[Obama is] the Mr. Tumnus of American politics, the gentle forest faun of Narnia, with throngs of reporters trembling to sit with him at tea and cakes, like the little girl in the C.S. Lewis story, as he plays the flute, chanting "We Are The Change We've Been Waiting For." And nobody laughs.
You don't laugh because you can't make fun of Obama. The ground would swallow you whole.
In the play, Chantecler reveals his secret for making the sun rise to Pheasant-Hen, yet she begins with some hesitation in believing that Chantecler possesses such power:
PHEASANT-HEN: And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is suffused--?
CHANTECLER: I have no clear idea of the whole world. But I sing for my own valley, and desire that every Cock may do the same for his.
CHANTECLER: But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to make my dawn.
PHEASANT-HEN: His dawn!
CHANTECLER: Ah, what I say sounds mad? I will make the dawn before your very eyes! And the wish to please you adding its ardour to the ordinary forces of my soul, I shall rise in singing, as I feel, to unusual heights, and the dawn will rise
more fair to-day than ever it rose before!
PHEASANT-HEN: More fair?
And yet, as Chantecler begins his song, performing brilliantly and beautifully as dawn begins, Pheasant-Hen cannot help but be swept up in the moment:
PHEASANT-HEN: How beautiful he is! [...]
He is so beautiful that what he says almost seems possible! [...]
What great breath lifts his breast-feathers? [...]
He is magnificent! [...]
I love you! [...]
The Sun! Look, the Sun! [...]
You are beautiful! [...]
And you sang beautifully! [...]
Indeed, indeed, I admire you beyond all bounds and measure! [...]
Yes, my glorious Beloved, yes, it is you who make the dawn appear! [...]
The media doesn't laugh because you can't make fun of Obama. The sun would refuse to rise.