(This is a very symbolic picture, if you think about it.)
I used to think Britney Spears was a secret genius.
An auspicious debut video, her famous "virginity," the Timberlake chronicles, a well-timed smooch with Madonna—it was all so masterfully plotted, so expertly timed to keep her in the limelight. I thought she'd mapped this rise to the top of the teen pop pantheon (and the world!) herself. And yes — I admired her for it.
Then I saw Chaotic — the awful reality show that had even Spears's most die-hard fans wincing as they saw the real Britney — and our cherished bubblegum princess tumbled down, broke her crown, with Kevin Federline tumbling after. How could I possibly have believed Britney herself was responsible for that once-brilliant trajectory? After watching Chaotic, you'd be hard-pressed to convince me she can make scrambled eggs. But until that point, the work of Team Britney — publicists, managers, and the like in charge of the Entity Spears — effortlessly crafted the ultimate music icon: a sex goddess superstar with an aura of "but who is she really?" mystery about her.
Then she was on UPN comparing her knees to boobies.
She wasn't the only one.
There was an era, not long ago, when you had to reach for the stars. We went to multiplexes and concert venues to see our favorite celebrities in larger-than-life capacity. Now, we flip through US Weekly. Turn on E!. Google them. Granted, as long as there have been star, there have been people who obsessively devour every minute detail of their lives. That's what makes them stars! But are we getting too close?
Take Tom Cruise — no, seriously, take him. Prior to War Of The Worlds, he had a string of $100 million-plus successes — the guy was in no need of a makeover. Yet, suddenly, he was everywhere — canoodling Katie, playing ape on Oprah, bashing Brooke Shields. This all had naught to do with his blockbuster headlining, it just kept him on the radar. What happened? The guy was once a charismatic Casanova, suave and charming and justifiably cocky, and the public had little reason to believe he was any different than that in his private life. And then, hello, Oprah's sofa! We felt duped. All this time we let him save the world, was he always a nutcase? We're no longer sure he's the guy we want flying helicopters through tunnels next time some bad spies come to town. He couldn't even trump Brooke Shields! Tom Cruise is still a movie star, but his bankability has definitely taken a hit — people now see his films despite him, not because of him. (Or not at all, in some cases.) It's all because he made the mistake of letting us see who he really is, deep down — a human being. Fallible, imperfect. Also: very rich. And wacky.
More respectable thespians, too, have seen the dark side of publicity — Russell Crowe's real-life assault on a hotel employee may have cheapened the allure of seeing him hit people in films like Cinderella Man, which also underperformed. Christian Bale's on-set tirades may not have taken a bite out of The Dark Knight's box office earnings, but it sure did make Batman's growly raspiness seem a lot less menacing than Christian Bale's actual angry voice. Dude's scarier than Two-Face and the Joker combined.
Overexposure hasn't done much for the Junior Miss headliner-hopefuls, either. Remember when our favorites celebrities were the ones we liked, rather than loathed? Yeah… me either. Let's mark the summer of 2005 as the turning point, when Paris Hilton was the main draw to the horror flick House Of Wax. Promotional T-shirts read "See Paris die," and that singular pleasure probably accounted for 98% of its unimpressive earnings. Similarly, nonstop Lindsay Lohype didn't make a champ out of Herbie: Fully Loaded or any subsequent feature from the troubled starlet, effectively killing off her film career (particularly family fare, which doesn't work so well as headlines by an actress primarily known for her coke benders).
These tabloid goddesses are so overexposed, there's no reason to pay upwards of $10 when all you need to do is click on over to TMZ at no cost. That's why the Kardashians of this world thrive on TV — watching them is passive and inexpensive. But nobody's going out of their way to keep up with the Kardashians, Lohans, or Hiltons of this world. Not out of pocket. Why pay to see cash cows on the big screen when the media milks them for free? We'll hate them on the cheap, thank you. The dawn of reality shows and the internet and Twitter is the mortal enemy of movie stardom. Cinematic legends like Marilyn Monroe and James Dean became icons because of the aura of mystique surrounding them; compare that to the nip-slips and crotch-shots that have become so commonplace as to be humdrum. (Oh, that same ol' labia again? Yawn!) We don't have to wonder anymore what our fave celebs do on their day off or eat for breakfast, because half the time, they just come right out and tell us in 140 characters or less. They won't need to write memoirs — just you wait until the first celebrity publishes a collection of their misspelled tweets.
Clearly, neither pulling outrageous stunts nor appearing on Perez Hilton on a daily basis guarantees box office bling. There's a lesson to be learned from the ex-Mrs. Federline, who faced the music when, thanks to Chaotic, fans who'd been up close and personal with Britney's nostrils no longer bought into her sex appeal. (The shaved head didn't help either.) Today's most talked-about celebrities don't give us much to celebrate; their super-size personalities are shrinking with each "insight" we get into their shameless psyches. Thanks to Twitter, we can be privy to every banal thought that pops into some superstars' heads — and their grammar and spelling errors, too. Now we know for sure — the stars really are just like us. Stupid.
There may come a day when celebrities become so accessible, so overhyped, so ordinary that we won't need to flock to Madison Square Garden or the nearest IMAX for face time. Why bother, when we can get minute-by-minute updates about them on our iPhone? I know it sounds radical, but if you told me a few years ago about a future in which Britney Spears is bald instead of sexy and Tom Cruise is crazy instead of charismatic, I'd have laughed it off as the apocalyptic ramblings of a madman. Yet here we are.
So is there a conclusion to draw from all this? Not really. Sometimes the hype helps… sometimes it hurts… sometimes, it doesn't make a difference. However, if I may offer a word of warning to the stars who have not yet fallen: don't lose your luster. Don't show us your home movies, don't go mental on The Today Show, don't become so ubiquitous we wish you bedridden with leprosy. Just don't. Hype safely!
Twinkle, twinkle, little stars, let us wonder what you are…
…Because if we find out, we probably won't like you anymore.
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