environment, yet one that recognizes its own shortcomings and can laugh at itself.

"I was scared of this character," Paulson said. "How can she hang out in this world where people make fun of the things she believes in? [But] she's complicated and multifaceted, just like everyone."

Editing Christians on the Fly
What exactly does "complicated and multifaceted" mean when Sorkin is writing the words coming out of Christians' mouths? His version of Christianity "redeemed" is, in short, the stuff of Hollywood's dreams, one that doesn't step on any unbelieving toes. It's a free-range system of beliefs that makes room for lots of gray matter. It's a faith based on human rationale, not biblical truth. And so in Harriet we find a mere token TV Christian who's ready and willing to compromise at every corner—thus, becoming complicated and multifaceted.

She's given the last word when it's convenient (or funny), but she also jokes to fellow cast members that God loves her more than them and that's why they're going to hell. The electricity goes out when her colleagues mock God and she even leads them in a pre-show prayer, but she adamantly defends the "Crazy Christians" sketch. And though she tells Albie that "not every one of [Pat Robertson's fans] is the grotesque stereotype you'd like them to be," in the end she agrees with his assessment of The 700 Club.

A, B or C, Pick One Response
Sorkin's trumped-up caricature of Christians isn't causing everyone in the Christian and socially conservative communities to fume with rage, as he might expect. Indeed, there's a wide range of reaction. Rick Bonn, a self-described "crazy Christian" reviewer for hollywoodjesus.com, applauds Sorkin's new series and says, "Sorkin has a healthy regard for religion and a deep loyalty to discussion of the issues. And he's bringing both more into the open."

Others find the screenwriter's tactics a case in point example of Hollywood's double standard. "What Hollywood likes is having the almighty power to offend—to 'challenge' society as they like to describe it—freely," says Brent Bozell, president of both the Media Research Center and the Parents Television Council. "But only some people are sought out for offending. For every supposedly crazy parent who worries about sex, violence and smutty talk on TV, perhaps there's another supposedly crazy parent who worries about different offenses, such as Twinkie commercials or scenes with cool, beautiful people smoking cigarettes. But those parents don't get mocked by scriptwriters. It is those with religious objections who get singled out."

Still others are opting for another response: passivity. Author, teacher and Hollywood screenwriting coach Barbara Nicolosi points out that the Christian-bashing is nothing new or courageous, as it's presented through Sorkin's characters. "I'd get really mad about it, except that I think the audience is going to reject Studio 60 as just more really lame exercise in Hollywood narcissism," she writes. "Getting mad about the intolerance of 'crazy Christians' would be swinging at a pitch in the dirt."

So which is it? Is Sorkin displaying a "healthy regard for religion," or is he just vainly venting spiritual acrimony? Maybe it would be quicker and less painful to ask a rhetorical question instead: Are Christians crazy?

It seems Nicolosi is on to something. This pitch is in the dirt. Still, letting that be our only reaction (or lack thereof) doesn't take into account the damage Sorkin is capable of doing to our culture over the long haul. You'd have to be a really lousy writer to not have influenced an audience at least a little bit preaching to them on your shows week after week after week—for more than a decade. And Sorkin is far from lousy. Which means that whether the pitch is high and away, down the middle or in the dirt, batters need to keep their eye on the ball.