Richard Dyer's chapter on Judy Garland in Heavenly Bodies suggests that Garland's on and off screen persona in some ways represents "the situation and experience of being gay in a homophobic society" (149). The parallel between Garland as a real-life tragic figure and her film roles as a "comeback" performer allows audiences to see Garland as one who has been beaten by society, but still musters enough courage to defy it. Her additional brand of ordinariness, androgyny, and camp, also aligns Garland with gay culture and she has become somewhat of a gay icon. In fact, as early as World War II, being a "friend of Dorothy" was a slang term used by gay men to identify their sexual orientation when homosexual acts were illegal in the United States.
I feel that a great example of what Dyer talks about in HB can be seen in Garland's performance of "Get Happy" from Summer Stock (1950):
Garland's iconic costume from Summer Stock highlights the androgyny in her persona. She wears what appears to be a men's suit and fedora crossed with a skirt, stockings, and high heels. Meanwhile, men in traditional masculine costume serve as her background dancers, all of whom she complete power over as she leads the dance number. The visual gives new meaning to the lyrics of "Get Happy". For example, consider the chorus below:
Forget your troubles
Cone on get happy
You better chase all your cares away
Shout Hallelujah
Come on get happy
Get ready for the judgement day
The sun is shining
Come on get happy
The lord is waiting to take your hand
Should Hallelujah
Come on get happy
We're going to the promised land
We're heading across the river
Wash your sins away in the tide
It's so peaceful on the other side
I would argue that the image of an androgyne singing these lyrics (which have a religious connotation) implies gay acceptance in mainstream society. Garland sings of a peaceful land without judgement, and thus fear persecution for those that gender bend like she does.
This is similar to how Dyer discusses ways in which gays relate to Garland's role as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. In the film, Garland leaves an oppressive, black and white Kansas life to travel to a fantastic land of color, singing, and dance where all types of people could reach their true potential (Lion wants courage, Tin Man wants a heart, etc.). Perhaps a the land in which Garland talks about in "Get Happy" could be somewhat like Oz in which gays do not need to be held back by societal norms.
Garland's gender bending in "Get Happy" takes on new forms in modern times. For example, singer Rufus Wainwright recreates Dorothy's performance -- costume and all -- in his critically acclaimed Carnegie Hall Concert in 2007. Just last year, Seth Sikes emerged as a performer selling out shows by putting a modern spin on classic Garland songs.
Jackie Stacey's article, Feminine Fascinations: Forms of Identification in Star-Audience Relations, suggests that one way in which women connect to their favorite film actresses is through consumption. Purchasing the same cosmetics and clothing as Doris Day, for example, is one way a woman might identify with the celebrity's persona without ever having to come in contact with Doris Day in real life. While consumption is just one of the ways in which both men and women can identify themselves with a celebrity, I find it particularly interesting because it reveals the film industry's ties to capitalism and consumerist culture.
I'm actually surprised to find that Stacey did not mention much about celebrity paraphernalia -- novel goods designed to be consumed by only the most rabid of fans. Often these items come in the form of ordinary objects that have come into contact with a star. Autographs, photos, props, and personal items can fetch ridiculously high prices based on the nature of their intimacy to a star. For example, a used tissue from Scarlett Johansson sold for $5, 300 in 2008 (she at least signed it as well). In 2013, a fake fingernail worn by Lady Gaga during one of her tours was sold for $13,000. Meanwhile, the most bizarre piece of celebrity paraphernalia may be Marilyn Monroe's chest x-ray from 1954, which was sold for $45,000 at a Las Vegas auction in 2010.
Of course, those are extreme examples. I just find it fascinating that physical contact with a celebrity can turn an ordinary object into an extraordinary product in American consumerist culture. One of my own prized possessions happens to be a signed vinyl from my favorite rap artist, Childish Gambino. I once looked up the selling price of this vinyl, and was surprised to find that this ordinary record could potentially be sold for thousands of dollars simply because of the rapper's signature.
