The Suicide of the Celebrity.

Why America will no longer stand being bossed by rich entertainers.

Imagine losing to literally Hitler.

Such was the fate of soon-to-be-ex Vice President Kamala Harris—a brown woman who inspired antiracists across America to form whites-only advocacy groups without a shred of self-awareness.

But Madame Harris and her white saviors didn't suffer defeat alone—the stars who gave their all to ensure her triumph over Donald Trump also lost bigly. It was a valiant effort: Hamill harangued; Ruffalo ranted; Deniro raged; JLo cried; Cardi B powered through a reading assignment. And so on.

Alas, America overwhelmingly preferred Hitler to Hollywood. Defeat was decisive: Trump would not just take the electoral college, he would become the first Republican in 20 years to win the popular vote, and the second president in American history to serve two non-consecutive terms.

But how could the electorate shun the cast of The Avengers? How could Julia Roberts' appeal to politically closeted (presumably battered) wives fail to win more women? Why did Meghan Thee Stallion's cheek-clapping not mesmerize more black men? How could George Clooney—who helped raise millions for Joe Biden (weeks before urging him to step aside)—make so little impact?

There has always been some animus against “Actorvists”—people generally prefer not to be condescended to by soft-handed and obscenely rich entertainers. Still, Stars were far more tolerated before than they are now. Many were even liked.

That’s not the case anymore.

Here’s why.

“I think it’s a pity we use the power of our name the motion picture industry has given us to try and sway somebody into our way of thinking. We’re all here as individuals. We have the right to our own opinions.” JOAN CRAWFORD

It once meant something to be a "Star." Not a "Leading Player" or "Principal Character."

A STAR.

"Stars" were different from the rest of us, and different from other actors. They were blessed with unnatural beauty, profound magnetism and presence, prodigious comedic instincts, an incandescent je ne sais quoi. Most combined several of these traits. Many could even act.

Stars were integral to the health of show business. Their success meant more work not just for themselves, but for everyone in and tangential to the industry. Ushers, snack vendors, ticket-takers, carpenters, seamstresses, custodians, caterers, restaurateurs, hair and make-up specialists, security personnel, drivers and chauffeurs—all and more benefitted from business generated by the Star’s pull.

And pull us they did—from the comfort (or chaos) of home and into aging playhouses and dark cinemas to tolerate the company of strangers for a few hours. Stars anchored romantic evenings and outings with friends, made memories for our children, and provided companionship for lonely souls at sparsely-attended matinees.

Ideally the Star’s value transcended box office returns. She allowed us to temporarily forget ourselves and the drudgeries of the day. She dazzled, amused and aroused us, perhaps soothing unseen wounds. But crucially—in a multi-ethnic melting pot fraught with religious, political, economic and historical tensions—she had the capacity to bring people together.

In other words, the Star’s true worth lay in fostering social cohesion.

But that was the past.

Fame means little today. Anyone with a phone can attain it. Amateur and professional influencers alike can build audiences and annex the attention once commanded by traditional entertainers. The Star is now a minnow in an ocean of "Content,” no longer wielding the cultural clout they once commanded.

This diminution of the Star has been accelerated by advancing technology. Show business is just another app, or a browser tab. The inaccessibility that elevated the Star’s mystique is gone; she’s now available “On Demand.” She’s even portable—always with you on some device, stuffed inside a backpack or suffocating in a breast pocket.

If technology has crippled the Star’s mystique, social media has proven its executioner. The Star’s cultural importance diminished, traditional media on the wane, online platforms are pivotal for connecting with fans and staying relevant. Rather than experiencing the Star via promotional interviews and PR professionals, social media allows unprecedented access to anything on the Star’s mind.

Now everyone knows why it’s said that actors are better seen than heard.

That’s true for me, too. But my podcast is available on all popular platforms anyway.

Zelda Fichandler—former chair of NYU's elite Graduate Acting Program and a key figure in America's regional theatre movement—stressed empathy and curiosity as cornerstones of the actor's craft. Legendary acting instructors Uta Hagen and Stella Adler stressed the importance of education for the actor (the actor’s life is ideally one of endless autodidacticism).

In the Internet Age—particularly with the advent of social media—the public could be forgiven for believing such wisdom ignored.

Empathy is reserved solely for proponents of a particular politics. Any doctrinal deviation risks ruination. Intellectual curiosity is thus disincentivized, impeding the acquisition of knowledge. What’s even considered “knowledge” becomes dependent on the biases it confirms or challenges.

As Christopher Lasch noted decades ago in The Revolt of the Elites: "Once knowledge is equated with ideology, it is no longer necessary to argue with opponents on intellectual grounds or to enter into their point of view"—precisely what any curious and empathetic artist should do—"It is enough to dismiss them as Eurocentric, racist, sexist, [or] homophobic"—precisely what today’s entertainment professional typically does do.

Consequently the public—loath to abandon reality to indulge in the prevailing ideology of show business—have become the “opponents” referred to by Lasch. The industry’s mission is no longer entertaining masses but educating “fascists.” Maintaining the approval of professional peers now takes priority over winning the approval of a backward and bigoted public. The public is no longer an audience:

They are an obstacle to the fulfillment of a greater social mission.

The Stars—show business’ most volatile and vocal ambassadors—now embody this paradigm. They reinforce it consistently, pressured internally and externally to “use their voice” to speak out on “issues” they may or may not know anything about. The internet has magnified and amplified this phenomenon, and retains receipts forever:

Stars scolding Americans as stupid.
Stars wishing ill on 76+ million voters.
Stars spewing egregiously anti-factual tirades.
Stars making racist statements about black conservatives.
Stars unironically claiming Americans don’t dwell in reality.

And so on.

Never before has the collective psychology of show business been so exposed. Never before has the clash in values between the majority of America and the minority cloistered within its cultural industries been so apparent. Stars are no longer filtered through spokespeople and carefully-chosen interviews, and never before has it been so apparent why such filters were necessary.

In an age that threatens total mechanization, Stars could stand as a shimmering ideal of the human spirit. In a utilitarian nation obsessed with commodification, Stars could foster respect for the sublimity of the arts in a society inclined to dismiss them. In polarized times, Stars could do society a service by drawing an atomized populace into one orbit.

Instead the Stars have chosen to be political prostitutes, thereby choosing disdain for the public they’re privileged to serve. They’ve chosen not to foster social cohesion; they’ve chosen to be active agents of social dissolution.

Yet they are shocked that the public has chosen “Hitler.”

CD

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