Political thrillers have long served as a captivating lens through which we examine the intricacies of power, governance and the darker recesses of human nature. These narratives, filled with conspiracy, betrayal and moral ambiguity, have not only entertained but also shaped societal perceptions of politics. Richard Condon’s seminal work, The Manchurian Candidate (1959), stands as a cornerstone of this genre, presenting a harrowing vision of a hidden America driven by greed and manipulation. This narrative foreshadowed the cultural and political milieu that would ultimately pave the way for Donald Trump’s rise to prominence. My thesis posits that “Trump was a long time coming, but a Trump was bound to happen,” encapsulating the inevitability of a figure like Trump in a society moulded by the themes and tropes of political thrillers. In this essay, I will explore how this genre, through its exploration of distrust, spectacle, commodification and moral ambiguity, influenced the cultural and political landscape, thereby creating the conditions necessary for Trump’s emergence.
The Genesis of Distrust: Political Thrillers and the Hidden America
At the core of political thrillers lies a compelling premise: the visible world is a mere facade, obscuring a more sinister reality beneath. Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate crystallised this idea, presenting a “second America hidden inside the visible America.” The novel’s narrative – a brainwashed Korean War veteran turned political assassin, manipulated by a cabal entwined with both foreign powers and domestic greed – exploited Cold War anxieties while introducing a more profound, enduring concept: that those in power may be driven not by ideology but by profit and control. The characters in Condon’s narrative, depicted as pursuing “monstrous ends by rational means,” encapsulate this ethos, illustrating a world where power is transactional and morality is an afterthought.
The cultural impact of The Manchurian Candidate was significant, particularly following its 1962 film adaptation, which brought its chilling narrative to a broader audience. The assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963, just four years after the novel’s publication, lent an unsettling plausibility to Condon’s tale. As noted, “America never quite regained its psychic feet after Dallas,” and the nation’s collective trauma amplified the resonance of Condon’s vision. The notion that powerful entities could orchestrate the assassination of a president, profiting from the demise of a national icon, transcended the realm of fiction. This reality, combined with subsequent upheavals – Vietnam, Watergate and the Pentagon Papers – fostered a deepening public distrust in institutions, creating a cultural climate ripe for the narratives espoused by political thrillers.
Subsequent works in the genre built upon this foundation. John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1963) laid bare the moral compromises of Cold War espionage, depicting governments as cynical manipulators of truth. Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Identity (1980) illustrated a world where individuals become pawns in shadowy conspiracies, their identities obliterated by faceless bureaucracies. Films such as All the President’s Men (1976), chronicling the Watergate investigation and Oliver Stone’s JFK (1991), which probed conspiracy theories surrounding Kennedy’s death, further entrenched the idea that the “system” was corrupt. These narratives, while often speculative, resonated deeply with a public increasingly sceptical of official accounts.
This growing distrust was a critical precursor to Trump’s rise. By the time he announced his candidacy in 2015, decades of political thrillers had conditioned Americans to view government, media and elites with a lens of suspicion. Trump’s rhetoric – his denouncements of the “deep state,” “fake news,” and “crooked” politicians – echoed the genre’s portrayal of a hidden, malevolent establishment. His promise to “drain the swamp” was a direct appeal to a populace steeped in narratives of betrayal, where the visible America was a facade and the hidden one harboured the truth. Political thrillers did not create this distrust; rather, they amplified it, providing a framework through which millions could interpret their disillusionment. In this context, Trump emerged not as an anomaly, but as a product of a culture that had internalised the genre’s warnings about power.
Spectacle and the Theatricality of Politics
Political thrillers are inherently theatrical, relying on high-stakes drama, charismatic protagonists and larger-than-life villains to captivate audiences. This emphasis on spectacle has profoundly influenced how politics is perceived and performed, creating a cultural appetite for drama that Trump adeptly exploited. In The Manchurian Candidate, characters like Eleanor Iselin epitomise this theatricality, manipulating perceptions with ruthless precision. Her ability to orchestrate a conspiracy while maintaining a public facade of patriotism foreshadows the media-savvy figures who dominate contemporary politics. Condon’s characters, described as “wonderfully dotty” and “instantly recognisable,” underscore their archetypal quality, anticipating the performative nature of modern political life.
The genre’s theatricality found fertile ground in the evolving media landscape of the late 20th century. The advent of 24-hour cable news, tabloid journalism and reality television transformed politics into a form of entertainment, where attention often eclipsed substance. Political thrillers, with their dramatic pacing and high-stakes narratives, helped pave the way for this shift. Works like Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal (1971), with its relentless assassin and high-wire tension, or Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October (1984), featuring a heroic everyman defying global powers, celebrated individuals who bend the world to their will through audacious action. These narratives normalised the idea that power is seized through performance rather than policy.