I also find it ironic that vinyls have resurfaced as consumer trend. Today's music enthusiast often purchases vinyls of their favorite albums even if they don't own a record player. It's weird to think that you can own Drake's Take Care as a record, but nothing says "hardcore fan" like owning a physical copy of an album (albeit a giant LP) in today's preference for intangible media files.
The novelty with these vinyls is indicative of the novelty of celebrity paraphernalia. Physical encounters in modern society are increasingly being replaced by virtual connections. Could it be that celebrity paraphernalia could be more valuable today in our attempt to feel closer to our celebrities? What does the class think? Do any of you have any awesome celebrity paraphernalia?
Just this past weekend, singer Michael Buble (39) was accused of body shaming a woman over Instagram with the following post:
Fan reaction was divided. Some Instagram users expressed outrage that Buble would make fun of a random woman because her large behind. Others thought that controversy surrounding a butt is nothing serious to get flustered over.
I find it interesting how Michael Buble's post echoes some of this week's readings about the Latina body. For example, both Negron-Muntaner and Beltran identify the Latina butt as a canvas of ambivalent emotions. While American obsession with Latina curves stereotypes Latina women as overly sexual, the Latina butt can also represent a defiance of white beauty standards. This would help us understand why Instagram reaction to Buble's butt pic is so split.
Michael Buble's own framing of the woman in question also cannot be ignored. While we may never know the ethnicity or race of the woman pictured, Buble's hashtags imply that she must be Latina and that Latinas are synonymous with this sort of look. For example, the singer's use of #onlyinmiami and #babygotback suggest that Miami's massive Latina population makes it a prime booty-watching city, and that doing so is an essential part of traveling to Miami. Buble's post highlights how excitement around the Latino butt has become so engrained in our culture.
On the other hand, Instagram itself has become a sort of visual spectacle concerning women's bodies. Instagram users like Jen Selter have become overnight celebrities because of their suggestive photos. In fact, Selter has been regarded as a fitness icon because her influence over her Instagram fanbase. She frequently posts workout routines that showcase how she maintains a tight booty. So when Buble says, "There was something about this photo Lu took that seemed worthy of Instagram," he may be clueing into the fact that Instagram has become this social network service where "outstanding" body parts are shared, liked, followed, and favorited.
"Lu" also refers to Buble's wife, Argentinian model Luisana Lopilato. By comparison, Loplato's behind is less impressive, and some Instagram users have interrupted Buble's photo to represent envy for Latina curves.
In any case, the varied reactions to Buble's Instagram photo show how the Latino butt is the site of social and cultural anxieties toward the female body and ethnic identity.
“Seen through the eyes of the drag queens, the white middle-class woman emerges as a rather more powerful figure than she is within a feminist discourse that attends only to her gender. Their fantasies render her whiteness, and its association with class privilege, more visible."
- Ann Cvetkovich
In her article, The Powers of Seeing and Being Seen, Ann Cvetkovich highlights the racial implications within Madonna’s transformative image. By cross-dressing, both Madonna in Truth or Dare (1991) and the black and Latino drag queens in Paris is Burning (1991) show how gender is a social performance. However, the drag queens see cross-dressing as a way to embody white womanhood and the higher class status associated with it. In a post-Stonewall world in which gays still face violence and abuse (Venus Xtravaganza of Paris is Burning was found murdered two years before the film released), the combination of cross-dressing, being gay, and being a minority puts individuals at a dangerous risk. Since Madonna is a white, upper-class celebrity, she can circumvent the inequities associated with being gay and appropriate aspects of gay culture with relative ease.
Madonna also appropriates racial imagery to foreground herself as sensual and soulful. For example, hooks points out that the music video for Like a Prayer (1989) uses imagery of the black church culture to provide the emotional background of her sexual experience with a black saint.
I find it strange how the subplot of this video is about a black man that is falsely accused of assaulting a white woman. Madonna sees the truth and knows he is innocent, but the black man is still taken to jail. The black man’s story is never resolved, however, because he is not the focus of the video. It’s about all about Madonna and how she feels, as a white woman, about the events that she witnessed. Like a Prayer serves as another example of how black culture is used to foreground the white experience. In this way, Madonna can appear as a pure, white girl getting a taste of being black without having to deal with the actual implications of things like racism and racial profiling.
