Time To Quarantine Hollywood

I saw Jeremy Piven on 14th St. a couple of weeks ago when it was still cold. He was wearing a puffer jacket and a knit cap and was stalled in front of a building between 5th and 6th Aves. checking an address. I did a double take, thinking for a second that I knew him before realizing I knew him only from TV. He was unusually confident for such a short man and sort of beamed, as if the spotlight were upon him and it was very bright.

I looked away. For the Manhattanite, seeing a celebrity on the sidewalk or at a restaurant is as common an occurrence as that of a rural man spotting the sun in the sky at noon. And we treat the event similarly. We look away and then watch indirectly, only resting our gaze fully upon the sun when it is in eclipse, as upon the celebrity only when he is half obscured by a parking meter or a large menu.

Just as the sun entices me to look up while simultaneously threatening to blind me if I do, celebrities appear in my neighborhood drawing the attention of passersby while tacitly suggesting with their casual puffer coats and knit caps that you’d better avert your eyes. Many stars describe a discomfort with being stared at in public places. I understand, as I am also made uncomfortable by a desire to stare—to puzzle out the uncanny experience of feeling both familiarity and strangeness toward a person at once.

It’s disconcerting to see this kind of person—for whom I’ve cried if their movies were sad, or with whom I’ve laughed if their TV shows were funny—regard me as a complete stranger. “Come on, Joey,” I want to say, “I knew you when you loved Dawson. Why so frosty?” Of course, I understand intellectually that I do not know Katie Holmes, and that Katie Holmes does not know me. I’m not crazy, and yet it takes a second for my initial feeling of recognition to wear off and be replaced with a reality I am less familiar with. Because over a period of years I’ve become familiar with “Joey,” it now requires a concerted effort of intellectual correction not to respond to “Joey” when I see Ms. Holmes looking at her watch on 12th St. and 3rd Ave.

I’ve heard famous actors say that it’s uncomfortable to have people stare at you or treat you as if they know you intimately while having no knowledge of who they are, as it can cause you sometimes to doubt even yourself. The celebrity might second-guess himself: Have I met this person and just forgotten? It’s perfectly natural to bristle at such an encounter, and I empathize, as I am constantly asking myself a similar question. When men stare at me on the street or approach me at a party, I often find myself thinking, “Did I sleep with him during one of my blackouts, or is he just being nice?” Career-drunks and celebrities are very similar in this way.

On the other hand, as a member of the public whose interest in the films and doings of celebrities keeps these actors gainfully employed, I resent the barrage of complaints I hear from them regarding their painful fame problem. To maintain one’s celebrity and its resultant advantages one has a responsibility to the public. That’s the deal. For millions of dollars, you give up your privacy. Oh, don’t act so modest, Jennifer Aniston! Wasn’t that you naked on the cover of Esquire recently? Forgive my impertinence then, if on the corner of 59 St. and 7th Ave. I stare more at you then the other strangers crossing my path that very moment; I haven’t been invited to see any of them naked recently.

The reason certain actors get millions for a role is not because they read their lines so much better than some unknown actor, but because they have successfully marketed themselves to the public. Cameron Diaz is not getting paid such wild sums to read lines alone, but to excite the public’s fantasy, which is why she goes on TV and answers questions about her surfing hobby. Actors are selling themselves, and we the public are buying. A fair exchange. Don’t play Faust and then call the devil an asshole when he asks for his fee.

I could sympathize more if actors had been forced into such a life, but most actors can only dream of this kind of fame. I’ve yet to meet a “working actor” who does not hold out hope for his or her “big break.” Duly, I doubt Nicole Kidman’s dream was to be a working unknown actress just getting by, and had her goals smashed to bits when she became a household name. If you don’t like your job, then maybe apply for work as a tollbooth collector. No one ever asks them for their autograph.

All this aside, I agree with celebrities that the erosion of public/private boundaries is a problem in need of fixing. Indeed, one of the worst aspects of living in New York is that the place is crawling with celebrities. They are all over the sidewalks downtown, filling the best restaurants, clubs and shops. It’s frankly disruptive. I’ve lived in New York City for a decade now, and the initial phase of being star struck when glimpsing Gwyneth Paltrow on my block has worn off. Now when I see a celebrity at a nearby table in a restaurant, I find myself rolling my eyes. “There goes the restaurant!” I think.

