fact

The success of D-day, a pivotal moment in World War II, partially hinged on the weather forecast. The Allied invasion of Normandy, France, on June 6, 1944, was planned for months as the American and British forces held practice operations in England.

Enormous efforts were made to mislead the Germans about what was coming. The operation was originally scheduled for June 5 but the day before, James Stagg, a meteorologist and group captain in the Royal Air Force, advised the American commander, Dwight D. Eisenhower, to wait for better conditions.

This lesser-known decision is the premise of “Pressure,” a new movie from filmmaker Anthony Maras. It’s an adaptation of David Haig’s play of the same name, in which the playwright himself portrayed Stagg. Haig, who co-wrote the “Pressure” screenplay with Maras, compares it to “The Imitation Game.”

“Some of these heroes who affect history from the sidelines just stay in the sidelines until somebody does research, discovers them lurking and finds they are so quietly heroic that it’s irresistible as a story,” Haig says, speaking via Zoom from London.

Haig began writing a version of the script shortly after the play debuted at the Royal Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh in May 2014. It moved to the West End in 2018, and opened in North America at Toronto’s Royal Alexandra Theatre in 2023. Maras came onboard after making his 2018 film “Hotel Mumbai,” also based on a true story.

“When I first read the play and the script, I was bowled over by how, with this one decision, so many lives were changed,” Maras says, on a video call from Los Angeles. “Not just the lives of the men on the beach but throughout the Allied world. When you think of a war story, you think of men and now women on the field, but there is so much more to it behind the scenes.”

The film expands Haig’s play and includes additional characters and sequences, including the actual D-day invasion. It stars Andrew Scott as Stagg, Brendan Fraser as Eisenhower, Kerry Condon as Eisenhower’s secretary Kay Summersby, Chris Messina as U.S. Air Force meteorologist Irving P. Krick and Damian Lewis as senior British army officer Bernard Montgomery.

Both Haig and Maras strove to be as historically accurate as possible, even including archival footage from the war. “It is inevitably heightened, as any stage play or film is,” Haig says. “But it is very true.”

“It is absolutely as true as we could get it within the confines of a two-hour runtime,” Maras adds. “We took great lengths to try and be as accurate to the history but also to the deeper story as possible.”

Here’s what is true and what is dramatized in “Pressure.”

The importance of the weather

Brendan Fraser, left, and Andrew Scott in the movie “Pressure.”

(Alex Bailey / Focus Features / StudioCanal)

D-day, secretly known as Operation Overlord, was timed based on several factors, including the weather, the tides and the moonlight. Because the assault was multipronged, with Allied forces coming by sea, land and air, they required good visibility at night and a high tide to ensure less distances between the boats and the defending Germans.

“There were hundreds of meters between low tide and high tide,” Maras says. “So depending on where the boats landed, you either had 50 meters until you made it to the dunes and then the bunkers, or you had to make it 300 meters if it was low tide.”

A clear forecast with low winds and no rain was essential.

“The landing craft were antiquated and flat-bottomed,” Haig says, “and if they had gone on May 5 with the storms that Stagg anticipated coming in with the jet stream, those landing craft would have capsized. The war wouldn’t have been lost, although we do posit that it might have been in the film. In reality, failure would have elongated [the war] and caused countless extra deaths.”

To shoot “Pressure,” the filmmakers used real charts and meteorological instruments. The production design team re-created the famous D-day map from the Allied headquarters in Southwark House. The real one was made in two pieces by separate manufacturers to ensure secrecy.

“When you see that map, it’s a little bit mismatched and our team re-created that,” Maras says. “We got the paper they used to draw the maps from the same mill they used for those maps 80 years ago. A lot of effort was put into the minutiae that adds to the accuracy.”

Exercise Tiger

The film opens with a depiction of an Allied training operation called Exercise Tiger, which took place over several months on England’s Slapton Sands. Because many of the soldiers were young and untested, the Allied leaders wanted to prepare them for the sights and sounds of battle.