A modern day example of white womanhood reinventing itself through cultural appropriation is Miley Cyrus. Originally introduced to the world as Disney Channel’s Hannah Montana, Cyrus first attempted to break out of her wholesome image with her third studio album, Can’t Be Tamed (2010). Far from the twerking Miley we know today, her Can’t Be Tamed image attempts to make her appear less sophisticated, less rich, and more wild while still retaining her essential whiteness.
For example, Cyrus’ Can’t Be Tamed music video establishes a dichotomy between the singer and the upper-class. An announcer introduces her as a ferocious creature behind a cage. Rich couples in expensive gowns and tuxedos look on at Cyrus in amazement. When she starts dancing -- grinding, pelvic thrusts, and suggestive poses -- it’s clear that she’s locked away due to her uncivilized sexuality.
This first attempt at reinvention failed because how much audiences knew about Cyrus’ private life. She’s the daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus, a successful country singer. Miley was on television at the age of 11, and has enjoyed a lavish lifestyle ever since. While the singer attempts to establish a divide between herself and the upper-class, audiences got the impression that the divide was purely fictional because she held on to her white girl image.
Protecting Miley's whiteness is exemplified in another music video from the Can’t Be Tamed album, Who Owns My Heart. Again, the video wrestles with the image of wholesome Miley and wild Miley. In the video, she awakes in a lavish mansion, which is presumably her own. Her time singing in bed is intercut with scenes of her in a high-class club where all of the patrons are young models wearing designer clothing. Miley dances wildly and sexually in the club. At the end of the video, however, Miley is reconfigured as a good girl. She again awakens in her lavish mansion and it turns out that the scenes at the club were nothing but fantasy in her mind. Who Owns My Heart suggests that while Miley is growing more sexually mature and promiscuous, she is still the innocent Disney princess locked away in a high tower.
Can’t Be Tamed went on to be Cyrus’ lowest-peaking and lowest-selling record. For her next attempt at reinvention, Cyrus felt the need to shed every ounce of innocence that was left over from her Hannah Montana image, which involved letting go of her whiteness and instead appropriating black culture.
Enter modern day Miley, which seems to be her most popular image yet. In the beginning of the music video for We Can’t Stop (2013), Miley “reinvents” herself by putting on big jewelry and a gold grill. Immediately, we can see how black culture becomes a costume that Cyrus can wear and “change” into. The line, “To my home girls here with the big butt/shaking it like we at a strip club” accentuates the “twerking” dance maneuver that Cyrus borrows from black strippers. Visually, three black girls surround Miley (who wears a pure white outfit) as if in approval of this “white girl gone bad”. Like Madonna before her, however, Miley plays with the idea of being a black stripper without having to deal with the race and class implications associated with it. We Can't Stop isn't about black culture, but about a white girl's journey to be more dirty, wild, and sexual by copying low class aspects of black culture.
In Stars, Dyer suggests that star bodies represent trends in American culture. For example, he suggests that the emergence of hard-bodied, muscular 80s action heroes runs parallel to the rise of an aggressive fitness culture during the Reagan Era. While some audiences actually do admire the strength of these massive men, others see the incredibility of their power as a source of disdain or laughter.
I, for one, am in the laughter camp. One of my all time favorite films is Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Predator (1987). By this point in his career, Arnold had become so massive (both in size and in popularity) that I couldn’t imagine anything on Earth being a threat to the man. Thus, it was inevitable that cinema would pit him against something crazy like an alien warrior.
Plus, who doesn’t love that awesome Carl Weathers/Schwarzenegger handshake?
As exemplified by the resulting nuclear explosion in the above video, the steroid-fueled masculinity of these action stars is seen as exaggerated by today’s standards -- pretty much Internet meme-level comedy. Today’s action men are much less bulky and more subdued thanks to the rise of the sensitive man character and shifting gender lines in modern society. Jason Statham, Daniel Craig, and Hugh Jackman, for example, are built more like lean MMA fighters than Conan the Barbarian.
