Core Reading Response 1 Josie Andrews

Josie Andrews.

Core Post 1

Reading 2/6. Dyer’s Star Theory “Stars as Stars,” “Stars as Types,” and “Stars as Specific Images” and LaPlace’s “Producing and Consuming Woman’s Film.”

These readings (and the one on Ideology we read earlier this semester), ask what is the function and status of the postmodern star?  I will try and address the four readings seriatim, while exploring my thoughts on each reading in the context of films, class discussions and my own general observations of our industry. I did not address Eckert because I had already addressed his reading in my posts last week. I will finish with three questions I believe the Readings raised and my thought on those questions.

According to Dyer in “Stars as Stars,” stardom is the American Dream and organized around ordinariness, success, and consumption. Culturally, stars are a symbol of success that is worth having. Confirming the myth that with a bit of talent, hard work, professionalism and luck, anyone can get to the top in America regardless of class, stars are also a symbol of ordinariness. The image of the soda fountain girl-discovered star injects an element of luck into stardom that reminds each of us that anyone can achieve star status and be successful. At the same time stars are ordinary, stars are interesting to us because they are different and special. They are the “most” talented, “most” special, “most” beautiful, “most’ expensive. On screen and in their private lives, the wealthy George Clooney, Leonardo DiCaprio and the Kardashians do not live the life of the ordinary but the “fabulous” extravagant Hollywood lifestyle of the elite with swimming pools, mansions, parties, jets, limos, and fashion. 

Nevertheless, we want to believe that despite their glamorous lifestyle, they are still like us. Why? I believe that this personal identification helps us try and make sense of our own aspirations, inner longings, and world. Therefore, even if we are not discovered, we can imitate on a small scale this image of stardom and success, by becoming idols of star consumption, drinking the same highballs, playing the same sports, copying their fashions and hairstyles, purchasing their cigarettes, and even parroting their views (raise your hand if you have “borrowed” an Oprah Winfrey or Jimmy Kimmel line).  We can take what is actually a social phenomenon and make it private and personal, transforming our ordinary lives into something extraordinary. And, even more importantly, by replicating in even small ways these idolized stars, perhaps in some small measure, we can also find a sense of unity and wholeness—a sense of something we all have in common—in an America today that is alarmingly split along race, religious and political lines.

Maria LaPlace’s article also reminds us that in the 1940s, the Hollywood woman's picture was deliberately targeted at female audience that linked women’s personal commodity consumption with the conspicuous consumption of the star system. Woman’s pictures have a female protagonist, female point of view, and a female story line. LaPlace argues that the woman’s pictures created a symbolic arena where women could “create imaginative space for resistance” or at least try and make some sense of their lives and what femininity means. Like Dyer, to support this argument, LaPlace examines consumerism and the female star’s image (she also examines women’s fiction in the context of fan magazines, studio production files, press materials and film posters and the film Now, Voyager to explore how the film contributed to the 1940s ideals of femininity and consumerism. In the film, Charlotte is shown in a flashback as a young, beautiful, elegant woman. It is her mother who has forced ugliness upon her, and with ugliness comes insecurity and self-hatred. Of course, when Charlotte is removed from this destructive female relationship (note: it is another woman, not a man, who has made her ugly), she transforms into the beautiful and chic Bette Davis audience’s are waiting to see.  She immediately captures the male gaze, and because of this all important male gaze, her clothes, hats, shoes, and even cigarettes became an object of desire for female audiences. While Charlotte embraces her own sexuality (engages in adulterous affair) and independence, she is still constrained by our patriarchal society and capitalism. We can (and are encouraged to) buy products to attract the male gaze, but we cannot find true happiness if we do not conform to female roles of wife and mother. This contradiction in the woman’s film is difficult to reconcile. But, in reading this account, I reminded myself that historically, the 1940s and World War II was a time of tremendous opportunity for women who balanced family lives while taking up traditionally male jobs, like airplane construction. These new employment opportunities opened up financial independence for women, who became (as Eckert recognized) the true target of consumerism. Yet, when the soldiers returned, women were undoubtedly confused as to their new roles.