“They did a whole series of exercises to try and get together a full-scale dress rehearsal of what D-day would be,” Maras says.

These rehearsals, still widely unknown and spanning from late 1943 through April 1944, involved dangerous friendly fire and suffered from serious coordination errors, resulting in the real-life deaths of at least 700 American and British soldiers.

“That was an absolute disaster and yet we remember D-day as one of the great military triumphs in history,” Haig says.

Maras wanted the film to begin with this moment to emphasize the headspace of the Allied leaders.

“How do you establish what the true consequences of failure are for a story like this?” Maras says. “When we’re in the war room with all of those commanders and officers, they know what the implications of their words mean because they’ve seen it. They’ve lived it. The image of the blood in the water and the young men in that water was to tattoo in the audience’s brain that if these commanders mess up, this could happen again.”

Eisenhower, in particular, felt the magnitude of D-day. “He wrote two letters on the eve of D-day: what happens in success and what happens in failure,” Maras says. “He was sleeping two hours a night. He was a nervous wreck.”

Stagg vs. Krick

In the film, Scott’s Stagg arrives at Southwark House from Dunstable four days before D-day is planned. He is confronted by the American meteorologist Krick, who disagrees with him about the potentially disastrous forecast. Krick believes sun and calm seas are on the horizon thanks to historical analogue charts, but Stagg, using more comprehensive prediction methods, thinks a major storm is coming.

“In actuality, Stagg came onboard in about November 1943 and got to Southwark House a few months earlier,” Maras says. “His transfer came a few months earlier, not a few days earlier. The contours of the relationships between Stagg and Krick and the others are accurate, but they took place in a more compressed timeline.”

Both Stagg and Krick have recounted their version of events in various books, both claiming they were right about the weather. Although Haig and Maras imagine their dialogue and how these conflicts may have played out, the conflicts were real.

“They both adhered to their own meteorological vision,” Haig says, explaining the differences in prediction models from continent to continent. “In the United States, Krick’s system of weather forecasting was viable. If you come to the U.K., you can’t rely on the weather for more than five minutes, so that method doesn’t apply.”

Adds Maras, “They thought, ‘The weather is going to be good. We should hold our nerve and go.’ There was a rhetorically violent disagreement between him and the others.”

In the film, Krick claims that he has never inaccurately predicted the weather ahead of a battle, using his successes in North Africa as evidence. This was technically true.

“He was very good at his job within the context of certain geographical landscapes,” Haig says. “He didn’t make a mistake in North Africa. When Eisenhower challenges Stagg, he says, ‘This man never got it wrong.’ And he didn’t. In the whole of the North African campaign, Krick was spot on.”

After Stagg convinces the leaders to postpone D-day, he is vindicated by a deluge of rain that arrives while everyone is attending church at Southwark House on June 5. There was a church on site, although this moment in the film was dramatized.

“Whether it began raining precisely at that moment I have my doubts,” Haig says. “But it has the framework of truth.”

Ike and Kay

Andrew Scott and Kerry Condon in the movie “Pressure.”

(Alex Bailey / Focus Features / StudioCanal)

Kay Summersby had been an ambulance driver during the Blitz. The film hints at a less-than-professional relationship between Eisenhower and his personal secretary. She was certainly with Eisenhower at Southwark House, although there is less evidence that she had any kind of association with Stagg.

“The biggest fictional thing I did with both the play and the film was to join the third point of the triangle so you’ve got Stagg, Eisenhower and Kay,” Haig says. “The link between Stagg and Kay historically would be tenuous.”

There are differing opinions about Eisenhower and Kay’s relationship. “We know that they were extremely close and they shared a trustful bond,” Maras says. “There are many photos of them together. She was definitely a big force in Ike’s life at that time, and we wanted to pay respect to that.”

“Whatever one’s interpretation of the relationships that she inhabits within the story, her influence was substantial,” Haig adds.

After seeing Peter Jackson’s 2018 World War I documentary “They Shall Not Grow Old,” Maras had the idea to use colorized archival footage in “Pressure.”