Hugh Jackman and his portrayal of Wolverine in particular serves as a great example of how star bodies can represent idiosyncrasies in our culture. As a comic book fan, Jackman’s casting always irked me. Although Jackman nails Wolverine’s badass attitude and persona, he is much too tall to play Marvel’s deadliest X-Man. Hugh Jackman is 6’2” while Wolverine (as officially depicted in the comics) is 5’3”. That’s right, movie Wolvie is almost a foot taller than the genuine article.
As shown by the above height comparison chart, Wolverine is the shortest hero in the Marvel Universe next to Rocket Raccoon and Howard the Duck. I’m not just pointing this out to be a stickler for nerdy comic book facts here. I truly believe that changing Wolverine’s height completely changes the character. Because of his diminutive size in the comic books, Wolverine is often depicted as having a napoleon complex. He trains harder than any hero to be “the best at what he does” (a.k.a. killing people) so that he can stand toe-to-toe with giants like Juggernaut and Hulk despite the height disadvantage.
In fact, Wolverine was originally introduced as an antagonist for the Incredible Hulk in 1974. Their rivalry is still played up heavily in the comics to this day, and the contrast in their size serves to embody a David vs. Goliath theme. Thus, if Wolverine is the David of Marvel Comics, then he represents the strength of the little guy. He overcomes the assumption that a small man is a weak man and beats up the Incredible Hulk. Wolverine is known as one of the deadliest heroes in the Marvel Universe purely because of his skill in combat and not his emasculated appearance.
The depiction of Storm and Wolverine’s relationship in the comics also presents an interesting twist on heroic masculinity. Storm towers over Wolverine at 5’11” and many artist renditions depict Wolverine having to stand on his toes to kiss her. Ideal heterosexual couples in media always depict the man as being significantly taller than the woman. In this instance, not only is the couple interracial, but their height differential is completely flipped, allowing a progressive image in which Storm appears dominant in the relationship. The pairing of Storm and Wolverine thus invites readers to re-examine masculinity in relation to femininity.
The fact that Fox felt the need to cast a typically tall male actor for Wolverine in the movies comes as no surprise. As discussed in class, American masculinity is largely defined by how much space a man takes up -- in personality, loudness, action, appearance, etc. Being tall, especially in cinematic terms, allows an actor to take up as much of the film frame as possible and thus appear masculine without saying or doing much. A tall man has immediate impact while a short man has to prove himself, and the high risk of the movie industry does not allow time to wait for audiences to accept something different. Despite the change, Jackman’s portrayal has proven to be extremely lucrative for the X-Men movie franchise. The movie Wolverine has inspired numerous spin-off films and remains one of the most appealing superheroes for women audiences.
In the above clip from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, one can see how Hugh Jackman’s naked body is put on display for women audiences to look at in a similar fashion to Rudolph Valentino.
While I enjoy the X-Men franchise finding wider success, the true Wolverine for me will always be found in the comics. What does the class think? Do you think that there will ever be room on the screen for a short Wolverine?
In our class discussion about the work of Paul Robeson, we talked about how white and black audiences may have different levels of understanding when it comes to the depiction of race in the media. For example, Robeson expressed discomfort in being tied to the song "Old Man River" because of its emphasis on black stereotypes. On one hand, "Old Man River" appears to package a comfortable image of black masculinity for white audiences -- the lyrics depict blacks as working class drunks. On the other hand, the song remains one of Robeson's most memorable and often repeated performances. His motion to change the lyrics of "Old Man River" to reflect hard work and struggle shows an awareness that black celebrities must carefully balance their image in relation to racial stereotypes in America.
Dave Chappelle serves as contemporary example of how black performers can play against such stereotypes. His work on The Chappelle Show often featured comedic satires on race and culture. For example, the skit below shows how he believes different races react to different musical instruments:
As soon as Chappelle plays drums, the blacks in the barber shop sway their hips and start rapping. As Chappelle plays an electric piano, the latinos break out into dance. The critique in this skit is that the scenario is absolutely ridiculous and exaggerated. By seeing such an extremely comic example of these stereotypes, the audience is left privy to understand that the stereotypes are most likely untrue.
