Performing Identity: Actor Training, Self-Commodification and Celebrity 3031157982, 9783031157981

Citation preview

Performing Identity Actor Training, Self-Commodification and Celebrity Barry King

Performing Identity

Barry King

Performing Identity Actor Training, Self-Commodification and Celebrity

Barry King 2 Governor Fitzroy Place Auckland University of Technology 2 Governor Fitzroy Place Auckland, New Zealand

ISBN 978-3-031-15797-4    ISBN 978-3-031-15798-1 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2024 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Donald Iain Smith/Getty Images. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

In memory of Marion Elizabeth King, 1952–2022.

Acknowledgements

In a work of synthesis, I have necessarily incurred a debt to the sources I have used. I hope that the way I have interpreted these sources does not depart too far from the authors’ intentions and, if in disagreement, are fair. I would also thank the team at Palgrave Macmillan—with a special mention for Steven Fassioms, Lina Aboujieb—and the anonymous reader who provided a careful but supportive critique of the first draft. For assistance with gathering references and texts, a big thank-you to the Interlibrary Loans team at Auckland University of Technology. For her careful proofing and copy editing, I (yet again) thank my wife, Andrea Sisk King.

vii

Contents

1 Introduction  1 2 The Social Body and Its Transformations 15 3 The Search for Talent 43 4 Character as a Zombie Concept 75 5 Acting and Technology109 6 Work—Rarely a Feast, Mostly a Famine153 7 The Vicissitudes of Persona195 8 Stardom as a Force of Nature229 9 Conclusion: The Condition of Para-Stardom265 Index277

ix

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 9.1

Drama as mediator of the relation between the mundane and extra mudane realms of experience The clock of character Kirby’s acting continuum The circuits of fame accumulation

17 76 100 268

xi

List of Tables

Table 4.1 Table 5.1 Table 5.2

Dimensions of character (Mirodan, 1997, pp. 274–275) The continuum of modes of realization of character Endogenic and exogenic vectors of reference

80 114 115

xiii

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

The purpose of this book is to analyse the impact of capitalist social relationships on the concept of the actor as a cultural agent, a concept exemplified by the figures of the celebrity and the star, and on the mainstream culture of film-making associated with Hollywood. This is obviously not a new topic, as testified by the history of the study of stardom and, over the last two decades, the development of the celebrity studies field. These are areas to which I have made my own contribution, alongside those of others. But my focus here is on the relationships between how actors are trained, how they find work and how the drive to find work (let alone fame and fortune) impacts on their functioning as collective symbols. Further, to speak of collective symbols means that the analysis uses the optic of stardom, which sets the norms and aspiration of the field. What can be said of actors will also apply, with appropriate qualifications, to all those performers who seek to extend and convert their achievements in specific fields—such as music, sports, literature, politics— into a marketable personal brand. To guide my analysis, I apply labour process theory to the production of performances and the formation of acting as a labour process. Although social commentary on acting as a cultural practice has a long history, extending back to the eighteenth century, the primary emphasis here will be on developments in performance technologies and practices from the early 2000s through to the present day. Acting, whether on stage or

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_1

1

2 

B. KING

screen, originates in a live performance; so another major element in what follows is an analysis of the impact of screen technology on the mediation of “live” performance. This too feeds back into the practices of actor training. And even in the “digital” age, most actor education and training, not to mention the thriving field of amateur performance, is stage-based (Preeshl, 2019). In a previous book, Taking Fame to Market, I explored the historical formation of a grammar of stardom. This grammar was constructed to regulate a para-social relationship that ostensibly defined the stars as personalities, providing audiences—especially fans—with a script for structuring their own engagement and identity management. I identified four ontological positionings in the star-audience relationship as the anagraphic, biographic, autographic and steganographic modes of stellar identity. These positionings depend on different degrees of concrete figurations within the concept of type: as abstract and universal types, as core figurations of a type or prototypes, as unique biographical individuals beyond type and a deferred mode of figuration, wherein the star’s identity is resistant to categorization as either a type or a discrete individual, operating as a mysterious trace of a person or ectype (King, 2014, pp. 190–191). Compared to the autographic mode, the steganographic mode, with its deliberate policy of shape-shifting, generates attention by means of a studied process of identity deferral involving the ectype. I charted the evolution of these typal gearings as creating a shifting set of para-social relationships between the star or celebrity and their image of the ideal audience. I found that the collectively framed types of the anagraphic and biographic modes were progressively replaced and marginalized by the autographic and steganographic modes, which stress—with increasing literalness—the star as a unique individual. Another way to understand this is to recognize that the aim of capturing a market in personal services means that the ectype eventually settles into an autographic relationship centred on a unique persona. Rather than setting the star against collective registers of prestige and cultural significance, the prioritization of the persona brings to the fore what had always been the fundamental and necessary precondition for stardom and celebrity: market power and a personal-service monopoly. The persona can be defined as a paratextual full-service character, compared to the fictional character which is confined to a specific plot or narrative, and realized in a specific and transient performance. Once an adjunct self-identity in advertising and promotional work, the persona has today become the existential centre of the star or celebrity’s public presence.