“In the D-day sequence at the end, there are various real-life shots of the soldiers landing on the beaches,” Maras says. “We were able to cut between the archival [material] and our footage to increase the scope. And it wasn’t just to get the scale. Yes, we have shots of massive flotillas and ships and trucks, but sometimes it was just for a glance of a soldier where you can see death in his eyes.”

The team ultimately acquired more than 50 hours of archival footage. They hired research editors to go through it and, after a few days, Maras asked if any of the editors could recommend additional crew to help.

Then a man named James Stagg showed up to work. “Stagg’s grandson, 80 years later, walked into our offices and helped edit the archival movie footage that we put in his grandfather’s film,” Maras says.

Stagg’s wife

Andrew Scott in the movie “Pressure.”

(Alex Bailey / Focus Features / StudioCanal)

The play doesn’t include scenes with Stagg’s wife, Elizabeth, but Haig purposefully bookends the film with the couple together. “When he arrives at Southwark House as a terse, brusque, tricky man, you’ve already experienced his level of affection with his wife and that’s really important contextually,” Haig says. “You’re waiting for the end when he goes back to see her and the baby.”

At the time when Stagg went to Southwark House, his wife was pregnant. Stagg was not allowed to make phone calls to her because of the secrecy surrounding D-day. In reality, the hospital where she gave birth was not bombed, as it is in the movie.

“The bombing of the hospital was more reflective of the times that Stagg and his wife had gone through in the lead up to D-day,” Maras says. “That element is to encapsulate that Stagg was fearing for his wife. As he walks down this corridor, he is faced with: Is she alive? Is she dead?”

Truth to power

Ultimately, Stagg tells a room full of military leaders that they have to pause on D-day because of the weather — a truthful inclusion. It was important to Maras to emphasize how he stood up to power.

“Here’s a protagonist who’s not afraid to speak his mind and has the courage to get up in front of a room full of the most powerful military on Earth at that point and tell them something they don’t want to hear,” Maras says.

“When Eisenhower was passing on the baton of leadership at the inauguration for JFK, JFK asked, ‘What gave you the edge on D-day?’ Eisenhower said, ‘We had better meteorologists than the Germans.’ He had the wisdom to trust in the experts. It’s worth heeding that lesson from history.”

Spencer Pratt, please give me a call.

We should talk.

You say you want to be mayor of Los Angeles, but do you really?

I know that being a candidate has rescued you from anonymity after your career in reality TV went off a cliff. You’ve got CEOs backing you, and fans raving, and you’ve managed to milk social media attention.

But at some point you might have to answer questions from the reporters you’ve been avoiding.

And if you win, you’re going to have to drive to City Hall five, six, seven days a week, and I don’t know if you saw my column a few weeks ago, but the fountain on the south lawn hasn’t worked in about 60 years. If you get elected, you better put a wrench in your lunch box, because nobody has figured out how to fix it.

So that’s the reality, pretty much. And the unions will want what they want, and the socialists on the City Council will be lying in wait, especially after President Trump blew you a cross-country air kiss and certified your MAGA credentials.

More than 30,000 people are waiting for their broken sidewalks to get fixed (I’m not exaggerating) but there’s no money, and if you hire several thousand more police officers as you’ve pledged, the city would be bankrupt for the next decade or so and you’d need to take out a loan to buy a doughnut.

So call me, like I say, because I think there’s still time to change your mind.

If you choose to proceed, and if you actually win, it might feel like you’re in a sequel to that reality show you did called “I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here,” and you may end up praying the show gets canceled. The mayor’s hours are long, and everywhere you go, someone will want you to fix this problem or that, and as you wander the halls of power you’ll think back on your campaign pledges and hear the constant echo of a line from H.L. Mencken:

“For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.”

Can I confess something?

I’m feeling guilty about all of this.

Not to sound presumptuous, but I feel partly responsible for the fact that you’re in contention for the job.

Like you, I’ve been calling out issues with the management of L.A., and I’ve been doing it for years. But I had the good sense not to run for mayor.

