Entremes Five:
We are at a crossroads in our culture. One wants to be unique, but not too unique. One wants to display his brilliant plumage as the Royal Quail does without anyone around him daring to poke fun. One needs to show himself that he is the big fish in the pond, and wastes no time adapting to the peculiarities of new environments.
It is for this reason that when we witness the intuitiveness and drive to surpass all others in excellence, we as humans don’t easily forget. Each of us is acutely aware of our own susceptibility to age, not just in the sense of the aging human body, but also in terms of the appeal we command across a diverse society and across time.
Observe the relatively short history of rock and roll, and the way that the cultural market diagnoses the need for a specific rock star. A symbol of defiance, originality and eternal youth. And behold he appears on the cover of magazines, in talk show interviews and endorsements for fast cars and beauty products. The need he fills is unparalleled. We need him forever, but also for just one quick minute, because in two minutes we will need the one that replaces him.
Observe the cultural agency, and the precision of the surgeon’s knife as it slices through the flesh between decades A and B. And then observe the impossibility to recover that moment, that narcissistic apogee once it has passed. People with agency seek plastic surgeons, the alchemists of our time, but alas, everything including the ones who delegate the ones who appoint the cultural rockstars; they are all subject to an unchanging formula of decay.
It is for these reasons that when we witness a creative genius such as Steven Seagal, we are literally dumbfounded. Forget Sylvester Stallone and his fruitless attempts at reoccupying the body of Rocky Balboa for another go at it some five, ten, twenty years later.
Each time the panoptic committee convened (the ones that delegate the ones that appoint the rockstars), they decided conclusively that Seagal had lost his firm grip of the world’s fascination. They said around the year 1995, after the mainstream success of “Under Sieges” One and Two, that we can solve this cultural problem without solving it. We just won’t finance his next motion picture project.
Whereupon Seagal began growing his ponytail again (because prior to this moment he had cut it off at the suggestion of the studio that had financed “Under Siege”) and chuckled to himself as he gazed at his own image in the mirror. No problem, who needs to screen these productions in the American movie theaters anyway? I’ll just produce them myself and release them immediately through home video.
So began a series of Seagal’s branded ecologically conscious, yet unmistakably tough guy storylines. This one about an oil spill in Alaska and that one about a coal mine in West Virginia. The public was engaged once again, and Seagal found the satisfaction of working in the capacity of a Wizard of Oz, whose projected image was much larger than himself.
Even so, interest began to flag once more. All Steven Seagal fans such as myself began to question if this landmark figure in Martial Arts movies had seen his day (this time for real).
Steven Seagal gave a cold, expressionless squint back at all of us. He did not say anything, but showed with a slight cocking, negating motion back and forth of the neck that said “ye of little faith,” and went back into his den to work on something that we the market could only begin to imagine.
And then came the reality tv show at a time when reality tv shows themselves had attained their maximum effect in cultural capital. Seagal would later point out that there had always been a pervasive subtext in his productions. Not just about environmental awareness, but also the principal that no one is immune to justice. Afterall, his first financial success was carried out under the title “Above the Law.” The critics didn’t respond.
A&E aired for one year reality footage that documented Seagal’s honorary role as assistant sheriff in Jefferson County, Louisiana at which Steven Seagal’s fan club rejoiced, feeling that this being a little bit closer to our everyday lives, he had a good five or six years in the bank with this genre.
But to all of our dismay, a scandal surfaced in Seagal’s private life. A lawsuit alleging sexual misconduct and untendered backpay. A&E pulled the plug on the project after a little more than a season, citing controversy and poor image.
Poor image? Seagal would have none of it. He, much like a pit viper that has a gland whose sole function is to detect the exact core temperature and position of a vulnerable subject, perceived the collective thirst of America’s young generation for energy drinks.
That’s right, energy drinks. Seagal knew immediately that printing his image next to mysterious Chinese characters on a can would make his product sell hotter than pancakes. And so it was that Seagal set out about the world, visiting oriental apothecaries he had taken up residence with as a 17-year old from Burbank, California, long before he had even considered fusing his mastery of martial arts with cinema.
A granulated mixture of a highly sought after strand of ginger in Mongolia , just a trace of the Southeast Asian cobra anti-venom, and most importantly, the bottom line selling point: 100% fruit juice. Seagal had traversed all seven continents and knew his product was one step closer to being on the shelves of every supermarket from here to Timbucktoo.
So here we are once again at the crossroads of capital and market. Time will tell if Seagal’s newest device is capable of shaking off his detractors and conjuring up a new image of himself that coincides with the needs of the newest generation of caffeine junkies.
If, by some stroke of luck Steven Seagal happens to read my take on the series of events that realistically speaking, speak by themselves of his adaptability, I would like to express from my own modest perspective a few words of caution.
Mr. Seagal, you have shaken your finger at the motion picture industry and have triumphed. You have taken your spirituality and made it work in the context of law-enforcement, and met little resistance. Nevertheless, the reaches of the Food and Drug Administration are not to be trifled with. Even if it doesn’t gel with your concept of accountability to the law, pay them off when they come like the tax-collectors of Judea to your door. Other than a big, heart-felt thank you for your incomparable contribution to American pop-culture, that is all I have to say for the moment.
Sincerely,
Christopher Cade
May 24, 2010
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