1 INTRODUCTION 

3

The early career of Lady Gaga provides a striking example of these developments: deploying an ambiguous gender identity that moves steadily from challenging heteronormativity towards the affirmation of a mainstream identity, most notably in her declaration in an interview with Oprah that she aspired to be a soccer mom. At the same time, Lady Gaga is more authentically an autographic star—as a talented singer and, more debatably, actor—compared to social influencers and celebrities such as Jack Logan, whose core identity is distributed across a constellation of performances as actor, rapper, boxer, YouTuber and younger brother of similarly dispersed social influencer Logan Paul. Sustained by their presence in the social media’s economy of attention, such multi-tasking entrepreneurs exhibit a state of craft indifference by being famous for no particular skill. Rather, their metier is the ability to extend the discursive flow of chatter on which their prominence actually depends. Such individuals constitute, in their ostensible person or persona, a parody of the ideal of the total work of art or Gesamtkunstwerk as a lifestyle. It is by pursuing this omnibus lifestyle that “unspecialized” celebrities can approach and quantitatively exceed the level of media attention given to accomplished performers in specific fields. This development would seem to argue that celebrity has replaced stardom. Nonetheless, I do not see Hollywood stardom as a minor domain within the hyperspace of universal celebrity—as just one identity niche to be cultivated along with others. Rather, contemporary stardom represents an important site for the media consecration of the celebrity as a creature of universal visibility, and the monetary pivot into the global scale of earnings possible in motion pictures and television drama. Once again, for Lady Gaga, becoming a Hollywood film star is the consummation of a process by which a star performer in a cognate field acquires the grace of market capacitation. Stars in specialized fields such as sport, music, dance, science, business and politics seek media employment—consider Donald Trump and The Apprentice—as the consolidation of their celebrity. Just as George Clooney, a movie star, seeks the rewards for becoming a celebrity endorser for Nespresso. In recognition of all this cross-fertilizing and circulating in and out of the “niche windows” of Web 2.0, I retain the term star as a figure of consummation, or the terminus ad quem of the search for maximum prestige and rewards. This status is founded on the universal scale of accumulation possible in a global market for American cinema and television media content as broadcast, theatrically released and streamed.

4 

B. KING

Undeniably, the social media have vastly increased the opportunity for public recognition, to a level disproportionate to—or even without any externally validated objective record of—achievement. This loosening of the connection between objective achievement in a specific craft has been intensified by the popularity of reality television and by the fact that commercials are accepted as a valid area of employment for actors. For my purposes, I would emphasize that stardom in the autographic mode had already eroded the linkage between collectively recognized merit and fame well before the development of social media. The fact that contemporary stardom and celebrity are difficult to distinguish is not simply a result brought about by the development of the social media, which permit individuals to be “known for being well-known” (Boorstin, 1992). But since Boorstin coined this phrase in the early 1960s, the tendency towards achievement “lite”—public visibility on a mass rather than coterie scale— was already inherent in earlier practices and was facilitated with greater intensity by the practices of autography. In contrast to my earlier book, in this one I depart from examining how the practices of acting are represented to the public at large, to explore how the work of acting is represented to actors themselves. But before descending into the abode of performance, it is necessary to offer a more concise definition of the relationship between key terms as I use them. Of primary importance when considering dramatic performances is the balance struck between persona and character. Setting character aside for later consideration, there is an extensive body of commentary with regard to persona. Marshall et  al. (2015), for example, argue that persona is a pervasive, even universal, phenomenon in contemporary media-saturated societies. Acknowledging persona as a key feature of the metabolism of contemporary fame does not mean (nor should Marshall be read as saying it does) that persona does not vary in its empirical manifestations in specific contexts; the specific context considered here is acting. Another foundational text, Chris Rojek’s Celebrity (2001), recognizes that celebrity is a term whose mode of justification varies in different historical contexts. These are: ascribed celebrity, by virtue of birth and background; achieved celebrity, through some task-based accomplishment, and attributed celebrity, based on the extent and quality of attention given to specific individuals by the media and social media. In Rojek’s view, ascribed celebrity is a residual, prefigurative form of celebrity typical of pre-modern societies governed by elites. Accordingly, the focus in his text is on achieved and attributed forms of celebrity (Rojek, 2001, pp. 28–29, 104–105).