Why’s that?

Because unlike you, I know the fixes aren’t as easy as we’d like them to be.

When Karen Bass was running the first time, I had a long talk with her about her homelessness plan, among other things. At the end of the day, she asked for my input.

I reminded her that as much as people would like for the city’s top elected official to immediately clear the streets, a mayor is limited by shared power with the City Council.

By drug epidemics and untreated mental illness that are largely under county authority.

By uncertain funding from the nation’s capital.

By global forces that transformed the economy and created staggering levels of inequality that are made all the worse by the high cost of housing.

Bass was aware of all that, but said that having worked in Sacramento and D.C., and having built relationships with county supervisors, she’d be able to build better systems and get better outcomes.

So how has she done?

Not great. And then there’s the fire.

As I’ve said before, leaving the country despite forecasts of elevated wildfire risk was probably the worst mistake of her political career.

I don’t need to remind you of that. Having lost your house in the Palisades, you know that Bass badly underreacted, then stumbled on the rebuilding, and then had a hand in downplaying the Fire Department’s failure to adequately deploy and extinguish the fire that became an inferno.

To summarize, she’s left herself wide open to a challenge.

And she probably can’t believe how lucky she is that you might be her November competition, if the two of you bounce out Councilmember Nithya Raman and the other candidates in the June 2 primary.

I don’t hold it against you that you haven’t worked in government or politics before. These days, a lot of voters prefer outsiders. But it might have helped if you’d done something of purpose at some point in your life, like run a successful business or volunteer at a food bank. Were you junior high class president, or were you in the Boy Scouts? Anything could help.

Not that being the boyfriend and later the husband of someone on an MTV reality show called “The Hills,” which chronicled the work of a woman who went from “Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County” to an internship at Teen Vogue, can’t prepare a young man for statesmanship.

In this culture, you could ride that all the way to the White House.

But the flimsy resume could explain, Spencer, why you’ve been taking so many social media-fueled potshots at Bass without offering anything of substance.

Let’s arrest drug zombies.

OK, then what?

I’d advise you to study the primer by my colleagues Doug Smith and Andrew Khouri on what you can and can’t do about homelessness as a mayor in L.A. Clearly, you’ve got a lot of boning up to do. In fact, I’m reminded of a line by a Philadelphia columnist years ago, when he said of a politician who wasn’t up to the job: He’s been standing in shallow water for so long, he doesn’t realize he can’t swim.

If I were you, I’d consider the fact that President Trump made the mistake of promising easy fixes. He was going to deliver a massive infrastructure program. He was going to deliver healthcare reform that was better and cheaper for everyone. He was going to lower consumer prices on Day One, and here we are, with millions of people wondering how they’re going to pay their bills while Trump rigs it so he doesn’t have to pay the IRS.

All that being said, I’m glad you decided to run, because elected officials need constant reminders that their jobs are not secure, even when the challengers are way in over their heads. I’d almost like to see you win, because that’s one reality show I’d be sure to watch.

And I say this despite the fact that you once told your talk show buddy Alex Jones — who insisted that 9/11 was an inside job and that the Sandy Hook massacre of 20 children was a hoax — that melting ice caps are overrated. Or, as you explained it to Jones, “we’ve all seen footage of the polar bears swimming to new pieces of ice.”

When the general election rolls around, and the ice begins to break, will you know how to swim?

steve.lopez@latimes.com

In the fragmented mysteries of the great Argentine filmmaker Lucretia Martel, her explorations always start with sensory flashes: faces, spaces, objects, sounds in transfixing procession. The language is its own, resulting in disorienting but undiluted depictions of the worlds of modern elites (“La Ciénega,” “The Headless Woman”) and 18th century colonists (“Zama”) alike.

But now, with her first feature documentary, “Our Land (Nuestra Tierra),” Martel unravels a political crime and the larger offenses behind it with a vital clarity. The film is centered on the 2009 murder of Javier Chocobar, an Indigenous Chuchagasta man from Argentina’s northwestern Tucumán province, who was shot while defending his ancestral homeland from a thuggish incursion. The weight of the issue at hand — stolen land, territorial rights and the overdue recognition of a colonized country’s original peoples — brings out a tantalizing lucidity from the typically elusive Martel on a serious subject that requires discipline.