The whole vibe is changed when a celebrity walks into a place. Whether people stare or not, the entire room is electrified by their presence. There is a general awareness that is inescapable and annoying. I like to keep fantasy and reality separate. It feels like an invasion of my privacy when “Ross” or “Rachel” walks into a restaurant where I’m dining with my real “friends.” You don’t see me wandering onto their sets, so why should they then wander into my life?

It’s no one’s fault. The problem is boundaries. Actors are always saying that. The paparazzi cross boundaries. Fans cross boundaries. I agree. There needs to be less boundary crossing. Which is why I propose that we quarantine Hollywood. Given our ailing economy and the current climate for change in Washington, now would be the perfect moment to enact my plan which would solve all the problems I’ve laid out and a few others, too!

1. In France during Molliere’s time, acting was considered a shameful trade and if actors did not renounce their profession before death they’d be denied Christian burial rights and laid to rest in a common grave. Obviously, it would be un-American to borrow from French law and pass legislation upon the practices of any of our churches, but must we throw out the baby with the bathwater? I’m not proposing that the government pass moral sanctions on actors, but why not a few civic ones? Instead of rejecting our thespians like the French did, let’s embrace them fully, and make them the sole property of the state. They can keep their immortal souls, but let their bodies belong to the United States government.

2. Federalize show business: Let’s face it. America no longer produces anything within its own borders. Our primary export is film and television. So why not let the people see a chunk of that money? Instead of complaining of the exorbitant sums actors make for each film, let’s get the whole country in on the action. In addition to income tax, let’s institute an “actor tax,” in which half of all fees above $2 million (adjustable for inflation) can be claimed by the state and put toward financing all of the public programs each actor has heretofore supported via appearances on Real Time with Bill Maher. If Cameron Diaz or Scarlett Johansson want to vote for plans that will raise your taxes because they are that concerned over you’re not having adequate medical care, let them pay for it.

3. An actor’s image shall be managed by the state: In the Hollywood of the 1930s and 40s, actors were employees of the big studios and their images were carefully controlled. Thus the danger of overexposure was carefully monitored. A fan then would never have been so familiar as one is today with the intimate details of a starlet’s existence. Today, some actors have become so overexposed that their presence in films actually interferes with the ability to partake in the two-hour fantasy. When I see Richard Gere romancing Diane Lane at a cozy B&B by the beach, I can’t help but wonder if the gerbil allegedly removed from his asshole left any scars. And when I watch as Angelina Jolie tries futilely to get her baby back, I cannot empathize for I know from tabloid headlines that she’s got plenty of babies and can have any baby she wants.

4. All actors shall be considered civil servants pursuant of their making above a certain annual income: Before appearing on a film or TV series for which an actor will receive a fee of over $2 million, the actor must sign a citizenship waiver and be permanently relocated to Hollywood where he or she must discontinue all unsanctioned communications with the world outside. No trips to Vietnam for photo-ops. No country music concerts abroad to make impromptu speeches against American politics during war times, unless governmental permission is obtained.

5. Hollywood will be quarantined: A wall will be built around Hollywood. Nothing fancy, just something tasteful, like that one in Berlin or China. Anyone seeking to access Hollywood or pass beyond the wall can only do so by showing papers granting special permission from the federal government. With Paparazzi activity regulated by border security, the quarantine will solve the rogue paparazzi problem stars are always complaining of. Furthermore, the quarantine will ensure prevention of that awkward blending of fantasy and reality that those random celebrity-civilian encounters engender.

My proposal will not only create extra revenue for the country, but will help us fund the many public programs the new budget is calling for, helping to put money back into the hands of ordinary American citizens. Thus when shelling out the hefty $10.75 each to take the whole family to the movies on the weekend, parents can rest easy knowing that a portion of the price of admission to this summer’s hottest blockbuster will finance The Cameron Diaz Solar and Wind Energy Plant, The Richard Gere Universal Healthcare Initiative, The Will Smith Education Reform Fund, The Tom Cruise Mars Satellite, and a smattering of sorely needed highway repairs.