1 INTRODUCTION 

5

Rojek argues that in contemporary democracies, the most pervasive form of celebrity is attributed. Attributed celebrity has two figures—the celetoid and the celeactor. The celetoid—as suggested by its echo of factoid—is an evanescent and minimal condition of fame, in which individuals become celebrities on the basis of media reportage of their doings, ranging from transgressive behaviour—such as murders, political and sexual scandals, and terrorism—down to sudden disruptions of everyday life such as winning the pools, manifesting exceptional abilities, becoming the victims of freak accidents and so on. The celeactor by contrast is a fictional self, created by an actor’s character portrayal, which is widely perceived as the quintessence of a contemporary social type—what today would be called an icon (King, 2014). While agreeing with Rojek’s emphasis on the importance of historical context, I find that what appear to be exclusive conditions turn out to be processes. Ascribed celebrity is not finally distinct from attributed celebrity. Even in pre-modern times, as in Louis XIV’s court at Versailles, ascribed celebrity was heavily reliant on the ritualized performances, which affirmed that the current King possessed the charismatic qualities associated with his inherited status (Van Krieken, 2018). In a similar fashion, today’s British Monarchy relies on Palace Communications for image management and a calendar of ritual displays of pomp. In these circumstances and others like it, ascribed celebrity depends on the affirmation of attributed celebrity, and vice versa. Again, what Rojek defines as the celeactor relies on the achievements of an actor performing as a character and those who contribute to this achievement. Generally speaking, achieved celebrity depends on being recognized—how and by whom—as function of attributed fame. In short, kinds of celebrity proposed as distinct are inextricably linked. What this means is that persona is a general name for a species of fame, which needs to be analysed in terms of its specific manifestations within the differing spheres of politics, cultural production and in everyday social relationships. To speak of persona in general is to treat a multi-layered process as a thing and risk reification. Identity capacities such as character as a fictional person, persona as professionally honed paratextual character (which extends horizontally across performances), person as a “private” self and star as a personage or a culturally significant symbol are magnitudes of an algebra of identity. By this I mean that they are variables that vie within a shared geometry of fame. Just as the value of x and y on the horizontal and vertical axis of a

6 

B. KING

quadratic equation can take up different magnitudes, so too can the relative value of elements in the formation of a performance. For example, the importance of persona in defining an actor’s or performer’s cultural significance depends on the contrasting weight given to character, person or personage and how these are contrasted, conflated or flattened in the production of celebrity as a state of undifferentiated visibility. In phenomenological terms, the persona appears as the “real” person behind the identity forays required when playing a specific role or undertaking a specific set of tasks. In other words, the persona is the ostensible “I”, the universal personal presence behind and subsisting after the various “me’s” required to perform specific roles (Mead, 1934, p. 173ff). In what follows I define a star as an actor who has achieved a high level of media attention and public interest on the basis of his or her performance in drama. I define a celebrity as a person from any sphere of performance who has developed a large social media profile not grounded in a specialist achievement as the pretext for their fame. Celebrities acquire the status of stars when they parlay a high level of media and social media attention based on their original area of achievement into motion-picture stardom, executing in a reverse process the star’s ascent to the level of “superstardom” by engaging in celebrity work as product ambassadors and endorsers, the faces that advertise make-up or trademark a line of beauty products and services (Wischover, 2021). Constructing a synergy between achievement in one field of performance into a portmanteau persona servicing a stable of service deals illustrates the strategy of converting the celebrity capital attained in their “home” area of performance into fields unrelated to their fame (Driessens, 2013). A more distinct example of fame augmentation through becoming an actor is given by the example of sports stars such as Michael Jordon in Space Jam (1996), Dwayne Johnson in Jumanji: The Next Level (2019) and Lebron James in Space Jam: a new legacy (2021) or the extensive list of female supermodels who became actors (Boardman, 2016). In contrast to these émigrés from distinct areas of performance, where they have a proven track record as stars, are social influencers. Such individuals, having no distinction in a special field, are paid to recommend products and services on social media platforms and channels such as YouTube, Instagram and Meta (Facebook). Typically, influencers do not produce (though they may hire others to produce) the content they endorse. The content of their platform is produced by advertisers, who pay for them to show themselves consuming a particular product as examples of a consumer lifestyle. Influencers do not create characters, but engage in self-presentation that is consonant with