In one sense, she’s dealing with a rights issue too painful to be aggressively aestheticized, but she’s also exploring a blood-soaked injustice that can’t be treated conventionally. She begins, in fact, with rolling satellite images from space — as if to say: This appropriation of nature is the world’s problem, not just Argentina’s.

What follows, toggling between a courtroom and vast, contested land (filmed with dreamlike urgency by cinematographer Ernest de Carvalho), is a righteous, visually arresting swirl of fact and feeling, past and present. It’s also anchored by the stories of a community desperate to claim territory they’ve cultivated for centuries. “Our Land” is as honorable a documentary as you’re likely to encounter this year about what fighting looks like in today’s era of grab-what-you-can thievery.

First, we hear from the defendants, captured by Martel’s cameras at their 2018 trial in Buenos Aires (an unconscionable nine years after the shooting). The three accused men — a businessman and two ex-cops — flounder at positioning themselves as the true victims when their own handheld video of the incident shows otherwise: The confrontation with the Chuchagastas only escalated because they brought a gun. Their lawyers obnoxiously push a narrative of ownership versus trespassers, backed by reams of documents and tossed-around historical dates.

But as Martel patiently unfolds the Chuchagastas’ perspective — personal narratives that come to life in intimate photos, atmospheric sound design and warm home footage — we begin to understand that documents and files are a bogus battleground given their hundreds of years of careful tending. One community member distrusts dialogue to begin with, calling it a means to “give up something.”

“Our Land” is the work of a director whose attention is rigorous, whose care is genuine, but who is also conscious of her outsider’s perspective. It’s an ally’s respect. There’s no better proof of that than in her drone shots of this embattled community’s sun-soaked valley: elegant, purposeful, even awkward (a bird hits one) visitations from the air. They’re a reminder that she’s the filmmaker, surveying a story that belongs to others. Documentaries don’t get much more honest than that.

Who won the 2020 election?

Was the Capitol attacked on Jan. 6, 2021?

Can Donald Trump be elected to a third term as president?

No brainers, right?

The answers are, of course, “Joe Biden,” “yes” and “no.” Any fact- and reality-based American would say so. But that humongous class of people pointedly doesn’t include the president of the United States. And apparently for that reason, his nominees for federal judgeships — the very jobs in which you’d most want fact-based individuals — hem, haw, stammer and ultimately decline to give direct answers when Democratic senators test them with such easy-peasy questions at confirmation hearings.

One after another, month after month, Trump nominees for district and appeals courts across the land say that the answers to the questions are matters of debate, of “significant political dispute.” Well, they’re in dispute only because Trump says they are, as does every ambitious officeholder and office-seeker desperate to remain in the retributive ruler’s good graces — including, alas, would-be judges.

To watch them squirm and then squirt out the same rehearsed reply, the same legalistic word salad, just like the dozens of nominees before them would be hilarious (see below) if it weren’t so ominous for the rule of law in the nation.

Trump nominees for other high-ranking jobs, likewise prepped for Senate Democrats’ questions by their Trump handlers, give the same rote response. But the fact that candidates for lifetime seats on the federal bench, making decisions of life-changing consequences for millions of Americans, would choose to dodge the truth is most sickening.

In their truth-trolling to keep Trump happy, lest he yank their chance at new black robes, these candidates fail the test of judicial independence. As one Democrat, Sen. Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut, told four district judge nominees last week at a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing, their humiliating hedging “on an issue of fact” — Biden won in 2020 — “reflects not only on your honesty but really on your fitness to be a federal judge.”