Paradox. What I find most fascinating about the Dyer reading was his explanation of the paradox of the ‘star’. The paradox is as follows: The star must be both ordinary and extraordinary and must be both present and absent.  This part of the theory means the star needs to be ordinary to allow the audience to relate to the audience but possess an extraordinary talent or quality which will make them be idolized by the general public.  For example, Jennifer Lawrence is an ordinary woman who speaks and acts like most people and even falls when accepting her Oscar, however she is an amazing actor who people idolize. This allows her to be the star that she is. The second half of the theory explains that the star must be present in our lives whether it is through their merchandise, social media (Twitters) or involved in chat between friends but also absent in the fact that they are not actually there or are ‘out of reach.’  Ironically, Lawrence does not have a social media or Twitter account, yet most stars do, and we follow many of them, hoping for a glimpse into their personal lives, particularly when they share tweets or snaps with other celebrities. We feel as if we are a part of their most “inner” circle, and even though this is a false sense of belonging part of the glamorous life, we vicariously feel special.

Hollywood as a Destroyer. Of course, as Dyer points out, the on-screen myth of stardom= love and our obsession with physical beauty and youth is often soured off-screen and success/ consumption is not always so great in real life. From Marilyn Monroe to Robin Williams to Heath Ledger to the announcement seven days ago of Mark Salling’s (Glee) death, suicides and drugs have haunted Hollywood stars. Multiple marriages, affairs and divorce are not just a hallmark of Elizabeth Taylor, Henry Fonda or the 1950s and 1960s but of most Hollywood stars, from John Wayne (3 times) to Bette Davis (4 times, with her divorce from Harmon Nelson blamed on his inability to handle the fact she “wore the pants” and was the breadwinner and most famous of the pair) to most contemporary stars, including Angelina Jolie, Demi Moore and Drew Barrymore (each married 3 times).  Because fame is often short-lived, Disney has had a particularly interesting run with child stars who fall off the deep end—Demi Lovato’s (Camp Rock), Selena Gomez’s (Wizards), Lindsey Lohan (Parent Trap) and shaved-head Britney Spears’s (Mickey Mouse Club) breakdowns to Miley Cyrus’s (Hannah Montana) “wrecking ball” of her life for several years. Of course, America can be forgiving, and some stars find their way back to success. Yet, ironically, even when a star’s life sours, we tend to reconcile these differences by either rejoicing that someone else’s life is more messed up than our own (I actually think this is the bases of America’s fascination with reality TV shows) or by finding some similarities in our own life. For example, when Brad Pitt left America’s darling Jennifer Aniston for his co-star Jolie, even fans who were furious, could understand at some level that people have marital problems and want to find love. And, perhaps, it was just Pitt's desire to have a large family and kids immediately—again, something that most people can relate to. When we like a star, we want to find reasons to rationalize unacceptable behavior so that we can continue to enjoy their films and enjoy following their star lifestyle.

In “Stars as Types,” Dyer examines how stars relate to the social types found in society and asks if their individual characteristics as seen on screen or created by media oppose or confirm dominant values.  These types include snobs (Katharine Hepburns), the good Joe (friendly and easy going, regular fellow who does not like bullies and fights for underdogs, e.g. Bing Crosby, Lucille Ball, Bob Hope, John Wayne), the Tough Guy (James Cagney, James Bond/Sean Connery or Clint Eastwood that celebrates violence, aggressiveness and brutality as heroic, not villain, traits), and the Pin-Up (largely emphasizes the sexual charge of women, e.g. Marilyn Monroe). To explore the contradictions that social types of stars can create, Dyer turns ‘Good Joes’ into questions of masculinity and what these images conceal about masculinity, ‘Tough Guys’ into a question of working class masculinity and the confusing collapse in society between good and bad, and ‘Pin-Ups' into women as the spectacle object of the male gaze. He also explores the rebel, e.g. Marlon Brando, James Dean and Jane Fonda, and the Independent Woman (Katharine Hepburn) who adopt male characteristics but is able to retain her identity because of better communication with male partners. Interestingly, the independent woman implies both heterosexuality and a contempt of women that only allows women into male circles if they abandon femininity.

Although these narratives arguably legitimize rebellion or independence, in general, Dyer believes that stars do not tend to promote social types that go against the status quo or dominant white male heterosexual values but actually confirm them. This is because stars achieve fame when they are more typical and representative of the average fan’s characteristics. Of course, some stars get their star quality by resisting social conformity. When stars are rebels, they are seen as youths who are going through a passing phase (James Dean), a quasi-bad boy whose goodness surpasses their nonconformity (John Wayne is an anti-hero in Stagecoach), or a criminal who was let down by some failure in a specific system or family (Marlon Brando), etc. He concludes, however, that stars’ political or social value is not really impacted by a specific plot or roles. Because we are dealing with stars and not just fictional characters, the plot is not as important as the star’s “personality” that the film as a whole reveals. Yet, more often than not, this personality will still mesh with social expectations, with women fitting uneasily into a classification in film, and blacks, gays and working class rarely fitting at all (Hmmm, sounds like the complaint most of the industry has with the Academy Awards). 

