The Problem

Once upon a time, there was an actor who had a problem. Tell me if this tale sounds at all familiar.

He was a brooding young star whose rock-star lifestyle and “bad boy” persona earned him a rocky reputation along the West and East Coast and everywhere in between. He was born the son of a respected actor and had a family submerged in the entertainment business, both on the screen and off. He had a string of exceptional performances in comedies and dramas through the late 1980s and 1990s. He was offered roles alongside A-list actors and award-winning directors and pursued his craft with versatility and dedication.

Then, the dark days came. His ostentatious party days caught up with him and he got into trouble with the law. He was arrested for the possession of heroin and driving under the influence of alcohol. He was reprimanded to check into a drug rehabilitation centre to curb his habit. The famous creator of the TV series he was starring on dropped him from the show, despite him picking up Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild awards for his performance.

The movie star’s exploits and dangerous habits ended up shining in the spotlight more than the consistently solid level of comedic and dramatic work he had offered the industry for the decade before. It almost ruined him.

The actor’s name is Robert Downey Jr.

More than a decade after drug and alcohol abuse almost marred his promising career, Downey Jr. is now one of the biggest draws in Hollywood. If he’s not jump-starting a franchise a la Iron Man or Sherlock Holmes, he’s offering scene-stealing turns in films such as David Fincher’s Zodiac.

Why do I tell you this story? Because it bears considerable similarities to another figure currently in the limelight.

I am trying to imagine what would happen to Robert Downey Jr. if his demons finally caught up to him right now, instead of in the late 1990s. It is hard to think of any actor who has persevered in the film business despite such career-imploding setbacks as Downey Jr. It is even harder to think of any resilience happening in the future for a certain man named Charlie Sheen.

I bring up this comparison for one simple reason: to highlight the changes that ten years have brought to entertainment journalism and celebrity culture. In the last decade, entertainment news programming has turned into a massive sinkhole that drowns out the art while championing the artist.

Downey Jr. was able to defibrillate his career because he was: A) a versatile actor with oodles of talent and charisma, and B) one who reinvented himself by choosing good projects with good directors. He gained the respect of the public back through the work he did. When he was on the cusp of coming back to Hollywood, he chose to do so through the arts.

What is Charlie Sheen doing? He’s trying something completely different, and he’s succeeding at it wildly (no, I will not type the “W” word to describe his accomplishments). He’s trying to gain the respect of the public through his own persona. Even though this is currently working, he is unlikely to siege a comeback with any of Downey Jr.’s gusto or, well, concern for craft.

That’s because we currently live in a time where our cultural industries are pushing more of their prime efforts into creating a celebrity brand for mass consumption than into their own cultural products, such as films, music, and television series.

It’s cheaper, faster, and more shamelessly fun to follow a celebrity on a ubiquitous vehicle such as Twitter than it is to chronicle their highs and lows on the big and small screen.

It’s all about the artist and their own faculties, not the art, that has encapsulated much of pop culture in the last year or so. Imagine Justin Bieber without his hair, Susan Boyle without her frumpy housewear, Kanye West without his sharp tongue, or Lady Gaga without her, well, eclectic fashion sense. These figures wouldn't sell too well without these factors, and sadly, these elements of their stardom have begun to overshadow their own abilities as musicians.

The celebrity in 2011 is remarkably different from what a celebrity looked like ten years ago. Celebrities no longer have to prove that they’re worthy of our attention, like Downey Jr. has spent the last decade doing. They can garner a mass following on Twitter and campaign themselves through every medium imaginable – without really trying to leave their mark with any form of artistic merit.

Justin Bieber’s 3D concert flick, for instance, may have inspired lots of kiddies to follow their dreams, but it was first and foremost, a shameless advertising bonanza to address the cult of his fans and capitalize on their love (or lust) for the pop idol. Ditto for Disney Channel staples Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers, whose teenage dreams faded as soon as their respective concert films left the theatres. These celebrities fed their gluttonous audience with their transcendental celebrity status. The problem began when there was no longer an appetite, and Bieber will likely be facing this challenge soon.

I now wonder what’s in store for two of the most unprecedented celebrity stories of the year so far: Rebecca Black and Charlie Sheen.

