First of all, I am well aware (thank you very much Important Diary Police) that this is not an Important Diary(tm), however, it was requested by a Very Important Kossack(tm), so here it is: Your Not Very Important Diary about Mara Liasson's Frozen Smile.
Photo from Wikipedia.
Let me state up front that I don't get to listen to NPR very often, so I have no idea how she comes across in whatever capacity she fulfills there.
Instead, I know her solely from the somnambulent performance she resprises regularly on Brit Hume's nightly slurp-fest for the RNC. The first time I saw her introduced on the panel, as someone from NPR, I was naively expectant and ready for some real debate.
I know Fred Barnes is a man (I use the term loosely) who hugs his own breasts with both hands and huffs mightily - or grumpily - whenever he finishes speaking, so I know what to expect to from him.
I know Mort Kondracke is a loathesome toadstool who wears oversized glasses and has plastic hair. He's supposed to be the panel's "moderate". He lets Fred push him around like a dog who's been laying on top of the slippers. He makes me larf.
But Mara, sweet, introspective, vulnerable, Mara. She's our girl. She's our lefty, right? I mean, she's from NPR, damnit, and everyone knows those guys are communist lesbian secular humanist treehugging scum - in other words, my kind of people.
According to her profile on Wikipedia profile, "Liasson describes herself as "center-left"." I fear she is referring more specifically to her physical location on the set than any alleged political point of view she may secretly adhere to.
Having seen her dozens of time now, I can't remember one salient point she's ever made. She defers to Brit, or Mort, or Fred, or Charles (don't get me started), or Bill, or Brian, with such tactful dexterity that it appears her prime directive is to be the tee upon which rests the ball that any of the rest of them may try to take a whack at.
But she does have one recurring and very redeeming feature, and that is the frozen smile of death she displays at the top of every segment in which she appears. The photo above captures that extended, pained moment, during which her name is drawn from the pouty lips of Brit Hume. The camera lingers on her, most nights, as she spreads that icy grin; the grin that says, "My gynecologist has chilly tongs."
Some nights, the camera catches her before she raises up the wall that has that face painted upon its brick. At those moments, one can nearly see the facade erecting itself on what otherwise might be a face that one could take seriously: a face that has some substantive ideas crying out for presentation before a world hungry for answers.
Other times, the camera lingers a moment too long and she just can't hold the pose any longer. The face falls. The camera is still there. Those are the most poignant moments, as Mara looks to her right to gather up whatever golden nuggets of wisdom are ready to come tumbling out of one end or the other of Fred or Mort, and which it is her duty to not quite refute, but not quite agree to entirely either. That is her function. She's like a point guard that can pass, but never shoots. The other guys score. She's just a dependable role player.
Alas, Mara dresses up, shleps down to the studio, gets her makeup done, the hair, everything. All for that moment when she can smile at the viewer she knows has no use for her. She's a foil. She's sold her soul to sit on that set, and that smile is the very depiction of that bargain. She knows she can't say anything substantive or controversial - the cocktail parties with O'Lielly and Martha Macallum are way too good, and we all know what happened to Geraldo - yet she is acting as a placeholder for someone else who might. She drinks from the same lonely water fountain that FOX set aside for Alan Colmes.
I wonder sometimes what she is actually thinking during those precious moments when the camera focuses on her smile/grimace. I imagine her inner narrative as something like, "OK, camera's coming. You can do it, girl. You didn't get the Merriman Award 3 times over for nothing. OK, shields UP! Hold it. Hold it. Won't be long now. Hold it. Mort has visible boogers again today. I hate that little twerp. Keep smiling. I hate my life. I should have grabbed that second shot of gin when I was offered it. Why did I refuse? WHY? OK, hold on. Just one more second. I can't believe how much they pay me for this. Why is the camera staying on me so long? I. Can't. Go. ON!!! UGH!!" And the smile falls. And the soul descends, to his own little corner of hell. Then it bounces back for another day. Because she just doesn't give a shit. I hope she enjoys the little box she keeps her pride in as much as my boy enjoys sitting in his...
See?