Trump, a product of this media-saturated era, was uniquely positioned to capitalise on this trend. His background on The Apprentice, where he crafted a persona as a decisive, larger-than-life mogul, endowed him with an instinctive understanding of spectacle. His campaign became a masterclass in political theatre: memorable slogans (“Make America Great Again”), provocative insults (“Low-Energy Jeb”) and rally performances that blended stand-up comedy with revivalist fervour. Political thrillers had conditioned audiences to expect drama and charisma from their leaders and Trump delivered both in abundance. His debates, filled with zingers and personal attacks, resembled the confrontational style of a thriller protagonist facing down a corrupt system. To his supporters, he embodied the archetype of a Jason Bourne or Jack Ryan – a lone warrior battling shadowy elites.
The genre’s influence extended beyond Trump himself to the broader political culture. By the 2010s, politics had evolved into a stage where authenticity was gauged by performance rather than truth. Social media platforms like Twitter (now X) amplified this dynamic, rewarding provocative, attention-grabbing content. Trump’s tweets, often inflammatory or exaggerated, became the digital equivalent of a thriller’s plot twist, designed to maintain audience engagement. My assertion that “money bought everything except the totally irrelevant thing that no one in his right mind was interested in – sanity” resonates profoundly here. Trump’s wealth and media presence conferred credibility in a culture where spectacle reigned supreme and his willingness to embrace controversy only heightened his appeal. Political thrillers, by normalising the theatricality of power, helped create an environment in which a figure like Trump could thrive.
The Commodification of Power and Identity
A central theme within political thrillers is the commodification of power, where influence, loyalty and even truth are bought and sold. Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate vividly illustrates this, portraying a world where “money bought power, money bought fame, money bought love, money bought happiness.” The manipulation of Eleanor Iselin over her son and the global conspiracy behind Raymond Shaw’s programming are transactions driven by the pursuit of control. Later thrillers, such as John Grisham’s The Firm (1991) or The Pelican Brief (1992), depict similar dynamics, where corporations, governments and individuals trade justice and morality for profit.
This commodification resonated with the economic and cultural shifts of the late 20th century. The rise of consumer culture, neoliberalism and globalisation elevated wealth as a measure of success, blurring the line between public service and personal gain. By the 1980s, figures like Trump – then emblematic of Reagan-era excess with his gold-plated properties and tabloid fame – were celebrated as embodiments of the American Dream. Political thrillers reinforced this by depicting power as a game won by those with the most resources. In The Bourne Identity, governments and assassins operate like corporations, trading secrets and lives for advantage. In All the President’s Men, the Watergate scandal reveals a political machine fuelled by money and influence. These narratives normalised the idea that power is a commodity, accessible to those who can afford it.
Trump’s rise was a natural extension of this logic. His wealth, whether genuine or exaggerated, was central to his appeal, positioning him as a man who could not be bought. Yet, his career epitomised the commodification of identity, from his branded hotels to his reality TV persona. Political thrillers had prepared audiences for a world where image is reality and Trump’s brand – opulent, unapologetic and omnipresent – was a perfect fit. His campaign transformed political identity into a product, with “MAGA” hats, rallies and slogans functioning as marketable symbols of belonging. Like Condon’s characters, Trump understood that power is won through perception and his ability to dominate media narratives provided him with an edge over traditional politicians.
The genre’s focus on individual agency also aligned with Trump’s self-presentation. Political thrillers often centre on lone heroes or villains who reshape the world through sheer will, defying established systems and norms. Trump’s promise to single-handedly “fix” America – whether by constructing a wall, revitalising the economy, or dismantling the establishment – echoed this archetype. His supporters perceived him as a disruptor, a real-world equivalent of a thriller protagonist taking on a corrupt world. In a culture shaped by the commodification of power, Trump was not merely a candidate but a brand, a symbol of success in a world where money buys everything.
Moral Ambiguity and the Normalisation of Insanity
Political thrillers frequently blur the lines between hero and villain, presenting a world where moral ambiguity reigns. Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate exemplifies this, with characters who pursue “monstrous ends by rational means.” Eleanor Iselin serves as both a villain and a master strategist, her insanity cloaked in serene rationality. Later thrillers, such as le Carré’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (1974) or The Constant Gardener (2001), depict worlds where good and evil are relative and even heroes compromise their principles. This moral ambiguity reflects the genre’s scepticism of absolute truth, suggesting that the pursuit of power corrupts all who seek it.
The normalisation of moral ambiguity contributed to the cultural conditions for Trump’s rise. By portraying politics as a grey zone where complicity is ubiquitous, political thrillers eroded the expectation of moral leadership. Trump’s controversies – allegations of corruption, inflammatory rhetoric, personal scandals – became less disqualifying in a culture accustomed to flawed, ambiguous figures. His supporters often framed his flaws as proof of authenticity, a rejection of the hypocritical piety of traditional politicians. My argument that Condon’s characters are driven by “the totally irrelevant thing that no one in his right mind was interested in – sanity” is particularly pertinent here. Trump’s willingness to embrace chaos and defy norms was not a liability, but a strength, resonating with the genre’s portrayal of power as inherently disruptive.
