It's a question threatening to tear Hollywood's most prominent, liberal-kingmaking billionaires apart at the gilded seams: Do they throw a fabulous fund-raiser aimed at continuing the spread Obamamania, the sensation sweeping the industry, or do they fall back into the calming, emasculating embrace of longtime Democratic stalwart Hillary Clinton, a tragically unsexy, but arguably safer, choice? The answer, of course, is, "Why can't we do both? We have so much fucking money that no one can tell us to make up our minds until we're good and ready," but Slate notes that a recent Robert Novak column seemed to imply that the officially unbetrothed Steven Spielberg's hosting of a Clinton event means that he's already decided to abandon DreamWorks partners David Geffen and Jeffrey Katzenberg's desire to call forth from the heavens a deluge of showbiz cash that will carry their beloved Obama to an easy nomination:
The Novak column is too silly to merit discussion—except, perhaps, about how it illuminates the real state of affairs in deep-pocketed Hollywood.
If Spielberg had abandoned the upcoming Obama event, that would be news. But he hasn't. Many expect him to commit to Hillary in the future. But one veteran Hollywood Democratic operative said skeptically, "There is no one on earth that would know that from Steven who would talk to Bob Novak."
The suspicion among some in the Obama faction is that this story came from the Clinton camp, eager to put a stop to the "Hillary Hemorrhages Hollywood Support" stories. In a recent visit to town, Clinton campaign chairman Terry McAuliffe conveyed the notion that folks should pick sides now. Most aren't. In fact, McAuliffe's admonishment prompted Norman Lear, who, like many, is contributing to multiple candidates, to ask a Los Angeles Times reporter, "What's Hillary going to do? Jail me?"
It's somehow reassuring that not even the manipulative tactics of a presidential hopeful's operatives can hurry Hollywood's thorough decision-making process, which requires months of deliberate political starfucking over two-thousand-per-plate dinners before an industry consensus can be reached.