1 INTRODUCTION 

7

the goods and services they are paid to display and recommend online (Hinton & Yi, 2015). Depending on the scale of their following, social influencers can be defined as celebrities or micro-celebrities. The extensive crossover between these sites of public recognition calls for a name to encompass the cycling and recycling of the persona between different niche markets. The terms star and celebrity, with possibly the empirical exception of the “pure” case of social influencers, no longer designate identities tied to discrete vocational zones, as was more nearly the case before the advent of the social media. To account for the new hybridity formed by the effort to maximize the social circulation of name for revenue generation, I propose to use the term para-star to cover the forging of portmanteau personae as stars seek general celebrity and general celebrities seek stardom. So, if fashion models such as Milla Jovovich seek to become stars, film stars also work as fashion models (Benatar, 1993). In what follows, in order to avoid constant qualification, I will continue to use the term star as a general term covering anyone who acts in theatre and cinema regardless of their original field of performance. Para-stardom is a hybrid term denoting the fusion of stardom and celebrity that arises from the development of the social media. I use celebrity and stardom as separate and opposed conditions of fame throughout the book until the final chapter. Having acknowledged the engagement- and earnings-driven fluidity of terms, the opposition between character and persona remains critical in the study of theatre and cinema as a capitalist enterprise. In such an enterprise, the relationship between persona and character takes on a distinctive dynamic. Persona is an identity configuration that is defined by the pressure to accommodate the goals of marketability and profit. By contrast, character is an expression of a commitment to craft values and a professional status: on the one hand, representing the ability to realize character as a fictional entity, and on the other, the moral quality of the actor’s engagement with the craft of acting. Yet as with the contrast between stardom and celebrity as states of being, the relationship between persona and character is fluid. How they relate varies depending on the governing dramaturgy, the technology of production and the social relations of performance between the actor, director, crew and producers. Actors and other cultural workers, whatever specialized drama they aspire to pursue and to whatever extent they find theatre more satisfying professionally, find the predominant source of their livelihood lies in mainstream cinema and television. In this area of work, constructing a persona as brand is the most likely way to secure

8 

B. KING

continuous employment and full participation in a professional career. For the individual actor, accepting—or being compelled to accept—the development of a persona as a marketable brand is to share with celebrities the displacement of the demands of character. The examination of alternative, less commodified forms of drama and the differences for example between European Star systems and the Hollywood star system is not undertaken here (Shingler, 2017). Nor is an analysis of the complexities of the star system in, for example, Indian cinema (Mishra et  al., 1989). By way of example: in France, a number of factors—such as national cultural differences that resist Americanization, the trend for French stars to remain connected to artisanal modes of cinema production and a lower scale of reward—means that market pressures play a lesser role in the formation of intensively individuated personae (Vincendeau, 2000; Ganzo, 2017). Equally, the existence of state-­ subsidized theatre and drama education permits a greater range of dramaturgical experimentation. This examination of American mainstream commercial drama, live and mediated, is aimed at suggesting in absentia the suppressed possibilities of different kinds of performances and dramaturgies made possible through the operation of a market shelter. It is hoped that further comparative analysis will be aided by the analysis of what is a pervasive influence on world cinema. The study of the American case implies that the decision to go “commercial” is finally an ethical choice that impacts the social uses of drama (Carlson, 1993). Rather than centring the analysis on stardom as the commodification of personhood in the realm of consumption—a well-rehearsed theme with which I substantially agree—I focus on commodification in the sphere of production, emphasizing the impact of the acting labour market on how actors prepare themselves and use their person as a resource to find work. As explored in what follows, this dynamic is a complex process and leads to a general research question: how is a “commodity dramaturgy” formed in the hidden abode of training and coaching? Quite reasonably, some may feel that this abode is far from hidden, given the prominence of show-business commentary and celebrity gossip in print and online. But these paratextual practices, if purporting to examine the context of production, are actually focussed on the realm of consumption. So, whilst appearing to give an especial insight into backstage practices and events, this focus fixes attention in a manner that elides the actual realities of performance work as a labour process. As made clear by endless pre-release interviews in the press, television, on websites, in

