Donald Trump Became a Reality TV Star Again With His Rambling Convention Speech
In a rambling convention speech on Thursday night, Donald Trump — sweaty and with a bandage over his right ear from surviving an assassination attempt on his life — did what he does best. He talked, and talked, and talked. And talked. And talked. And talked.
In front of a captive audience — both the true-believer crowd in Milwaukee and those still glued to the Trump show at home — the 45th and would-be-47th President said relatively little about what he might accomplish with four more years in power. But Trump has never been one to let details get him down. What mattered was the spotlight. Trump preached to America through his favorite medium: television. With the camera focused on him once again after a long wilderness period, did it really matter if he spoke off-the-cuff? For 90 minutes of stream-of-consciousness storytelling, comprised of tangents and confusing asides, Trump seemed to revel in revisiting a bygone era — back when he led a much simpler life as a reality TV star.
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In my new book, “Apprentice in Wonderland,” I recount the hours I spent with Trump after he left the White House; he gave me a series of extensive interviews during a time he was almost entirely out of the public eye. The subject matter of my book helped grant me access: Trump loved to talk to me — and often at me — about how starring on Mark Burnett’s NBC reality TV series “The Apprentice” made him famous.
In our time together, Trump was more interested in gossiping about the Kardashians, Joan Rivers, Jeff Zucker, Omarosa or Dennis Rodman than reflecting on any of his achievements as president. But it made sense: Fame, for Trump, is the ultimate currency. He once marveled to me about how some of his richest friends couldn’t get reservations at hot restaurants. What’s the point of all that money, Trump wondered, if you can’t even get a good seat for dinner?
The Republican National Convention seemed designed by Trump to take the country back to the days when he was “a ratings machine” (as he loves to describe himself). This was a convention that played like it was produced by Mark Burnett — the impresario who helped make Trump’s name when he shaped “The Apprentice” around his persona. Earlier this week, Trump turned his vice presidential search into a cliffhanger, finally selecting JD Vance as his running mate at the last minute on Monday just before the media circus began. Traditionally, nominees show up at conventions on the final night of festivities; Trump entered the arena that night, with the bandage from Saturday’s attack on his life emblazoned on his right ear. The cameras followed his emergence from backstage as though Trump were a boxer entering the ring.
This was good publicity. But for Trump, the concept of “bad publicity” doesn’t exist — it’s all publicity. On Thursday, Trump dragged his nomination acceptance speech to Herculean proportions. It was yet another strange performance in the public eye — and yet, it seemed to channel the boardroom boss who dreamed of one day winning an Emmy. (Trump was still furious, in our post-presidency afternoons together, that “The Apprentice” kept losing to “The Amazing Race.”) For his convention speech, he took the stage, to the backdrop of a neon sign with his last name on it in bright lights. It wasn’t unlike the giant stage apparatus in the Broadway musical “Chicago,” where Roxie Hart croons, “The name on everybody’s lips is gonna be Roxie.”
Nothing gave Trump more of a thrill than exploiting a personal tragedy in the interest of topping the Nielsen ratings. Trump brought props and photographs as he took the most traumatic experience of his life — surviving an assassination attempt on Saturday afternoon in Butler, Pa. — and made it into a Barbara Walters-worthy tell-all, where he played both interviewer and interviewee. This was act one of his convention speech, and featured Trump at his most coherent and compelling. He teased the audience about how he would tell this story for the first and only time on the convention stage. And in stark and gripping language, Trump talked about how gunfire whizzed past his head, as he narrowly escaped death.
“I said to myself, ‘Wow, what was that?’ It can only be a bullet.” Trump announced dramatically. The bullet grazed his ear. “There was blood pouring everywhere, and in a certain sense, I felt safe. I had God on my side.” He then walked a few steps to the podium to kiss the uniform of Corey Comperatore, a firefighter who was shot at killed at Trump’s rally. (Like most props from “The Apprentice,” it’s likely the uniform was just a replica for TV, since it featured a typo of the firefighter’s last name.)
Without the structure of a shocking event, Trump lost some steam as he moved forward — in fact, he seemed to go off script. This is a familiar mode for Trump. Often in our time together, it would be hard to follow the former president’s train of thought as he rambled about everything from COVID to his hatred of Debra Messing and Martha Stewart and other celebrity friends who turned their back on Trump as president. On the convention stage, Trump recited a favorite campaign rally line about how illegal immigrants are invading America from asylums — before offering a non sequitur about “the late, great Hannibal Lecter,“ who lived in a mental institution.
Trump would say a line like, “I am the one saving democracy for the people of our country,” before gloating about how a judge dismissed his classified documents case in Florida. Trump told his favorite lie about Democrats “cheating on elections.” He vowed to cut taxes, bring down inflation and help the auto manufacturing industry. But there was no rhythm or finesse to his platform. There was no style or swagger. This was an actor who seemed to be getting weary of delivering the same lines night after night.
As the speech went on, Trump started to grow tired, and so did the crowd. Throughout the convention, Trump had been dozing off through some of the speeches. But at the podium, as midnight drew near for East Coast viewers, Trump wasn’t exactly energized. The media loves to speculate about how Trump is “different” or “changed.” But at his own convention, Trump made the argument that the next season of his presidency would be exactly like the last; the only difference is, he wants to give himself even more screen time. The message got so tedious and redundant, it ought to have inspired the Democrats to fight back. Trump’s speech proved many things, but one most of all: There is a window here. Based on Trump’s latest performance, there is a possibility that he might not get renewed.
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