Of Divas and Train Wrecks

Last week the University of East Anglia hosted a one-day academic conference on a topic of critical importance to modern society. The name of the conference was, "Going Cheap? Female Celebrity In The Tabloid, Reality And Scandal Genres," and it featured in-depth discussion and analysis of the "gender dynamics of fame" and the viewing public's fascination with "train-wreck" celebrities like Lindsey Lohan, Amy Winehouse, and Britney Spears. The conference announcement listed a few of the papers to be presented, among them Britney’s Tears: The Abject Female Celebrity in Postemotional Society; Hooker, Victim and/or Doormat: Lindsay Lohan and the Culture of Celebrity Notoriety; and, Heather McCartney Mills: A Woman with An Agenda.

Now, I'm not sure who decides on topics for academic studies. But in a world festering with problems like rising food prices, religious intolerance, Robert Mugabe, and $140-a-barrel oil, figuring out why Amy Winehouse is such a bizarre flake may not be the best subject for in-depth analysis.

You didn't hear these sorts of tabloid stories about big-name celebrities back in the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood. I'm sure there were the same sorts of issues back then as immature people tried to grapple with sudden celebrity, but at that time the big studio machines ran Hollywood, and stars were carefully managed and packaged to protect them and preserve their marketability. There also wasn't the culture of Gotcha Journalism in which reporters dug for the worst stories they could find, and swarming paparazzi sold the most unflattering photos they could shoot to tabloids always hungry for any hint of scandal.

I enjoy music and movies. I admire the talents of actors who can create utterly believable characters and singers whose voices can evoke emotions my own harsh croaking never could. Heath Ledger seems to have created a masterpiece character with his portrayal of the Joker in the forthcoming Batman film, but I don't need to know that he died from an overdose, accidental or not, of prescription medications. Amy Winehouse crooned one of my favorite songs with "You Know That I'm No Good," but other than the tragic waste of talent, I don't care that she's working hard to ruin her lungs by smoking everything but the tiles on her bathroom floor. And Lindsey Lohan was cute and delivered a good performance in the otherwise forgettable film Herbie Fully Loaded, but I certainly don't care whether or not she wears underwear all the time.

We're all human and we all have failings of one sort or another. It's just a shame that some of our most talented and gifted performers lack the emotional maturity to handle their fame, and end up descending into the abyss of drugs and selfish behavior that leads to their designation as "train wrecks."

And so, last week at the University of East Anglia, a group of earnest researchers read meaningless papers to each other and tut-tutted about all the problems faced by female celebrities. I'm sure they felt good about what they accomplished, which was likely nothing. As long as we have a culture of celebrity fame that relies on the celebration of scandal rather than talent, nothing's going to change.

And that's too bad, because I'd like to think that I'd have been able to enjoy music from Amy Winehouse and films from Heath Ledger for a long time to come.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo