Since Steve Bannon emerged, people have marveled at him as the mysterious Satan- and Sith-loving mound of decomposing organic material that somehow has the ear of the president. The teeter-totter of power has tipped back and forth in this White House between his racist, xenophobic hard-right ideology and the supposedly more moderate politics of the president’s apple-cheeked nephew Jared Kushner, but Bannon’s sinister, shadowy presence remains. The details of his past have been marveled over repeatedly throughout Trump’s rise to power—his desire to create a rap musical, his space opera version of Titus Andronicus, his brief stint making money in World Of Warcraft gold farming, and the fact that much of his wealth comes from residual checks based on an early gamble on Seinfeld syndication, making people everywhere feel guilty every time they sit through a several-hour block of season-three episodes.
Part of the fascination comes from how this purportedly liberal-leaning creative type has turned into the virulently racist mastermind of a transparently exploitative nationalist administration. A new article in The New Yorker exploring Bannon’s Hollywood years does a great job connecting the ideological dots, detailing how an opportunistic alpha male found his footing in propaganda, and, taking inspiration from Ronald Reagan, turned Hollywood failure into political power.
It’s a fascinating read, and well worth spending some time with. But it is also absolutely action-packed with savage burns that are worth enjoying on their own. Much of the reporting contradicts the more mythic version of Bannon’s backstory built up in other profiles. For example, he made little impression on the movers and shakers of Hollywood:
“I never heard of him, prior to Trumpism,” the media mogul Barry Diller told me. “And no one I know knew him in his so-called Hollywood period.”
Another said, “All the years I knew him, he just wanted to make a buck.”