1 INTRODUCTION 

9

production documentaries and outtakes featured on DVD and Blu-ray, centre stage is held by the social relationships of the cast and key production personnel. The consumer is offered an experiential glimpse of the quality of the interpersonal relationships—what it feels to like to work with this or that director or star—that accompany the technological processes of production. Such an emphasis promotes a backstage reading of the making of a particular film or programme as dependent on the bonding (or otherwise) of the above-the-line creative elite (Caldwell, 2008). My undertaking here aims to supplement the grammar of stardom on two counts. First, it focuses on the contemporary media sphere, taking a primarily synchronic perspective, which, while acknowledging the impact of historical conventions, examines changes in the context of production associated with technological, economic and aesthetic development. One important contextual feature is the existence of a disjuncture between the way acting is taught as a craft and the fact that cinema and television are the main areas in which a professional livelihood—potentially a very well-­ paid one, however remote—is possible. Taking a labour-process perspective, I will stress the salience of the precarious employment market’s impact on actors and other performers: the challenges it poses and the responses, practical or fanciful, that it provokes in actor training and preparation. Second, I will address with greater specificity the nature of acting as a particular kind of aesthetic labour. In anticipation, I argue that it is through the process of persona formation that non-capitalist values are drawn into the logic of capitalist accumulation on a corporate and individual scale. Such a claim is by no means regarded as self-evident amongst those who see stardom and celebrity as a realm of free interaction between idols and fans, a view that goes back to John Fiske’s influential theory of semiotic democracy (Fiske, 1989). The dynamics of these processes will be explored subsequently. For now, it is sufficient to observe that a specific feature of the recognition of acting labour power (commonly but loosely referred to as creativity, talent, charisma etc.) is that in whatever mode of performance—live or transcribed—the actor is both a sign in his or her own person as a “natural” product and a producer of artificial signs as a character within drama. The general aim of acting training and preparation work is to merge the actor’s physiognomic capital, its capacity to represent a particular kind of person, with the semiotic potentialities of the play or screenplay.

10 

B. KING

Ultimately, I argue that stardom, in the form developed and popularized by global Hollywood and its clones, has been transformed into a style of acting, which is fundamentally a stylization of the body or more precisely, the body-person. As a result, the development of persona as personal brand has become a dominant and dominating professional role model. This re-styling has had a major impact on the concept of character as provided by writers and director/producers, which, I argue, is operationalized as a source of embodied natural values subordinated to demands of commodity exchange. What occurs in the field of performance is that a commodity-based identity is formed, which contributes to the general tendency in capitalism to subject nature to the imperatives of profitability and wealth accumulation. The specific ideological impact of stardom is to glamourize the process of self-exploitation by the celebration of human nature’s triumph over the forces of the market, which in itself is represented as a force of nature. To be sure, the conception of the star as an agent of capitalism has been raised many times before (Morin, 1960; King, 2010); but not with close attention to the specific dynamics, tensions and contradictions of acting as a labour process. The fascination with mediated personhood is related to a number of factors that are interwoven by and interweave through popular culture. The most critical factors turn on the rupture between the macrocosmic and microcosmic frameworks of meaning based on allegory, ritual, the social metaphors of the body and the concept of creativity. Increasingly, these frameworks fail to offer a resource for the social formation of selfhood. In the most general terms, the questions I address centre on how this “disenchantment” of culture leaves the representational role of drama and acting exposed and vulnerable to economic pressures. To accomplish this, I undertake a critical review of indicative popular texts within the proliferating literature of advice to actors in order to show how the emphasis on competition and winning is an internalized response to the dynamics of precarity. Accordingly, I review acting advice manuals that, in a spirit of pragmatic realism, have adopted (perhaps unwittingly) the common sense of the marketplace, producing a “creative” version of neo-liberalism. Generally speaking, many acting manuals place an emphasis on the process of character construction, without making a radical distinction between stage and screen acting, or considering market pressures. These might be said to emphasize acting as a vocation with a commitment to the craft. But those I examine are marked by an interconnected emphasis: first, on developing a competitive approach to performance that is said

