I’m taking a 1960s film class this semester, and last week, we watched a short documentary called Primary. It’s very famous in the nonfiction world – it follows John F. Kennedy and Hubert Humphery on the campaign trail in Wisconsin, competing for the democratic nomination in the 1960 presidential race. At just under an hour long, you see only a snapshot of each candidate – one speech each – but the effect is potent. Humphrey spends his time before a group of farmers, talking agricultural policy with a cup of coffee in his hand. Kennedy speaks in a crowded meeting hall, surrounded by aides and fans who cheer as he touts American glory on the global stage.

My professor turned off the projector and put it to the class: who would we vote for? Almost everyone said Kennedy. We gave a variety of reasons – his charisma, his command of language. He seemed presidential.

“And how about gorgeous, doesn’t that count for anything?” one woman asked. There are some older students in my class, and this woman was old enough to remember the 1960 campaign, and how dazzling Kennedy was. He was a celebrity, rich and well-connected, with a beautiful wife at his side. No wonder the country swooned.

Only a few stood up for poor Hubert Humphrey. He was friendly, a little stuffy, kind of corny, doing his best to be a down-to-earth man of the people. Some of my classmates appreciated his old-fashioned, door-to-door style as authentic and humanizing. But the 1960 electorate wasn’t interested.

Listening to all this, Kennedy struck me as a very modern candidate. He tightly controls his image in the film – there’s a whole scene where he preps for a photo shoot, adjusting and readjusting his hands, his posture, his smile. In that jam-packed meeting hall, the camera is forced to shoot him at extreme angles, making him appear larger than life.

To my mind, this kind of media deification has become standard. We’re so obsessed with celebrity that Donald Trump, a reality TV star, won the presidency in 2016. And in 2024, Kamala Harris is using pop stars and memes all over her campaign. Elections are popularity contests, just like they were in high school when we voted for the class president.

It makes me wonder if someone less arresting, like Calvin Coolidge perhaps, could ever have won the presidency with a documentary camera at his back the whole time. Our candidates can’t just shake hands behind closed doors now, they have to smile for the camera.

Primary is celebrated as a pioneering piece of “cinema verité” – the kind of unstructured documentary where the camera does nothing but watch. And yet, many of my classmates felt it leaned in Kennedy’s favor, despite all claims of impartiality. Kennedy lent himself to the camera, and consciously or not, the documentarians showed us that.

So, I suppose what I’m writing about is the power of the image. The power of celebrity images in particular. They were enough to sway the 1960 democratic primary. As Kamala Harris racks up endorsements from Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish, Charli XCX, the biggest stars of the moment, I see her making a similar gamble. Will this election come down to who sells the better image?

Maybe we lost something with Hubert Humphrey and his heart-to-hearts with constituents. But in 2024, there is no hiding from the camera. I hope on the journalism side we can stick to cinema verité, and let the images do the talking.