Feb 23, 2007

Celebrity: It's a whole new reality

By Malcolm Fleschner / Humor Columnist

I admit that I get pretty annoyed whenever anyone badmouths Americans by suggesting we're overly obsessed with celebrities. "That's really offensive," I tell them. "How dare you generalize about a whole culture based solely on the activities of a small minority, particularly while I'm trying to watch 'Access Hollywood'!"

OK, so maybe it's true that most Americans have a better chance of correctly identifying all the men claiming to have fathered Anna Nicole Smith's baby than, say, the number of countries we're currently at war with. But perhaps that's because right now we're a little distracted, what with this being awards season. This is, after all, the one time of year when we fans get to watch all the top stars work the red carpet in the hopes that one of them will finally snap and strangle Joan Rivers with her microphone cord.

Of course, in spite of the million-dollar paychecks, throngs of adoring fans and first-class treatment everywhere they go, celebrities still complain about the downside of fame. I can certainly understand. No doubt it's a real drag that the paparazzi won't leave you alone when you only want to enjoy a private meal at a restaurant, do a little shopping at the mall or pick up a six-foot-tall prostitute with a prominent Adam's apple on Hollywood Boulevard at three in the morning.

It seems to me that the best path to stress-free celebrity is to make a famous name for yourself, but not a famous face. Admittedly, this may prove difficult if you want to be, say, a movie star, the next "American Idol" or President of the United States. One way is by becoming a best-selling author like, for example, John Grisham, who has sold tens of millions of legal thrillers while remaining mostly anonymous. In fact, Grisham regularly flies all over the country without ever being recognized, although that is primarily because none of his fellow fliers ever take a moment to look up from the Grisham novels they're reading.

For actors, it's a little tougher, but still possible. The key is to land a role as a strange-looking alien that involves wearing a great deal of makeup. Lieutenant Worf, the Klingon from "Star Trek: The Next Generation," would be a good example. Anyone who's ever seen the show has a passing familiarity with this character, but only the most dedicated fans know that the actor portraying Lieutenant Worf was - and this may surprise you - John Grisham.

For my own sake, this is precisely why I don't allow my photo to appear with this column. Despite the confusion that occasionally results, I insist that the Daily News instead run the head shot of a professional model with striking, matinee idol good looks.

Of course, until recently, fame of any kind was typically denied to average Americans simply because the vast majority of us lack any discernible talent. Nowadays, however, thanks to such recent innovations as reality television, YouTube and long-distance, jealousy-fueled, diaper-clad homicidal astronaut rage, there is no excuse for failing to make a public spectacle of yourself.

This trend got its biggest boost from the show "Survivor," which has been a reality show standard-bearer since its debut in 2000. Amazingly, "Survivor" producers still receive applications from hundreds of thousands of hopefuls who do not see the irony in competing for "immunity" on a remote island infested with god only knows what kind of horrible tropical diseases.

While such programming remains a television staple, even reality fans acknowledge that the genre is losing its freshness. It appears that Americans are finally growing weary of all the scheming, backstabbing, bickering and, hard as it may be to imagine, the sight of bikini-clad nubiles scarfing down handfuls of squirming millipedes.

Ratings are most likely declining because viewers have lost all sympathy for reality show contestants, most of whom are so clearly desperate for fame. That's why, no matter what kind of humiliating and degrading "challenges" the producers think up, those of us at home are inclined to yawn and say, "Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you signed up."

Which is where my idea for spicing up this flagging format comes in. If the problem is that the public has grown bored with the usual reality show casts of out-of-work actors, bartenders and other narcissists, the obvious solution is to automatically disqualify anyone who even applies. Instead, contestants should be selected at random from the ranks of the general population. As with jury duty, participation would be compulsory, except that you couldn't get out of it just because you claim to be in direct telepathic contact with aliens from the planet Zorbach.

And for those readers who claim they would never agree to appear on a reality show, and in fact have no interest in becoming famous, I have only one question: What kind of American are you?

Not famous yet? Malcolm Fleschner wants to know what you plan to do to correct this egregious error at Malcolm@CultureShlock.com.