1 INTRODUCTION 

11

to create powerful, attention-grabbing performances on stage or screen and, as an essential precursor, the honing of self-presentation skills designed to leap across the field-wide threshold of the audition. Such approaches, if nested in the context of a collective control of the means of dramatic production, would support and improve the exercise of the craft. But the focus here is on the capitalist control of fictional production. Alternative modes of production, such as amateur and community theatre or collective film-making, are not directly examined here because they deserve a separate study (Zazzali, 2014, pp.  70–72). Rather, the focus of analysis is on the texts and practices—professional advice books and boutique lessons—that mentor the aspiring actor on the best approach to building a powerful performance. Great performances are important as part of the dramatic arts’ contribution to culture. But in an industry dominated by market-driven precarity, a powerful performance can often be driven by the commitment to see off rivals in the search for work and, if in work, to create an exciting experience for the present or remote audience. The texts I analyse propose that their “system” offers the “one best way” to create an effective, powerful and empathy-garnering performance. Apart from the disturbing echo of the cornerstone concept of F.W. Taylor’s system of scientific management, this raises the question of what constitutes the “best” performance (Holtcamp, 2019). Might not a professionally prestigious performance arise from any of the approaches recommended? The very diversity of the advice offered, and the fact that each approach attracts its own quota of devotees, suggests there is no one best way. To put it slightly differently, is not performance as a practical art subject to the logic of equifinality, in which quite disparate approaches can lead to positive outcomes that transcend the limitations of the specific circumstances of production? We may feel as consumers that we recognize a great performance when we see it. But to suppose that there is a magical formula for achieving it, is wishful thinking, and for the aspiring actor—often an exercise in cruel optimism. So, my purpose is not to define a great performance or advocate for the superiority of one method or style of training; rather, it is to explore what the actor can mean in the context of a market-driven search for “talent”, and how this search impacts the way actors are trained to win a share of the theatrical market. Although competition occurs between corporations, the focus here is on competition between stars or para-stars. Obviously, competition between the corporations occurs through special effects, a branded cinematic universe and directors as auteurs—but in relation to the market,

12 

B. KING

the institutionally favoured crux competition is the star or para-star as a figuration of popular rather than elite aesthetics. Finally, a methodological comment. The analysis that follows rests on the application of Marxist concepts to acting as a labour process (Braverman, 1998). As a general theory of the creation of value or labour power, Marxism emphasizes the structuring constraints of the social relations of production. The following analysis of the labour process of acting and performance draws on the concepts of control and the subsumption of labour power to the objective of profit-making (Marx, 1996, p. 948ff). A further methodological feature is that the order of chapter-by-­chapter exposition moves from the most abstract level of analysis down to the apparently concrete level of appearances. In doing this, I follow Marx’s premise that what is given as a concrete reality is the product of the interaction of many determinations, an empirically given unity of the diverse (Marx, 1993, pp. 100–101). It therefore becomes necessary to trace the “moments” of the descent in order to uncover what is hidden by appearances. Finally, the view that key concepts (such as persona or character) undergo a shift in meaning, relative to the relationship they are constrained to assume in practice, draws on another principle of a Marxian analysis of culture: the philosophy of internal relations (Ollman, 2015). In this approach, the view that concepts are non-dialectical things is replaced by the view that they are processes that acquire different meanings depending on their interaction with other concepts. So as already noted, the concept of persona takes on a different formative importance depending on how the concept of character is defined and vice versa. The algebra of this process in relation to the configuration of a professional-­ actor identity is what this book is about. Finally, remembering that the map is not the terrain, the order of exposition is: • Chapters 2, 3 and 4 consider, respectively, the concept of social body, the concept of talent and the concept of character. These concepts can be conceptualized as rungs on a ladder of abstraction—the macrocosmic, mesocosmic and microcosmic—that make claim to different levels of reference and have undergone a process of de-sublimation. My general argument is that these frameworks do not provide a ­reliable route to the realities they claim to evoke leading to an empirical emphasis on performance as containing and creating its own reality.