Moreover, the genre’s normalisation of insanity – as a rational pursuit of irrational goals – foreshadowed Trump’s political style. His unpredictable behaviour, from late-night tweets to off-the-cuff remarks, mirrored the erratic yet calculated actions of a thriller antagonist. Like Condon’s Eleanor Iselin, Trump seemed to operate with a serene confidence, unburdened by conventional expectations. Political thrillers had conditioned audiences to accept, even admire, such figures, provided they delivered results. Trump’s ability to dominate attention and reshape political discourse, regardless of the means, was a testament to this dynamic.
The Inevitability of a Trump Figure
My central thesis – “Trump was a long time coming, but a Trump was bound to happen” – is vividly illustrated by the influence of political thrillers. These narratives did not create Trump, but they shaped the cultural and political conditions that made his rise inevitable. By fostering distrust in institutions, they eroded faith in the “visible America” and primed audiences for an outsider who promised to expose the hidden one. By elevating spectacle, they transformed politics into a stage where charisma eclipsed competence. By normalising the commodification of power, they paved the way for a figure whose wealth and media presence sufficed as credentials. And by embracing moral ambiguity, they created a world where traditional notions of leadership became irrelevant.
Trump’s emergence was a culmination of these trends, but it also served as a reflection of the genre’s darker warnings. Political thrillers are, at their core, cautionary tales about the fragility of democracy and the seductive allure of power. Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate warned of a world where rational madness prevails and later thrillers echoed this by illustrating how easily systems can be corrupted. Trump, with his disdain for norms and his ability to thrive in chaos, embodied these warnings, proving that the “dark inner country” Condon described was not merely a fictional construct but a palpable force in American life.
The parallels between Trump and the archetypal figures of political thrillers are striking. He embodies aspects of Eleanor Iselin, manipulating perceptions with theatrical flair; he channels the essence of Jason Bourne, a lone disruptor fighting against a corrupt system; and he mirrors the heroic figures of Tom Clancy, promising decisive action in an uncertain world. Yet, he is also a product of the genre’s broader cultural impact, which normalised the notion that power is a game won by those willing to embrace its darker aspects. In this regard, Trump was not just a long time coming; he was an inevitable consequence of the cultural upheavals of the 20th century, amplified by the narratives of political thrillers. A Trump was bound to emerge because, in the world of Condon and his successors, the hidden America consistently produces its champions – figures who reflect the nation’s deepest impulses, for better or worse.
The Legacy of Political Thrillers and the Path Forward
The influence of political thrillers extends beyond Trump’s rise to encompass the broader trajectory of American politics. By shaping how audiences perceive power, trust and morality, the genre has left an indelible mark on the cultural landscape. Its narratives of distrust have fuelled polarisation, as competing visions of the “hidden America” fracture the nation. Its emphasis on spectacle has reduced complex issues to soundbites and viral moments, undermining substantive debate. And its commodification of power has elevated wealth and fame above public service, engendering a political culture where branding often supersedes governing.
However, political thrillers also provide tools for understanding and resisting these dynamics. By exposing the mechanisms of manipulation – whether through Condon’s conspiracies, le Carré’s moral compromises, or Grisham’s corporate greed – they invite audiences to question the hidden forces shaping their world. The genre’s cautionary tales serve as reminders that democracy is fragile, vulnerable to those who exploit its weaknesses for personal gain. Trump’s rise, viewed through this lens, is not merely a historical event but a clarion call to address the conditions that rendered it possible.
The challenge moving forward is to forge a new narrative, one that counters the cynicism and spectacle of the thriller-driven world. This necessitates rebuilding trust in institutions, not through blind faith but through transparency and accountability. It demands a political culture that values substance over performance, where leaders are evaluated based on their actions rather than their ability to dominate headlines. Furthermore, it requires a rejection of the commodification of power, prioritising the public good over personal gain. Political thrillers, for all their influence, do not dictate destiny. They reflect the world as it is, but they also challenge us to envision what it could become.
In conclusion, political thrillers have profoundly shaped the cultural and political conditions that facilitated Trump’s ascendancy. Through their portrayal of distrust, spectacle, commodification and moral ambiguity, they created a world where a figure like Trump was not only possible but inevitable. The assertion that “Trump was a long time coming, but a Trump was bound to happen” encapsulates this dynamic, highlighting the long-brewing forces that culminated in his rise. Yet, the legacy of political thrillers is a double-edged sword. While they enabled the emergence of a Trump, they also offer insights into the hidden America and the tools to confront it. The pressing question now is whether we will continue to inhabit Condon’s reality – a world where money buys everything and sanity is deemed irrelevant – or whether we will collectively strive to write a new story, one that reclaims the visible America from the shadows.
