I know what occurred to me when I learned of Trudeau’s carbon-rich cavalcade: What will Greta say?

Those of a certain age — as the phrase goes — will remember as a standout in the TV dramaturgy of the 1970s the great Fantasy Island, and its memorable co-stars, Ricardo (fine Corinthian leather) Montalbán as Mr. Roarke and Hervé Villechaize as Tattoo, his diminutive assistant. Well, thanks to the current campaign and revelations from Wednesday’s French-language debate, there is a remake in progress.

It’s Fantasy Inland, and taking on the premier roles is Justin Trudeau as Mr. Roarke (fresh off his successes in Aladdin and his hot reprise of the Belafonte classic Day-O), and Gerald Butts as the utterly charming Tattoo. There are a few variations from the original, particularly in the tag phrase that came to define the show:

Opening scene: Mr. Roarke (Trudeau) and Tattoo (Butts) are seen standing on a dock outside a fish plant in Trepassey, Newfoundland. They are scanning the skies, as best they can, through the dense fogs of the Southern Shore. We hear a rumbling noise as of fuel-burning, carbon-emitting great engines and suddenly ….

Tattoo: “Boss. Boss: the plane the plane ... (Tattoo frantically checks script) ... er, the planes!! the planes!!! It’s the air convoy for our campaign.”

Mr. Roarke: Two? Only two?... I have to leave it there. It would spoil the launch, roughly three weeks out.

Leaving TV fantasy drama, what now do we know? That the First Environmentalist, after the blackfaces affair, after SNC and banishing Jody Wilson-Raybould and Jane Philpott from his caucus, after breaking his most “honest” promise to bring the budget to balance in four years — the First Environmentalist, the preacher of renewables and “carbon” poverty for all of us, drags himself and his vast entourage around in two planes.

One just for his baggage which (on speculation from absolutely unreliable sources) I would guess is composed, as befits our thespian PM, of a wardrobe collection to rival that of the Metropolitan Opera; a walled-off section encompassing a third of the plane, fitted with walnut panelling and refurbished as an inspirational and meditation chamber — The Hall of Selfies — where dejected staff and speechwriters on their last gasp refresh their spirits with chants (diversity is our strength; Harper, Harper, Harper) and yoga; and in the remaining third a mobile boxing ring, a canoe or three, and, most vital, a complete set of the renowned Encyclopedia of the World’s most Shameless and Obsequious Apologies. (End of reporting from unreliable, even phantom, sources.)

This has now become the very template of his prime ministership. Whatever Mr. Trudeau says about anything and then whatever Mr. Trudeau actually does or has done are quite strangers to each other, they are as East to West, water to fire — and ne’er the twain shall meet.

He’s one man, drenched in sincerity in whatever pulpit he variously appears, where he tells everyone else how to live; and some other creature entirely when he’s about his own very exceptional business, and acts as the immature mood strikes him. On feminism, omnibus bills, balancing the budget, Aboriginal affairs, transparency (SNC-Lavalin) — he is the priest and he is the sinner, both. “A man so various that he seemed to be, not one, but all mankind’s epitome.” — John Dryden

I know what occurred to me when I learned of the carbon-rich aerial cavalcade: What will Greta say? Greta Thunberg who has already lectured the Prime Minister of Canada (“you have not done enough”) will not be pleased.

I am not privy to her private communications to world leaders, but right now I am certain a whole bundle of How Dare You telegrams are on their way, strapped to the backs of a seagulls and terns (Greta does not approve of any other kind of airmail), stamped with rage, and addressed:

To: J. Trudeau,

Lib. Leader,

Canada

(aboard one of his TWO carbon-spewing planes!)

I repeat How Dare You!

With this latest hypocrisy he has lost the vital Thunberg constituency and he may never in future, in Davos, or at some great future climate summit, be invited to stand with the young grim, glaring messiah, and instead will be just one of an innumerable audience gazing up at podia he once owned, and spotlights that once fell, adoringly, on him. The sage Dowson bequeathed us this wisdom over a century ago: They are not long, the days of whine and poses.

WITH THIS LATEST HYPOCRISY HE HAS LOST THE VITAL THUNBERG CONSTITUENCY.

A note on these debates. As I count, Quebec/Montreal get two. Ottawa/Ontario one. Atlantic Canada — zero. The various Prairie provinces: zero. The wide, vast Canadian North — zero. British Columbia, zero. The whole great, diverse, massive regions and provinces of English Canada are offered only a single debate, with five female media personalities and six leaders.

There is something very, very inadequate about this. The debate commission might want to learn there are cities outside Quebec and Ontario, and also be informed there is a Canada forged in its rural areas. Why have they no debate? And no one representative of their interests moderating.

REX MURPHY