KEY POINTS:
Channel-surfing to fill in time before the rugby last weekend I caught a chunk of the Clint Eastwood thriller In the Line of Fire.
Eastwood - who, unlike most Hollywood leading men, is prepared to act his age - plays a past-it Secret Service agent haunted by guilt over having failed to protect John F. Kennedy. He gets drawn into a cat-and-mouse game with a fiendishly cunning and manipulative psycho who has vowed to kill the current President.
An interesting aspect of the movie is its essentially accurate portrayal of the bloated logistics of the imperial presidency: the President travels in Air Force One, a customised jumbo jet, which is preceded by a C-5 Galaxy, a monster military transport aircraft, carrying a fleet of bazooka-proof limos; the presidential motorcade stretches out like a wagon train denying ordinary citizens access to main thoroughfares; he's accompanied by a teeming entourage of aides and advisers and gimlet-eyed, square-jawed Secret Service agents.
These trappings of office, which exist at least partly for the purpose of transforming unexceptional individuals into apparent titans, came to mind this week when I observed our Minister of Foreign Affairs entering a fish'n'chip shop.
While the healthy eating zealots might be appalled that a senior minister of the Crown could patronise a fast-food outlet, I believe we should take pride in the fact that we live in a society in which one of our most recognisable and controversial political leaders can rub shoulders with the rest of us. Sure, Winston was his usual power-suited, pomaded self and therefore a conspicuous presence as he loitered at the counter waiting for his parcel of shark'n'fries, but there wasn't an aide or bodyguard in sight.
One can only speculate whether a combination of grease, batter, and mercury was kicking in when Winston suggested that Iraq would descend into "total chaos" if American forces were withdrawn now.
Predictably, he copped plenty of flak for having the poor taste to put forward this plausible but inconvenient scenario. It's now a given that the American-led occupation is a bad thing which should be ended forthwith; therefore it's unhelpful to point out that the consequences of doing what the enlightened consensus demands might in fact be catastrophic.
Australia's rosy-cheeked Foreign Minister Alexander Downer took a different tack, warning that if America is humiliated in Iraq chaos will cascade through the Middle East into Southeast Asia and the Pacific, eventually washing up on Takapuna beach.
No one will take any notice of Downer for two reasons: firstly, many - perhaps most - people here and elsewhere would actually quite like to see America humiliated. Secondly, this is just a re-heated version of the discredited domino theory which conservative politicians used to scare a generation brought up on the Yellow Peril into supporting the Vietnam War.
The conservatives were wrong. The dominoes didn't tumble after America scuttled out of Vietnam.
And Winston might be wrong: peace - or something approximating to it - might descend on Iraq as soon as the Americans quit although I wonder how many advocates of withdrawal soon would put their houses on it.
But the fact is - and this is where Winston was perhaps a little naive - we really don't give a continental what happens in Iraq after the withdrawal. We didn't when Saddam was gassing the Kurds and the Marsh Arabs and generally behaving like Joseph Stalin in a keffiyeh and we won't if the Sunnis and Shiites get on with the civil war they seem hell-bent on having.
Once the western forces leave, Iraq will cease to be a running news story. We can then move on, secure in the knowledge that any horrors unfolding there will be like trees that fall in the forest. And, besides, it will be their choice.
Incidentally, for those who haven't encountered Winston in the flesh, I can confirm that he's on the short side. No surprise there.
Male politicians, like male movie stars, tend to be vertically challenged.
It's a well-known fact that many of Hollywood's biggest heart-throbs, past and present, are borderline dwarves who have to mount a step-ladder to kiss their leading ladies on the lips.
Clint Eastwood is one of the few exceptions. Perhaps that's why he doesn't mind acting his age.