Despite making well-received and critically acclaimed satire, Chappelle left the show because he was afraid of perpetuating stereotypes instead of deconstructing them. Comedy is often complicated because it can be read at so many levels. Chappelle was afraid that some of his fans did not read his skits as satire, but as fact. As such, denied his contract for Comedy Central, turning down $50 million in the process.
Chappelle was quoted in a 2005 Time Magazine article with the following:
"The third season hit a big speed bump in November 2004. He was taping a sketch about magic pixies that embody stereotypes about the races. The black pixie--played by Chappelle--wears blackface and tries to convince blacks to act in stereotypical ways. Chappelle thought the sketch was funny, the kind of thing his friends would laugh at. But at the taping, one spectator, a white man, laughed particularly loud and long. His laughter struck Chappelle as wrong, and he wondered if the new season of his show had gone from sending up stereotypes to merely reinforcing them. "When he laughed, it made me uncomfortable," says Chappelle. "As a matter of fact, that was the last thing I shot before I told myself I gotta take f_____— time out after this. Because my head almost exploded."
It seemed that Chappelle was worried that white audiences were actually laughing at him and not with him. Part of the sketch in question can be found below.
Kobena Mercer’s article, “Monster Metaphors”, demonstrates how the theme of transformation is prevalent in Michael Jackson’s work. Her take on the Thriller music video -- in which we see Jackson as a movie-star, nice guy boyfriend, zombie, and werewolf -- brought me back to the 90s when I watched Moonwalker (1988) as a kid.
And I remembered that Mecha-Jackson scared the living daylights out of me.
The King of Pop’s transformation into a maniacal death machine had me covering my six year-old eyes back then. It wasn’t the death machine part that really bothered me. It was that the juxtaposition was off-putting. Here, an androgynous, racially-ambiguous, and sexually ambiguous singer transforms into a bad-ass Optimus Prime. The kid in me loved the robot angle, but was utterly confused by those other mixed messages.
Mercer touched on the fact that the media billed Jackson as a Peter Pan figure that never grew up, which they would claim as an explanation for his childlike nature. I think the Mecha-Jackson clip from Moonwalker attempts to wrestle with anxieties regarding his relationship to children. Kids’ media is often defined by hard delineations of good and evil, boy and girl, etc. The fact that he saves kids from peril is supposed to make him less threatening and less ambiguous to an audience of children.
Another example of Michael Jackson trying to appeal to kids can be found in the Moonwalker video games. Back then, video games were considered a children’s medium, and they were often associated with toys. As such, designers created story lines and gameplay suited for younger audiences. In the Moonwalker video game series, players take control of Jackson himself. The object of the game is to save kidnapped children from bad guys that you beat with your dance moves. The Thriller dance becomes a deadly number that forced baddies to dance until they die. Meanwhile, moves like the hat throw or the moonwalk can be used as a projectile or dash attack respectively. And of course, you can transform into Mecha-Jackson for a period of invincibility and ultimate power. Yeah, it’s pretty insane.
The idea of Michael Jackson rescuing kids seems ridiculous to us now because of the sexual molestation charges in Jackson’s later career. As a kid, however, these games really did make me more interested in the King of Pop. The idea that you could beat up evil gangsters by dancing provided a very different take on masculinity as depicted by the typical video game hero of the time period.
“Today we talk about going to ‘see’ Sting or Prince or Madonna, which tells us a lot about how profoundly visualized contemporary popular music has become.” - Erika Doss
The staying power of Elvis Presley’s image in contemporary American culture absolutely astonishes me. For a musician that has died over thirty-five years ago, the “King of Rock ‘N’ Roll” enjoys a healthy amount of record sales, merchandising, and fanfare in the twenty-first century. Chapter One of Erika Doss’ book, Elvis Culture, attributes Elvis’ pseudo-immortality to how powerful his visual presence was when he debuted on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1956. Sure he had a pretty good singing voice, but it was his good looks, charming eyes, and sexy swinging hips that made Elvis memorable.