Indeed. That judicial nominees would curry Trump’s favor bodes ill for future federal jurisprudence in the one branch of government that’s stood up for the rule of law against Trump, repeatedly, when Congress and the Supreme Court have not. To be fair, a number of judges confirmed in Trump’s first term have been among the many who’ve ruled against his and his administration’s second-term abuses of power. Yet just as Trump has populated his Cabinet and executive branch with sycophants, unlike in Trump 1.0, he’s obviously applying new litmus tests to potential judges. One of them, clearly, is playing along with his election lies.

His nominees’ failure to speak truth to Trump’s power should be disqualifying. But they’re not disqualified, because the Senate is run by Republicans who share their fear of him.

That fact is a big reason to hope that Democrats capture the majority in November’s midterm elections and that, under new management, the Senate will finally take seriously its constitutional “advice and consent” responsibility to act as a check on Trump nominees for the final two years of his term — including, perhaps, one for the Supreme Court.

And, yes, this is Trump’s final term, for all of his teasing about “Trump 2028.” The Constitution’s 22nd Amendment says as much in its opening line: “No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice.”

Yet the four wannabe district judges at last week’s Senate Judiciary Committee confirmation hearing — Michael J. Hendershot of Ohio; Arthur Roberts Jones and John G.E. Marck, both of Texas; and Jeffrey T. Kuntz of Florida — struggled over that clear language.

All four hesitated when Sen. Chris Coons, a Delaware Democrat, asked them to describe the amendment. He even read its initial words before querying Marck, “Is President Trump eligible to run for president again in 2028?”

Marck paused, then sputtered: “Senator, with ah, without considering all the facts and looking at everything, depending on what the situation is, this to me strikes as more of a hypothetical of something that could be raised.”

“It’s not a hypothetical,” Coons countered, then asked again whether Trump is “eligible to run for a third term under our Constitution.”

“Um, I would have to, to review the, the actual wording of it,” Marck blabbered.

Coons turned to the others: “Anybody else brave enough to say that the Constitution of the United States prevents President Trump from seeking a third term?” Silence.

“Anybody willing to apply the Constitution by its plain language in the 22nd Amendment?” Coons persisted. Crickets.

His Democratic colleague, Blumenthal, inquired of the foursome, “Who won the 2020 election?” All agreed in turn that Biden “was certified” the winner. None would say he “won” because — as we and they know —Trump insists to this day that he won; he’s turned the power of his “Justice” Department to trying to prove that obvious falsehood. Far be it from these future judges to contradict the president who nominated them.

Here’s Hendershot’s gibberish to Blumenthal’s simple query: “Senator, I want to be mindful of the canons here. I know this question has come up many times in these hearings and it’s become an issue of significant political dispute and debate. So, with, with that, I would say that, that President Biden was certified the winner of the 2020 election.”

After the others replied similarly, Blumenthal turned justifiably scathing: “It’s pretty irrefutable that Joe Biden won the election. But you’re unwilling to use that word because you are afraid. You are afraid. Of what? President Trump? That is exactly what we do not need on the federal bench today. We need jurists who are fearless and strong, not weak and pathetic.”

Apparently unshamed, each similarly demurred when he asked if the Capitol had been attacked. “You’ve seen the videos, have you not?” Blumenthal blurted.

No matter, Senator. These would-be triers of fact apparently won’t believe their eyes. Not when their patron, the president, insists on lies.

Bluesky: @jackiecalmes
Threads: @jkcalmes
X: @jackiekcalmes

The implosion of Eric Swalwell’s gubernatorial campaign and his once-promising political career has left a great many questions rising from the smoldering wreckage.

Questions about his character, judgment and staggering recklessness.

The question — as misguided as it is inevitable — of why his accusers hadn’t come forward sooner. (My columnizing colleague, Anita Chabria, incisively addressed that one, discussing the nature of suppressed trauma and the believability hurdle that many victims of sexual assault unduly face.)

Then there’s the question of how and why Swalwell’s creepy and allegedly criminal behavior stayed hidden from public view for so long — especially when the impossible-to-miss fixture of cable TV embarked on a high-profile campaign to lead the nation’s most-populous state.

