Trump trial offers dab of cringe humor
Stormy Daniels, second from left, exits the courthouse in Manhattan, Tuesday, after testifying about her alleged sexual encounter with Donald Trump in 2006, among other things. Credit: AP/Seth Wenig
In a news cycle full of foreign wars and domestic strife, the Manhattan trial of Donald Trump on 34 felony counts of falsifying business records has inadvertently gifted us a brief element of comic relief. One can appreciate the sheer burlesque of this one case without risking bad taste, without prejudging the merits of the case, and even regardless of partisan loyalties.
The allegations lodged in state court against the ex-president involve whether “hush money” was improperly logged as business expenses. They do not involve the incitement of a riot, or plotting the theft of an election, or sexual assault, or appropriation of sensitive security documents — charges that have been at stake in Trump's other court embroilments.
So we can enjoy scenes we might once have only imagined in a sitcom. This rich and powerful one-time aspirant to Manhattan glitterati sits in a courtroom alternatively stewing petulantly, apparently dozing, or blurting curse words, testing the tolerance of Judge Juan Merchan. The erstwhile leader of the free world goes out of the courtroom and complains it’s too cold in the room. Over-entitled juvenile conduct at age 77 can be hilarious to behold if you wish to see it that way.
On Tuesday, Stormy Daniels, aka Stephanie Clifford, aka the porn purveyor Trump made famous, took the stand to testify about payments received via the “catch-and-kill” practices of the National Enquirer regarding their purported affair.
The public surprise over her presence for years in Trump’s world has worn off to the point where we almost regard her as another of his reputationally challenged contacts and acquaintances.
The business and folly of sexual relations have long been a source of humor in general. The details of Trump’s liaison also invoke what’s called cringe comedy — the humor that comes from audience discomfort.
One clash between Daniels and Trump attorney Susan Necheles arose when Necheles, trying to challenge the porn actress’ credibility, cited a tweet by the witness that said, “I don't owe him s--- and I'll never give that orange turd a dime.” (She owed Trump legal fees from a prior lawsuit.)
Necheles: “That's you calling President Trump names, correct?”
Daniels: “In retaliation for him calling me names.”
Necheles: “You call him names all the time, right? You despise him.”
Daniels responded that she was answering Trump’s widely disseminated slurs for her: “Horseface” and “Sleazebag.” She said he started it.
It was even more cringeworthy when Daniels went what was deemed to be too far in explicitly describing her sexual encounter with Trump in 2006.
Judge Juan Merchan said with droll understatement of certain details Daniels uttered: “There are some things that would have been better left unsaid,” and the witness “was a little difficult to control.” But, he rejected the unlikely bid from Trump’s lawyers to get Merchan to declare a mistrial as a result.
On TV sitcoms, beleaguered judges reacting dryly to the peculiar actions of litigants have been followed by many a laugh track.
It all rings of the tabloid farces that made Trump famous in his younger years. He called in to newspapers to boast of his wealth and sex life, under the guise of fake names like John Miller and John Barron. “Best Sex I've Ever Had” appeared on the front page of the New York Post on Feb. 16, 1990, purportedly quoting Marla Maples, who later became Trump’s second wife.
Presidencies aside, just enjoy the current Trump revival show, a short-term sorbet for the news consumer. Follow it soon, while it's still funny.
Columnist Dan Janison's opinions are his own.
Dan Janison is a member of the Newsday editorial board.