Memory is a fickle concept in the modern age. Today we are bombarded with media images from a vast multitude of conflicting sources from movies on our smartphones to the vast memory servos of the Internet. It can become increasingly difficult for Americans to discern reality from fiction when visual media is so prevalent in our lives. For example, reading about Elvis made me realize that I have opinions and thoughts about Elvis although I am not at all familiar with any of his work. How can someone born in 1993 I have an opinion about a celebrity that has long faded?
Well, the answer is that Elvis hasn’t faded, at least not in media culture. This is the point Doss attempts to make. I’ve heard Elvis songs in passing, seen stand-up comedians make references to the musical icon, and certainly have picked up a souvenir magnet or two plastered with Elvis’ image. Because I’ve only experienced Elvis posthumously (and somewhat lamely), his image doesn’t mean much to me except as a cautionary tale. The one Elvis image that sticks in my mind is the late 70s Elvis -- overweight, addicted to drugs, and fading into obscurity. However, as Sweeney points out in “King of White Trash Culture”, even the most lurid images of Elvis can be positively interpreted by his fans. Fat Elvis to some might represent a point of weaknesses in the singer’s life, while others might interpret his insolent flab as an attack on body image norms.
Because of the fluidity of Elvis’ image, I realize that stars use visual iconography as pre-packaged meanings for their fans to digest -- despite the conflict of reality. For example, when late 70s Fat Elvis swings his hips, his fans remember and “see” the young, spry, sexually-charged Ed Sullivan Elvis instead. It’s as if celebrities can use iconography to return to high points in their career, recalling even the fan emotion and fervor along with them.
For example, compare the iconography of the moonwalk from these two Michael Jackson performances -- the first in 1983 and the second in 1995. When the Michael Jackson debuted the moonwalk in 1983, fans went crazy over his stylish movements and young, sexual energy in much the same way fans went crazy for Elvis. Then, flash forward to 1995 for his MTV Music Video Awards performance with Slash*. This older Michael Jackson has created much controversy over plastic-surgery-gone-overboard (with some allegations that we was attempting to change his race from black to white) and accusations of child sex abuse. However, fans cheer just the same when he starts moonwalking to “Billie Jean”. Everything about the 1995 MTV performance -- Jackson’s costume, the performance staging, the placing of the audience, camera angles, dance moves etc. -- is designed to harken back to a better time in the singer’s career when he was less controversial and more appealing.
The fan excitement shown in the MTV performance shows how the iconography of the moonwalk completely masks the reality of Michael Jackson himself. Fans don’t see “Whacko Jacko”; they see the smooth criminal they fell in love with in 1983.
*Slash too has an iconic pose in which he holds his guitar vertically and plays with his thumb and index finger. It's interesting to see that Slash relies on visual iconography as well evenhough he is a musician that does not dance.
The recent #AskHerMore campaign at the Oscarshas sparked debate on whether or not women in media face a double standard in terms of professional representation. Academy-nominated actresses such as Reese Witherspoon and Patricia Arquette maligned the fact that pop journalists report more on what actresses are wearing rather than on feelings and musings about their work in film. While male actors are able to express themselves more openly, it seems that women are relegated to red carpet mannequins -- even on Hollywood's most prestigious night.
#AskHerMore advocates for journalists to ask questions with more integrity:
#AskHerMore actually reminds me of a personal experience I had in developing a "Meet the Team" series for USC Trojan Dance Force, our school's all-girls dance team. I worked closely with the women on the team to find an aesthetic that properly represents them as their official videographer. Scouring the internet proved astonishingly disappointing. Behold, the "best" example we could find from the NBA Blazer Girls' YouTube Channel:
Navigating the world of dance media is tricky. Even professional video interviews like Lindsay's seem to lack any integrity. Notice that it's a 4-minute video and the first shot of Lindsay dancing appears 2 minutes in. Notice that the opening shot of her interview is a shot of her in a bathrobe. As viewers we are invited to be curious about what her body looks like underneath, and we are instantly rewarded with a prolonged photo shoot montage of Lindsay in skimpy outfits while cradling basketballs (If that isn't suggestive, I don't know what is). Notice that Lindsay says that the "theme" of the photo shoot is fitness, but she is never shown lifting a single dumbbell or working out. Instead, she stands still as photographers pose her in suggestive positions. This is not at all what I imagined a professional dancer to be. I imagine Lindsay to have precise control over her body (that's what dancing is), but instead she is punitively put on display.
