In the early sixties, MCA came under federal investigation for its business practices and possible relationship to organized crime...When Fricano, the lead interrogator of the grand jury, zeroed in on the blanket waiver that Reagan helped engineer for MCA as president of the Screen Actors Guild, the actor's memory failed. 'I think I have already told you I don't recall that,' said Reagan...Later on, grand juror Ruth Ragle said, of Reagan's testimony: 'The only thing he knew was his name.'"And they say there's no such thing as karma.
One of the things Naomi Klein touches on in No Logo that I found particularly interesting is what I like to think of as the evolution of branding. Branding started out as an attempt by producers to humanize their Industrial Revolution, mass produced goods from each other; hence the first mascots were Aunt Jemima- and Uncle Ben-types: comforting faces on anonymous products. As time went by, however, this was insufficient; there was too much of a disconnect between the brand an the product being sold. Whether through happenstance or design, some companies realized that by making the concept of the brand more ephemeral, less tied to a specific product and more connected to a spirit or an ideal, not only could the sales of a single product be increased, but any number of unrelated products could also be sold. Aunt Jemima sells syrup; to expect her to sell a car would be folly. Adidas sells shoes - or does it? In reality, Adidas sells athleticism - the ideal, active lifestyle, which you can participate in, if you only have the right shoes. And the right apparel. And the right cologne. And the right soap. And so forth.
Adidas, of course, patterns itself on Nike, one of the pioneers of this sort of branding. But in Nike's rise to brand pre-eminence, it also spawned the next evolution of branding. Nike's rise is synonymous with the rise of Michael Jordan, and it is here that things get interesting. In order to link the shoes with raw athleticism, Nike needed an icon, needed someone they could elevate, who would, by association, elevate them. Jordan filled that niche. Clearly, he could not have if he hadn't performed athletically, but if not for Nike he would not be one of the most recognizable people in the world today. But in creating his image, Nike also gave birth to a completely new concept: the individual as brand.
Why is this interesting to me? Because it explains trends in popular entertainment today, though Klein doesn't extend it that far - possibly because in 2000, this trend hadn't quite become fully apparent, and also possibly because she didn't really care. Why does Paris Hilton get to act in movies and then record an album? Why do rappers appear in movies? Because their brands give them the ability to move between mediums with relatively little dropoff. Public figures maintain a persona, a persona which can be thought of as their brand ideal; much as Nike stands for athleticism and Disney stands for family-friendly Americana, DMX stands for street autheticity and Paris stands for...well, I'll leave that alone. Whether or not the individuals actually came from those circumstances is immaterial; what matters is what they can convince their audience they stand for; in short, how successfully they can create their brand image.
On its own, this is not so important; one would assume that the number of individuals who could actually brand themselves would be relatively few - Jordan and Tiger are really the only two who come to mind aside from fashion designers, though they're probably a bit ahead of the game in terms of understanding the relationship between branding and the individual, because of their intensely personal relationship with the labels they create/design for. But couple the branding of the individual with the growing consolidation among media companies and suddenly you have a problem. See, consolidation means synergy, one of those annoying buzz-words that suits probably parroted up and down boardrooms a few years ago (I'm assuming they've moved on, as those people are wont to; the latest one I had heard as of a year or two ago was "viral," which is probably still used).
So, what's synergy? Picture, if you will, a young woman beginning a career in the performing arts. She signs on with Disney to be a Mouseketeer. Disney then puts her in an "indie" movie produced by Miramax (owned by Disney), a movie which gets a heavy advertising push on ABC (owned by Disney); preferential ad rates and times, guaranteed slots on the daytime and evening talk shows on the network and so forth. Since our fictional girl is a Mouseketeer, let's assume she can sing; ok, so she gets to sing a song on the sountrack, produced by Hollywood Records (Disney-owned again). After the movie comes out and assuming it does decently at the box office - or maybe even if it doesn't - Disney then puts her in The Lion King, on Broadway, for a one month run. She is, after all, a movie star who can sing. But now she's more than that - she's a triple threat. Yet the push behind her, the "evidence" of her ability, the creation of her brand all comes from one company, not a multitude of specialized observers recognizing her talent in each of their areas of expertise, independent of each other. And bibbity-bobbity-boo, there you have it; the Disney mill has just churned out another pop starlet.
Why is entertainment increasingly homogenous? Because of this. Why do all the young performers seem interchangable? Because they are. Gone are the days when Nicholson, Hoffman, Pacino and De Niro all vied with each other, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. Could you imagine Nicholson in The Godfather? Hoffman in Taxi Driver? Pacino in Cuckoo's Nest? De Niro in The Graduate? Of course not. But could you imagine Jake Gyllenhaal in Spiderman? Kirsten Dunst in Lost in Translation? Tobey Maguire in Lord of the Rings? Elijah Wood in Brokeback Mountain? I bet you could. And therein lies Hollywood's problem: too many films with interchangable characters, interchangable actors and interchangable scripts.
Maybe I'm being overly harsh; Golden Age Hollywood was no different, and possibly even worse in its cookie-cutter approach to movie-making. But I can't shake the impression that stars in the Golden Age found ways to differentiate themselves, tangible and otherwise. Think of the raw sex appeal of Gable, the urbaneness of Grant, the physical and verbal tics of Stewart, the pride of Katharine Hepburn and the grace of Audrey. Where did they go? And will we ever see their likes again? Can we ever see their likes again?
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