Mr. Smith Hits a Roadblock

WASHINGTON -- Jeff Smith, an aspiring politician in Missouri, bears no resemblance to Jimmy Stewart. Unlike Stewart, who was a lanky leading man, Smith is small and boyish. Unlike Stewart's homespun tenor, Smith's voice tends toward the upper registers. His appearance is so youthful that a colleague once said of him, "He's obviously short, looks like he's 12 and sounds like he's castrated."

Doesn't sound like a movie star, does he? Nor does he sound like a candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives, but that didn't stop him from trying. His inspiring, uphill battle in a 2004 Missouri Democratic primary is the subject of "Can Mr. Smith Get To Washington Anymore?" a fascinating independent documentary that has already picked up some honors on the film-festival circuit. It's now playing in Washington and will screen in selected U.S. cities throughout the year.

Just 29 when he announced his candidacy, Smith had trouble convincing even his family that his decision was a sound one. His dad asked him if he was nuts. His mom initially dismissed his run as an "off the wall notion." His grandmother thought it would actually be a step down. "I don't think a person with a mind like he has should waste it in politics," she explained.

But Smith decided to take the risk. He started out with zero name recognition and one volunteer staffer. "He asked me what were his odds of winning and I told him zilch," said one political expert quoted in the film. By the end of the race, however, Smith had the attention of the public and an army of volunteers almost 500 strong.

Throughout the film, he comes off as tireless, intense and smart, adept at speaking off the cuff and offering himself as "a true progressive alternative." His apparent lack of guile naturally invites comparison with his namesake played by Jimmy Stewart in Frank Capra's 1939 classic, "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington." In truth, though, the "let's-put-on-a-campaign" spirit of his supporters brings to mind those golden-era, Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland musicals.

Except the whiz kids who worked with Smith probably weren't familiar with Rooney and Garland. Their average age seemed to be about 24. Says one aide: "A lot of our confidence that we could pull this off came from our own ignorance, our own naivete." We should all be so "ignorant."

Bolstered by his mounting support, Smith tried to knock on every door in Missouri's Third District, once the domain of Richard Gephardt, who stepped down in 2004 after 28 years in the House. The documentary shows the candidate staring at closed doors, fending off barking dogs, cold-calling potential voters and stubbornly cutting through the noxious fumes of indifference wafting through the south side of St. Louis.

When he does manage to talk to residents, they rarely have the fresh faces and perspectives on display back at headquarters. "You're not rich and crooked yet?" one observer asks with good-natured skepticism. "Well ... we gotta get you elected so you can screw us like everybody else."

Such deeply entrenched cynicism may help explain why Smith's campaign faced such staggering odds to begin with. Sure, he was unknown. But he had a record of enlightened social activism, having co-founded two charter math-science academies in the inner city. And he was articulate and forthright about his political positions -- against the war, pro-choice, pro-universal health care -- none of them out of place in that traditionally Democratic district.

Smith was up against a reluctant press (he failed to attract significant media endorsements) and a voting populace accustomed to passively accepting whatever was offered them. These hindrances are embodied by the front-runner and eventual winner of the race, Russ Carnahan. His sole, sparkling credential is his membership in one of the state's most powerful political families. Carnahan's grandfather was a congressman. His father was a governor. His mother served in the U.S. Senate. The Carnahans' clout in Missouri, explains one expert, is comparable to the Kennedys' in Massachusetts.

Although Carnahan is never shown in the film in a flattering light, he isn't portrayed as an overly zealous pol who will stop at nothing to win. If this riveting documentary has a villain, it's the specter of inherited political office, which looms as large in Missouri as it does anywhere. The questions explored so cleverly in "Can Mr. Smith Get To Washington Anymore?" are: At what point does an admirable family tradition of public service warp into a staid expectation of privilege? And what, if anything, will the voters ever do about it?