Washington shows used to follow the same fundamental trope: someone powerful trying to fight for the “little guy” collides with someone powerful out to screw the “little guy.” But the reality of the nation’s capital is far more interesting: Everyone in Washington feels like the “little guy” even if, Oz-like, their frailties are obscured by the trappings of power. The inner lives—and inner workings—of government are far more layered than simple battles of good and evil.

Why is Hollywood now turning to Britain for inspiration about American politics? Three reasons stand out.

The first is proximity to political power. Most Western countries have capitals that are also their cultural centers. In London, as in Paris or Rome, artists reside alongside politicians. Proximity breeds contempt. But it also breeds understanding—or at least more accurate mocking. For centuries, British writers were dependent on royal patronage or whim for their careers. As they negotiated ever-changing political circumstances, they sought to humanize or pillory their leaders—but always to understand them as artistic subjects. Shakespeare is the greatest example of the intermingling of British writing and power.

The effects of proximity persist to this day. Yes Minister co-creator Jonathan Lynn became interested in satire after meeting young politicos at Cambridge University: “They … were the most pompous, self-satisfied, self-important bunch of clowns that I’ve ever clapped eyes on.… I thought at that point that the only way that I could ever contribute to politics is making fun of the politicians.”

In America, D.C.’s separation from New York and Los Angeles has stunted cultural understanding of government. In the case of Hollywood and Washington, distance has bred mutual admiration. It’s not just the usual clichés about these two “company towns”—“D.C. is Hollywood for ugly people,” “politicians are like actors reading their lines,” “everyone is playing a role,” etc. This mutual admiration reflects how little Hollywood and Washington really understand each other (fundraisers, Jack Valenti, and the Emanuel brothers aside) and how much they envy their differences.

For Hollywood, idealized Washington has served as a projection of the impact that artists seek through their work—or their ego. T.A. Frank described watching The West Wing as a bit like being “forced to watch [Aaron Sorkin] play with his action figures, or possibly himself.” For Washington, idealized Hollywood is a place where you can be creative—free of the constraints imposed by low salaries, bland wardrobes, and the puritan moralism that politicos at least have to feign. We want to play with the toys that real fame provides. To bring it back to high school: Beautiful people long to be taken seriously; nerds long to be cool. Hence the speechwriters and screenwriters who shuttle back and forth between the cities trying to be both smart and cool.

There is a second reason why London understands Washington so well: class. With rising inequality, America is becoming more like traditionally class-based Britain (by several measures, in fact, the U.S. is more unequal now than the U.K.). And Washington is its most class-based city. D.C., of course, has always had a touch of Victorian England in it; the Crawley family from Downton Abbey would fit right in. Social relations in Washington are hierarchical and formal: As with lord and vassal, you provide homage to your boss, who in turn offers you favors and protection. But peer beneath the veneer of propriety and you’ll find every imaginable indiscretion. Not to mention, the Empire is in decline.