Rebecca Black’s blast to stardom was unequivocally the strangest leap into the spotlight I can remember. One day this winter, the 13-year-old’s parents went to an independent Hollywood-based firm called the Ark Music Factory, a place where children hope to be turned into virtual pop stars. Black’s parents gave Ark $2,000 to write a song for their daughter and shoot a music video of this single – what has now become the infamous debacle known as “Friday.” The music video has received more than 30 million hits on YouTube since its viral explosion two weeks ago.

Rebecca Black did not become famous for writing a pop song. Heck, she didn’t even write the song. But what’s most incredible about her celebrity stature is that the entire concept for “Friday” had nothing to do with partying on the weekend, eating cereal or choosing to sit in the back seat (notice how none of the teens in the video are wearing seat belts).

It had to do with manufacturing a celebrity, creating a star and creating "art" from which that person could soon personify as their own. Rebecca Black did not write the song or come up with its concept, but it was given to her. It’s no wonder her song has been so mocked in the social media – she isn’t a musician at all. Black is one who has the appearance of a pop star but cannot suffice the credentials that correspond to the job.

She’s neither the next Justin Bieber nor the next Tommy Wiseau. She’s just another manufactured celebrity who has become a notable figure in society due to what I call the "American Idol" theory. This theory establishes that you can create a superstar based on the flimsiest, most superficial qualities available, and the public will eat it up. Isn't it strange that many of those who appear on American Idol seem to be incapable of writing their own music – the cornerstone of that artistic medium in the first place?

In that way, Black doesn’t fall too far from the tree that Charlie Sheen has been sleazily hanging off of. Sheen already was a superstar as the highest-paid actor on the most-watched comedy series on American television. Depending on who you speak to, though, his career has either reached its summit or it has descended into a virile (or viral) low. Like Black, he is now a manufactured celebrity persona, but one that oozes off vibes of narcissism so potent that he has started to look shamefully desperate.

Sheen is shameless, and he needs help. Recent public appearances are frightening not because of the curiously bipolar state that he has inhabited, but by how nonchalantly he has emitted and dismissed his own drug-riddled habits and obsessive behaviours as normal faculties within himself.

He is a domestic abuser, a drug-addict and an alcoholic. If he weren’t a massive superstar with legions of fans and a massive Twitter following, he would be sinking to his own stench of reeky substance abuse. He could have died from the toxins that he’s put into his system. Instead, he has reincarnated himself as a sort of holy figure to entertain the masses.

Sheen is, himself, turning into his own drug, simultaneously craving, stimulating and satisfying his own ego. As he told ABC News, he is currently on a drug called “Charlie Sheen.” This new kind of medicine has already addicted 3 million Twitter followers and countless others who thrive on watching Sheen cruise his ego to unheralded heights.

What’s sad is that Charlie Sheen’s immature, provocative behaviour – on top of his drastic turns to substance abuse and domestic abuse – is a cry for help. But instead of his fans and his followers cracking down on Sheen to seek help, they are getting high with the same drug the ex-CBS star is on: celebrity.

If Charlie Sheen was not famous but a close friend or family member to anyone who has championed his irrefutable lifestyle, that person would have checked him into rehabilitation long ago. Sheen is a dangerous person who cannot see the void that his life has become because he is so overpowered by the excess of his own celebrity.

We are surrounded by the popular culture, but as intelligent, informative people, we do have a responsibility in terms of the arts and entertainment that we consume. We, as a community, have to stop fueling huge stars who thrive mainly on their own ego and popularity instead of the creative substance that the arts and entertainment world promises.

With celebrity news veering into overdrive in the social media and on 24-hour news channels, we have to expect better: better from the stars themselves and better from the journalists who report on arts and entertainment.

If we keep requesting to see junk and follow the trashy lifestyles of the rich and (in)famous, the stature of our popular culture is going to diminish. If we stop paying attention to people who thrive mainly to seek our attention – such as Sheen or the cast of Jersey Shore – then maybe celebrities will come to realize that the only way to get our approval is through the performances on the screen or on the radio, and not anywhere else.

You see, maybe the problem isn’t in our stars, but in ourselves.