We saw this in Bette Davis’s film, Now, Voyager. As LaPlace notes, Charlotte resists the traditional role of wife and mother and engages in an adulterous affair, leading us to excitedly embrace that we are seeing a female role that challenges patriarchal male norms. Yet, as Dyer argues, Charlotte never significantly challenges these male dominated social norms. In the end, Charlotte must necessarily transform into a beautiful, elegant woman who is worthy of the male gaze and the emulation of female fans. She also cannot continue the adulterous affair but must conform to society’s moral code. Finally, and most importantly, her independence must be punished, e.g. she must sacrifice the love of her life. We see this pattern repeated over and over in all blockbuster films that have strong female roles—Mama Mia, Meryl Streep must get married at the end, Wonder Woman has arguably one of the strongest female characters but even she is ultimately saved at the end of the film by the male love of her life and punished for her strength and independence by his death, Mad Max: Fury Road gives us a lot of sexuality for the male gaze to rest on, and although Charlize Theron has no love interest, she is saved by Max in the end.

Dyer’s “Star as Specific Images” shows the complexity of stardom as something more than simply consumerism by arguing that a star is not only a real-life person or a type, but an image that is constructed as a cover for the star and designed to serve an ideological function for fans. This cover is created with great precision and comes from  their film performances as well as other factors that include: (1) the image Hollywood is deliberately trying to promote; (2) press and publicity that is somewhat more authentic but other than scandals (Weinstein scandal) is likely planted information (Khloe and Kylie baby secrecy that was not so secret); (3)  the roles an actor plays in films makes them recognizable to audiences who often associate stars with particular types of films and, if they see a star name and that type of film, will flock to see that film (studios would build films around a star image; but even today, other than an actor like Tom Hanks, Jennifer Lawrence or Will Smith who easily transverses between drama and comedy; it is difficult to imagine Will Farrell in a serious tragedy); (4) what critics and writers say to try and shape public opinion; and commentary. The result of this intertextual construction is a very complex image of stars and perhaps a snapshot of the ideologies of our society at a given time in history.

Applying Dyer’s intertextual and ideological construction to John Wayne, Wayne was introduced to fans in his first major role in the film Stagecoach. The very first shot of him in the film is probably one of the most iconic “image” creating scene in Hollywood history. We hear a gunshot as a stagecoach races up a hill. Holding a saddle in one hand and twirling his rifle with his other in a swirl of dust stands John Wayne. The camera is out of focus and then suddenly focuses sharply in on his face. We see a young, rugged, self-reliant person looking us straight in the eye, and we immediately like him. This is someone who will walk with his head high and never cross a friend. He may be a non-conformist, but he is definitely heroic. These are ideological desirable qualities in a society. Off-screen, Dyer’s other elements of construction, are equally evident in constructing the “Duke’s” image. Peter Sheridan’s recent biography of Marion “Duke” Morrison (John Wayne), explains that when Wayne’s character of the anti-hero “Good Joe” cowboy was first constructed, the star’s personal life was promoted by the studios to show that he really was a good guy. Not surprisingly, when I asked my grandmother and parents what they thought of John Wayne personally, they all said, he is a really great guy so it seems as if the studios succeeded, and the “image” did fit the “role.” But, Sheridan discloses that in fact he was nothing like this “Good Joe” image. The Duke had a horrible childhood (nasty mother) and became himself a pretty unlikeable person—alcoholic, mean to many people (although evidently pretty nice to people on the set, always bought them engraved, personalized coffee mugs), cheated constantly on his four wives, was never financially stable, and had virtually no relationship with his children or grandchildren. Yet, Hollywood managed to still create a coherent, easily accepted image of Wayne from this very contradictory real life persona that persists to this day.

Likewise, Bette Davis was often believed to be a star that was created completely by her roles, which were often rewritten with her in mind, and Warner Bros. publicity machine.  But, I know from quick online research two weeks ago, that Davis was originally constructed as a mere “Pin-Up girl.” A theatrical actress, she hated this image and was constantly at odds with her studio over salary and roles and actually sued them (unsuccessfully) to be released from her contract. Her heated battles are more likely than not the reason she was able to secure such juicy roles and create the independent, strong seductress (later bitchy) image of Davis. Yet, during the 1940s and 1950s, Warner Bros. publicity machine made sure to conceal her heated battles and exploit her private image to conform to that shown on screen.  In discussing Dyer’s star social types and Bette Davis's image as an Independent Woman, LaPlace notes that Davis’s publicity is rarely linked to mansions and movie stars but to her own empathetic personal story, her struggles, and her commitment to work. Her circle of friends are not stars but ordinary people, like you and me.  She is not the epitome of femininity, yet, Warner Bros. brilliantly exploited her eccentricity to show her as a committed actress, artist and star, exploiting the more sympathetic side of the Independent woman, rather than the bitchy side of many of Davis's roles.