What exactly is happening here? The filmmakers behind Linday's video did not seem to care about her dancing profession, and focused much more on her body. I discussed the video with USC Trojan Dance Force, and we came across a list of contradictions that NBA dancers need to balance, not unlike celebrities we analyze in class. On one hand, a great dancer exhibits technique, control, power, and athleticism. These are generally considered to be male attributes. On the other hand, being female requires a dancer to also be graceful, beautiful, feminine, and on display (or "to-be-looked-at" as Mulvey would put it). In Lindsay's case, extraneous shots of her in a bikini overshadow shots of her rigorous training. Even when she is shown dancing, the footage is in slow-motion, allowing us to further admire her figure. Dancing is about movement, and slowing Lindsay to a crawl further diminishes any semblance of technique and power. Most interviews, like Blazer Girl Lindsay's, give women a spotlight, but make sure to put them in their place as objects for men to consume. They tend to focus on aspects of her beauty rather than her profession in a similar fashion to journalists at the Oscars.
The questions are just as hollow as the ones criticized by the #AskHerMore campaign. The real shame here is that these questions leave very little wiggle room for Lindsay to elaborate. She's forced to sound air-headed because the questions are, quite frankly, dumb. They ask her:
What is your favorite type of music?
What is the cheesiest pickup line you've heard?
What is dance training camp like?
What is your job outside of dance?
What do you like about photo shoots?
What is a fun fact about you?
Only one of these questions is actually about dancing. The one about her job is actually quite interesting but not really elaborated upon. It's important to note that NBA dancers do not get paid very much. Girls get paid a very small hourly for showing up to practice and promotions, but it is certainly nothing to make a living off of. Dancers must have a professional career outside of the NBA in order to support themselves. It's actually a compelling narrative if you think about it. These girls certainly are not on the team for money, but because they are passionate about dance. So why doesn't the video reflect that? Wouldn't it make the video more compelling if they took on a more serious angle such as that one?
For our first video featuring Dance Force captain Sunny Lee, we tried to take a different approach than that of the Blazers Dancers:
What USC Trojan Dance Force and I could take away from Lindsay's video was the production style, but that's about it. We knew we wanted it to be interview-style intercut with smooth dolly shots of the routines. For everything else, we tried to do the opposite. As far as content, we of course cut bikini shots and extraneous shots of the body (their warm-up stretching routines rarely make the cut because of the suggestive positions that can be considered superfluous to show). The only B-Roll consists of the girls dancing (not slowed down so you can see the speed, power, balance, and technique) and working out.
In captain Sunny Lee's video (above) we asked questions that were more on-topic and had room for her to elaborate:
Why do you dance?
How would you describe Trojan Dance Force?
What would you say to those who think dancing is not a sport?
What does it take to be on Dance Force?
How would you describe your team dynamic?
I personally feel that we achieved our goal in properly representing the girls in this video series. The dancers are shown with more respect, and focus is on the athleticism required to be on the team. At the same time, the girls are not depicted as overly masculine. Close-ups of their expressions as they have fun dancing and the team laughing together as a "family" eschew themes of domination and competition found in most male athlete depictions.
#AskHerMore is quite an interesting campaign. After my experience with USC Trojan Dance Force, I feel that anyone conducting an interview can make their piece more compelling if they truly want to understand their subject. If interview questions stop at the surface, then subjects are forced to give shallow answers.
But I'll let you decide! What do you think of our approach? What traits does the USC Trojan Dance Force embody versus that of the Blazer Dancers based on their interviews?
The persona and image of a sports star is very much exploited in the same consumerist fashion as that of a Hollywood movie star. The Superbowl, for example, may be the the only modern day media blitz to match the power and scale of the Warner-GE Better Times Special described in this week's Eckert reading. It's a marketing train in every sense of the word. In a reality of declining television ratings, the Superbowl is the only televisual event to consistently garner hundreds of millions of viewers every year. Because of this massive audience, conglomerates like Coca-Cola, AT&T, Toyota, and even Snickers, naturally pull out all the stops for their commercials.