Swalwell, 45 and married, had a widely whispered about reputation for showering inappropriate and unwelcome attention on younger women. Rumors — vague, unsubstantiated — were a source of incessant dirt-dishing among political insiders and also circulated extensively online. (Not, however, the more serious allegations of sexual assault.)

The veil was finally pierced last week when the San Francisco Chronicle published a graphic account of a woman alleging sexual encounters with Swalwell while the Democratic lawmaker was her boss. She said he sexually assaulted her twice when she was too intoxicated to consent.

A few hours later, CNN followed up with a report that three other women had recounted various kinds of sexual misconduct. On Tuesday, yet another alleged victim came forth, saying she was drugged and raped by Swalwell in 2018.

The former congressman has flatly and vigorously denied criminal wrongdoing while acknowledging and apologizing for unspecific “mistakes.”

Those vociferous, flat-out denials had been enough to sway the politicians and union leaders who endorsed Swalwell’s gubernatorial bid, until the weight of evidence made Swalwell’s assertions untenable.

If the allegations are true and Swalwell is, in fact, a liar, lecher and sexual assailant, why wasn’t that widely reported up until now? Was it negligence, or gullibility on the part of the political press corps? The short answer is that a wide gulf exists between rumor and fact and Swalwell lurked in that gray space, living and thriving in the shadows between provability and denial.

It’s not unusual for rumors about financial, sexual or other peccadilloes to attend a campaign. They’re often trafficked by political rivals, which automatically raises suspicion and invites particular skepticism.

Much of the chatter never moves past a relatively small, dishy circle of political gossips because the supposed misdeeds, while titillating, can’t stand up to rigorous scrutiny. Or a legal challenge. That’s the baseline for many news outlets to broadcast or publish a story. Call them what you will — legacy, corporate, mainstream, lamestream — many of the largest, most influential sources of news and information won’t pass along allegations they can’t independently verify and, if necessary, defend in court.

The challenge is verifying all that loose talk.

Politicians don’t wear body cams, or broadcast their lives 24/7. (OK, Beto O’Rourke did livestream from a Texas laundromat during his 2018 Senate bid, holding up a soggy pair of underwear when he addressed the “boxers or briefs” question. But he’s an exception.)

Journalists don’t have subpoena power and can’t force people to tell them what they know. A reporter is only as good as his or her sources, their knowledge, truthfulness and credibility.

Reporting on misdeeds of an intimate nature can be especially difficult and complex. There’s rarely black-and-white documentation, such as a money trail leading to a hotel bedroom. It’s hard to find an eyewitness or reliable third party who can vouch for what took place between people behind closed doors. It takes time and trust to develop sources who can substantiate incidents of sexual misconduct, assault or abuse.

Swalwell apparently did an excellent job deceiving those around him, including some congressional and campaign staffers who’d known him for years and worked closely with the seven-term lawmaker, day in, day out. They were shocked by the statements of his alleged victims; the words “double life” have come up many times.

If Swalwell managed to hoodwink those closest to him, it’s easy to see why journalists had a hard time wrangling the firsthand accounts and other facts they needed to make their findings public.

When it comes to reporting on scandal, there is often the question of timing.

In 2003, The Times was widely criticized for publishing an account of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s misconduct — touching women in a sexual manner without their consent — just days before California’s gubernatorial recall election. Despite the report, which Schwarzenegger did not contest, voters kicked Gray Davis out and replaced him with the Hollywood super-duper star.

In 1992, the Washington Post and Portland Oregonian were widely criticized for their failure to publish accounts of Sen. Bob Packwood’s misconduct — unwanted sexual advances and touching women without their consent — until weeks after he was elected to his fifth term. Packwood resigned in 1995 after the Senate Ethics Commission voted unanimously to expel him.

The allegations against Swalwell were revealed well before the June 2 primary. Not soon enough for those asking how he managed to get away for so long with his predatory behavior. But plenty of time to inform California voters before they weighed in on his candidacy.

Public attention will soon shift. But for Swalwell, the legal and other ramifications are just beginning.