Update on this column (July 31, 2017): Anthony Scaramucci was removed as communications chief today, 10 days after his appointment was announced, but before his official duties were scheduled to commence in mid-August. Thus, Mr. Scaramucci holds the notable distinction of having been fired before he was officially hired. As to the foregoing column, as Gilda Radner’s character, Rosanne Rosannadanna, would say on Saturday Night Live: “Never mind.”

In the beginning, there was Scaramouche, a stock clown character in Italian theater dating back to at least the early 17^th century. Described as “sly, adroit, supple, and conceited,” Scaramouche was often hoisted on his own petard by another stock character, Harlequin, as a consequence of his own boasting and cowardice. (Sorry, Batman fans, there is little totally new under the sun.)

Then there was “Father” Vito Sarducci, a fictional chain-smoking priest who dates back to the classic era of Saturday Night Live. Played exclusively for laughs, the Father Sarducci character was a somewhat disreputable cleric who, at one time, claimed to be the gossip columnist for L’Osservatore Romano, the official newspaper of the Vatican City State. Something of a snake oil salesman and huckster, in another sketch, Father Sarducci founded his own “people’s church” where for a mere $250 you could receive a complete papal outfit, including the fancy hat, and an official document signed by Father Sarducci naming the recipient “pope.”

Now we have been introduced to Anthony Scaramucci, newly appointed by the current tenant at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue as White House communications chief.

Today, when you put “White House” and “communications” together, some might say you must also consider the classic question perhaps best posed by the late Freddie Mercury and Queen: “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality …”

Well, prominent New York financier Tony Scaramucci, known affectionately on Wall Street as “The Mooch,” has voluntarily inserted himself into that maelstrom. He will have to please a mercurial boss who is establishing a reputation for discarding former supporters, allies, and appointees as quickly as he changes his positions on (fill in the blank.)

The key to The Mooch’s survival may well lie in the answer to this question, again with apologies to Freddie Mercury and Queen: Scaramucci, Scaramucci, can you do the fandango?

For today’s cultural lesson, “fandango” is defined in Collins English Dictionary as “an old Spanish courtship dance in triple time between a couple who dance closely and provocatively.” Guitars and castanets are usually involved. A rose held in the teeth is optional.

However, it is the secondary meaning that may be more germane: “a foolish or useless act or thing.”

Admittedly, the image of The Mooch and He Who Cannot Be Named dancing provocatively is more than a little disturbing, but the point is, Tony had best be prepared to do his best Ginger Rodgers imitation, because any variance from the Twitter of the day could prove to be terminal. (Historical Note: Ginger Rodgers was a dance partner of Fred Astaire in the 1930s. Of her dancing, it was said, “She did everything Astaire did, only she did it backwards and in high heels.”)

The secondary meaning of “fandango” comes into play because no matter how closely Scaramucci cleaves to you-know-who’s lead, the likelihood is that any attempt to create a coherent message from the increasingly incoherent ramblings emanating from the Oval Office is, as the definition describes, “a foolish or useless act.”

So, based on first impressions, which, I admit, can later prove to be in error, what similarities link these apparently dissimilar characters?

Like Scaramouche, the new communications chief appears to be smooth and adroit and seems to have a high opinion of himself. Whether the close friendship with the president, of which he boasts, will insulate him from the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” which bedeviled Hamlet, not to mention Jeff Sessions, remains to be seen.

Like Father Sarducci, he comes across as perhaps a little too glib, too polished. Would you, or should you, buy a used car, or snake oil, from this man?

Of course, the biggest question is how this quintessentially photogenic multi-millionaire city slicker from New York will go down with a faithful who view plutocrats from anywhere – but in particular, those from the Big Apple and Wall Street – with suspicion,.

As his new boss said recently with reference to another individual who thought he and the president were BFF, “Time will tell, time will tell.”