Of course an event with this much viewership wouldn't be without some celebrity endorsement. The music industry gave us Katy Perry to headline the half-time show. Meanwhile, cinema superheroes Chris Pratt and Chris Evans used their respective Star-Lord and Captain America personas to bet on the game's outcome over social media (a playful ruse to advertise their charity work). Pierce Brosnan drove a Kia. And Liam Neeson even played Clash of Clans:
I love how this commercial uses Neeson's hard-boiled, revenge-seeking action persona to imply that playing Clash of Clans will make me a hard-boiled, revenge-seeking action star as well. Oh, and I relate to Neeson because he gets his name mispronounced at Starbucks too? What a bonus!
The use of star persona in advertising is one of the key themes in both the Dyer and Gledhill readings this week. Specifically, Gledhill points out that Bette Davis' persona as the "Independent Woman" helps to subvert patriarchal values and create a "matriarchal paradise" in Now, Voyager (1942) (page 147). Davis' strong persona helped characterize the film as a "woman's film," and thus made it more relatable to a female audience.
One must need not look hard for similar uses of persona when observing the Superbowl's football stars. One of the most interesting celebrity endorsements, in my video game-loving opinion, was the use of Seattle Seahawks Running Back Marshawn Lynch to advertise Mortal Kombat X, a controversial game notorious for extreme violence.
The crossover between video games and sports is quite obvious. Both have a sweet spot demographic of males 18-34 and are competitive mediums by nature. Mortal Kombat and NFL Football are both games after all. The interesting twist in the above Conan O'Brian segment is that the developers of Mortal Kombat X, NetherRealm Studios, show just how bloody and gross this game can get by showing Marshawn "Beast Mode" Lynch becoming visibly shocked by the violence. You know you have a delightfully gory game if a running back named "Beast Mode" can't handle it.
I think the segment is effective at selling the game because it takes advantage of the fact that Marshawn Lynch is what Dyer might call an "idol of consumption" (pg. 39). In a consumerist society, people define their personality by buying brands and goods that identify with their social interests. Often times popular stars can influence public tastes by aligning with certain products. For example, Eckert recalls Al Jolson pairing with Rinso, Jackie Oakie pairing with Camels, and Edward G. Robinson pairing with Kraft in the 1930s (page 37). Even today, Mortal Kombat is a hard sell to mainstream gamers because of its high blood quotient. The fact that Marshawn cringes at the violence, but still has fun with it, humanizes both him and Mortal Kombat.
And Lynch's persona sure did need humanizing:
Lynch's vocal approval of Mortal Kombat was probably the most that Seattle fans have heard Lynch speak as of late. In an attempt to avoid being fined up to $100, 000 for not showing up to after-game press interviews, Lynch has, well, actually showed up to press interviews. However, as shown in the above video, he tends to repeat the same phrase over and over again in response to every question. His ambivalence to sharing his thoughts on games threatens what Dyer might call his "ordinariness" (page 43). Is Lynch now so successful that he refuses to talk to ordinary people anymore? Or is this a clever way to be "anti-establishment" against abusive NFL regulations? In the latter case, perhaps his behavior would actually make him cooler in the eyes of his fans. Unfortunately his intentions are muddy and ambiguous.
I would argue that the Mortal Kombat video serves to actually build on the "anti-establishment" angle of Lynch's sports persona. While playing the game, he makes fun of himself and all of the fines he has received from missing interviews and making crotch-grabbing gestures.
By showing Lynch in a more light-hearted, playful environment, I actually connected with him more in the Mortal Kombat video. He showed humility in being fined, but shows a clear indifference to the ridiculous rules of the NFL. He also managed to make me laugh hysterically. The Conan segment is set up to imply that the atmosphere created by the Mortal Kombat game is what facilitated this humanizing social aura around Lynch. Kudos, NetherRealm Studios, I'm not even a football fan and you made me like Marshawn Lynch.