Ideologically, Davis also fulfills an important social function for fans. Although in real life, Davis explained her failed marriages as her refusal to be defined by romance or love, on screen her roles largely confirmed patriarchal, male norms.  In All About Eve, beauty and youth are what bring success and the male gaze, both of which are fleeting. If you want long-term happiness, as a woman, you must be married. In Now, Voyager, again beauty and elegant clothes and makeup is what brings a woman confidence, the male gaze and happiness. Adultery is wrong and cannot be rewarded. Moreover, although LaPlace argues that Charlotte challenges norms by having the love of a child (very odd though that an emotionally troubled woman is allowed to have an emotionally troubled child in the film) without the constraints of a marriage (164), I believe the more clear message is that, if a woman chooses independence, she will be punished in the end--Charlotte cannot have it all, and must sacrifice, love, marriage and having her own children. 

Today, I think this intertextual contradictory ideological construction of the star image is exacerbated by the internet and TV, and I wonder if the “construction” of a star to fit the image to the role is still as relevant in today’s Hollywood.  While it is impossible to know how much of the publicly available information about a star is accurate or even known by most fans, it is highly likely that knowledge of a star’s life impacts in some manner on a fan’s decision to see a given film. It is easy when star image and film images match and reinforce each other—Tom Hanks, Amy Poehler and George Clooney come immediately to mind. Yet, Kathryn Heigl, Kiefer Sutherland and Jared Leto are just a couple of the many sympathetic and likeable actors we see on screen who in real life are well-known jerks, seemingly exposing the filmmaker as a fraud, yet their films remain popular. Why? My thoughts are below, but I will be particularly interested to see if limits exist today, as they did in the past, on our moral ability to separate film star from private star. For example, given Jared Leto’s recent sexual harassment and assault claims against him—knowledge of his personal life will certainly impact my own decision not to personally patronize any of films.

Questions Posed to Class.

1. The problem I am having is that, if we are so saturated with publicity of star lives that is radically different than that portrayed on screen, star construction would seem to actually create tremendous instability for us as fans. If that is so, then why do we go back to the screens to see stars play character types that they are well-known for that are so contradictory to their real lives? I’m not sure, but perhaps we are driven back to the theater to find a temporary sense of completion for the star and ourselves (of course, the minute we leave the theater, the sense of incompleteness continues because we again are confronted with publicity that conflict with our idealized star image). What do you think?

2. Another question I had from these readings is one of authenticity and stardom. If stars are pure industry manipulation to sell films and products, do stars have any authenticity at all? Dyer says stars are more complex than just commodities (see his discussion on social types), but even so, do stars have to actually be a good actor or does it simply mean that on the screen we need to see something “real” from the actor, e.g. a glimpse of his/her private self to be satisfied that they are worthy of being idolized or emulated?

3.   I also wonder if people agree with Dyer’s claim that Hollywood caters to a white, heterosexual male world is still true today. On the one hand, Hollywood continues to be clearly dominated behind the cameras and in front by men. Most producers and directors are men. Most Academy Awards go to men. Most leading roles are men. And, just as Bette Davis complained in the late 1930s, male stars continue to make more money than women. Even the strongest roles for rebellious women, tend to perpetuate the male heterosexual gaze (think Mad Max Fury Road and Wonder Woman). And, with a few exceptions, e.g. Will Smith and Neil Patrick Harris, blacks and gays tend to be ignored for lead star roles.  So, I do believe for the most part, Dyer’s claim is accurate. Yet, if this is true, why do those groups who are most marginalized and in need of a sense of inclusion and identity, e.g. gays, women and blacks, have such intense identification with so many stars? I would be interested to hear what others think. My two cents is that I believe this might be because Hollywood is no longer committed to stable or fixed star images. Instead, just as stars, like Will Smith, Jennifer Lawrence and Tom Hanks, can constantly reinvent themselves on screen and be successful, perhaps we can renegotiate our own identity and reinvent ourselves for success.  

My takeaway from the readings: Stars embody prevalent preconceptions of cultural and historical ideology. Certain stars support dominant ideology by becoming glorified versions of us and conforming to it, while other stars confirm social hegemony by contradicting it.   In either case, the images circulated of stars, influences the ways in which we think of our own identity and the identity of others.