Michael Jackson: “Death by Show Business”?
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009The death of Michael Jackson last week is in some ways a distinctively American tragedy. While there is nothing new under the sun about the soul-crushing effects of fame and fortune, the dynamics involved in the demise of the greatest pop icon of his generation are eerily familiar. Anyone acquainted with the details of the decline and fall of
Elvis Presley—who, oddly enough, was posthumous father-in-law to Jacko—knows that both men followed the same basic pattern of descent. Like Presley, Jackson was surrounded by a posse of enablers—people who catered to his whims, including providing him with drugs, while ignoring his declining health, just so they could maintain his approval and, of course, financially benefit. Sadly, the parallels to the Elvis tragedy are many.
American mega-stardom is a soul-eating monster, and it basically works as follows. The star rises to renown because of some talent, such as singing, acting, or athletic ability. As his fame and wealth grow, so do media attention and the onslaught of paparazzi which destroy any privacy the star once had. Along with this there usually come criticisms, rumors, and accusations of various kinds which make the star defensive or even paranoid about his personal safety and perhaps the safety of his family. This prompts the star to form an inner circle of advisors to guard his interests, thus creating the celebrity “ghetto effect”—completely insulating him from the “real world.” At this point he lives in an artificial private world, where all those around do his bidding. At the same time, the star’s accountability for personal behavior is diminished, perhaps even lost, as the inner circle is paid exorbitant amounts of money by the star. Fearing dismissal and a loss of their own fortune, the inner circle becomes a team of “yes” men. What was intended as a protective belt of security for the star is now a lethal nest of parasites, whose success in feeding off their host must eventually destroy him.
This pattern is not reserved for mega-stars, by the way, but seems to apply, to some degree, to anyone who finds himself in a position of power and prestige. Remember that money fuels this machine, so the more money, the more ugly the potential results. The likes of Howard Hughes, Elvis Presley, and, now, Michael Jackson just happen to be the more glaring cases, because of the circumstances of their deaths—tragic neglect despite their many “caretakers.” But as tragic as these stories are, who knows how the moral neglect in these and similar cases has resulted in deaths of an even more tragic nature—the deaths of the souls of the rich and famous.
To what shall we compare celebrity in the American entertainment culture? Celebrity is like a tidal wave that rises in part by its own force but gains most of its strength and momentum by its surroundings. All of these forces which make its crest so impressive also guarantee its disastrous crash.
A while back Amy and I discussed some of the vocations that we envisioned our kids heading into when they become adults. As we shared our thoughts, we found that we had many conflicting intuitions and expectations. Then one of us posed the question, “What profession would you least like to see your son or daughter go into?” Here we easily agreed: Any line of work that encourages self-exaltation and, when successfully done, brings enormous wealth. In
short, we just don’t want our kids to have fame and fortune. Some rare celebrities do appear to make it through this “eye of the needle” with their faith and moral compass intact (Bono seems, thus far, to be an example—though at a dear price, I’m sure he would admit). But we would prefer that our kids—or anyone we love, for that matter—not be subjected to the moral-spiritual poisons of celebrity.
As Morrissey once sang, “Fame, fame, fatal fame—it can play hideous tricks on the brain.” Indeed, so does extreme wealth. As we consider the tragic case of Michael Jackson, it would be good for all of us to remember that, for all its macabre circus-like twists and turns, his story is not unique in this crucial sense: He succumbed to the temptations and mind-warping influences of his mega-stardom. And I suspect that the overwhelming majority of the rest of us would do so as well.
Let me first make it clear that I too would like to preserve and defend our local and national resources. Nor am I accusing our beloved Miss Linda or the organization that produced the play of being Nazis or anything of the sort. Taken on its own, this incident would quickly have been lost on me in the rush to make lunch and get everyone down for a nap. But the accumulation of “Go Green” messages constantly hurdled at my doorstep has begun to resemble a landfill of impressive proportions.
Up — You know a movie is good when you can pay an obscene sum for admission, including a ridiculous additional charge for equally ridiculous-looking 3D glasses, and have to put up with somebody’s one-year-old crying and yapping through half the movie and still really enjoy yourself. I have become so suspicious of anything marketed for children, especially when it hails from Hollywood, that despite the great reviews, I always have my doubts. Up is funny (I can’t tell you how many movies my kids watch without even cracking a smile), touching, and creative. I am not a fan of 3D, or the eyewear, but I highly recommend this one for the big people as well as the little ones.
The Visitor — This film was repeatedly recommended to me (including by Jim, since he saw it at Sundance last year), so finally I gave in. The performances were great and the story one that deserves be told. It manages to have a message without losing the magic of its storytelling. By tipping their political hand, subtly but unmistakably, early on, the filmmakers put me on my guard which was disappointing. Had they just let the story speak for itself and trusted the audience to draw our own conclusions, it would have been a much more powerful movie. Still, it is worthy of the recommendations. Keep them coming!
He’s Just Not That Into You — Romantic comedies used to be a guilty pleasure that, while lacking in nutritional value, you could ingest without fear of being poisoned. With movies like Knocked Up and Then She Found Me as the new template for a light-hearted evening, Hollywood has replaced fluff with rat poison. In the case of He’s Just Not That Into You the toxins are very carefully concealed in some descent performances, good writing and LOL moments. All of these elements are like the peanut butter masking the poison, tempting you to take a bite even though you know what is waiting in the middle. I planned to quickly dismiss this movie as just bad but found it more disturbing because it was well-done. All the clichés were present (the married couple who never have sex and are both miserable; the shacked up couple who are the only healthy relationship in the bunch; the disproportionate number of homosexuals with great advice and even better hair) while giving you the overwhelming sense that you had seen this film a hundred times before. Unlike so many that have come before, this movie was much cleverer. Be afraid—very, very afraid.
This past Memorial Day I was just as disinterested when somehow the topic of Danica Patrick came up in a conversation with Jim. I innocently raised the question of whether she was really that good and how much her looks had to do with her status in the racing community. It seemed fairly self-evident to me that her appearance (and her willingness to exploit her “assets”) had to have played a part in her prominence. I was rather surprised when Jim quickly came to her defense, touting statistics regarding her accomplishments, etc. After making a mental note to suggest he cut back a bit on his ESPN talk radio (stats about football, hockey, baseball—all acceptable, but what will come next? Men’s water polo?), I retorted that though I didn’t doubt Patrick’s talent, I just couldn’t buy that there weren’t plenty of other women out there just as talented who would never be given a chance simply because they looked better with the helmet on than off. Surely she had been given opportunities and advantages that others had been denied. Perhaps this is unfair of me, both to Patrick who is obviously skilled (though I would feel less sorry for her if she would wear that driving suit all the time rather than some of the other less modest apparel I have seen her wearing) and unfair to those who are as talented if not as attractive. But as the saying goes, “life’s not fair.”
As a woman, and now especially as my daughter’s mom, I often wrestle with the issue of appearance and the role it plays in our crooked and crazy world. When Maggie was born, I was shocked at how instinctive it was to praise her appearance. I find Jim and I both struggle to balance our compliments, following up on a “You look so pretty!” with a quick “And you are so smart!” Why is it that we can praise the Grand Canyon but blushingly we praise our daughter’s outward form which comes from the same source, the eternal outpouring of God’s own beauty? Should I feel pangs of guilt when I mull over which outfit choice to make in front of my ever-impressionable girl? 
