Goodbye to the Scaramouch

Goodbye to the Scaramouch
Steve Bannon, Trump’s chief strategist, fits the bill as the “Dottore,” who, as Jennifer Meagher writes in an essay, is “usually depicted as obese
and red-cheeked from drinking.” I’m tempted to offer the role of the belligerent, windy “Il Capitano,” or Captain, to Sebastian Gorka, a deputy assistant to Trump, who recently told the BBC that, “The military is not a microcosm of civilian society.
They are there to kill people and blow stuff up.”
The lovers, of course, have to be Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner — they of the almost bloodless perfection — whose doting
father complicates their sumptuous lives by bestowing upon them titles and tasks for which they are unqualified.
As J. K. Rowling put it in a tweet: “You tiny, tiny, tiny little man.”
In a single week, Trump reminded everyone — if a reminder were needed — just how mean he is.
He tweeted an announcement that he had reinstated a ban on transgender individuals serving in “any capacity” in the United States armed forces, and suggested during a visit to Suffolk County Community College in New York
that he wanted law enforcement to be “rough” on suspects
Anthony Scaramucci’s foul mouth was never going to pass muster in a White House run by a retired United States Marine Corps general.
So the Scaramouch, a stock clown figure of old Italian comedy, is gone as White House communications director.
In his total absence of dignity and decorum, his violence and his vulgarity, he was the emblem par excellence of the Trump White House.