1 INTRODUCTION 

13

• Chapter 5 examines the complex relationship between acting and technology raising issues about the actor’s efficacy in the construction of a performance in theatre compared to cinema. • Chapter 6 examines the impact of a precarious labour market on how actors are trained and cast, proving an analysis of a sample of acting advice texts. • Chapter 7 examines the dynamics of competition based on the construction of a persona. • Chapter 8 examines the notion of the star as a force of nature existing outside of capitalist relations of production as a resource essential for generating profitability. • Chapter 9 returns to the question of stardom and para-stardom as an elite ideological construction, as a physiocracy.

References Benatar, G. (1993). Actors Turned Models. Entertainment Weekly. https:// ew.com/article/1993/06/04/actors-­turned-­models/ Boardman, M. (2016). 15 Models-Turned-Actresses: From Andie MacDowell to Cara Delevingne: See Famous Faces Who Made the Jump to the Screen. Entertainment Magazine. https://ew.com/gallery/models-­turned-­actress/ Boorstin, D. J. (1992). The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America. Vintage. Braverman, H. (1998). Labor and Monopoly Capital: The Degradation of Work in the Twentieth Century. NYU Press. Caldwell, J. T. (2008). Prefiguring DVD Bonus Tracks: Making-ofs and Behind-­ the-­Scenes as Historic Television Programming Strategies Prototypes. In Film and Television after DVD (pp. 159–181). Routledge. Carlson, M. A. (1993). Theories of the Theatre: A Historical and Critical Survey from the Greeks to the Present. Cornell University Press. Driessens, O. (2013). Celebrity Capital: Redefining Celebrity Using Field Theory. Theory and Society, 42(5), 543–560. Fiske, J. (1989). Understanding Popular Culture. Unwin Hyman. Ganzo, F. (2017). A Train That Derails: Does a European Star System Exist? A Conversation with Axelle Ropert. Cinema Comparat/ive Cinema, V(10), 54–64. Hinton, B., & Yi, P. (2015). SAG-AFTRA Membership Extending to Social Media Influencers. Manatt, Phelps & Phillips, LLP. Holtcamp, V. (2019). Interchangeable Parts: Acting, Industry and Technology in US Theater. University of Michigan Press. King, B. (2010). Stardom, Celebrity, and the Money Form. The Velvet Light Trap, 65, 7–19.

14 

B. KING

King, B. (2014). Taking Fame to Market: On the Pre-History and Post-History of Hollywood Stardom. Palgrave Macmillan. Marshall, P. D., Moore, C., & Barbour, K. (2015). Persona as Method: Exploring Celebrity and the Public Self Through Persona Studies. Celebrity Studies, 6(3), 288–305. Marx, K. (1993). Grundrisse, Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy. Penguin Classics. Marx, K. (1996). Capital Volume One (p. 948ff). Penguin. Mead, G. H. (1934). Mind, Self and Society. University of Chicago. Mishra, V., Jeffery, P., & Shoesmith, B. (1989). The Actor as Parallel Text in Bombay Cinema. Quarterly Review of Film & Video, 11(3), 49–67. Morin, E. (1960). The Stars. Grove Press. Ollman, B. (2015). Marxism and the Philosophy of Internal Relations; or, How to Replace the Mysterious ‘Paradox’ with ‘Contradictions’ That Can Be Studied and Resolved. Capital & Class, 39(1), 7–23. Preeshl, A. (2019). Reframing Acting in the Digital Age: Nimbly Scaling Actor Training in the Academy. Routledge. Rojek, C. (2001). Celebrity. Reaktion Books. Shingler, Martin (2017) The star system in Europe. Cinema Comparat/ive Cinema, 10, 916. ISSN 2014893. Van Krieken, R. (2018). Celebrity Society: The Struggle for Attention. Routledge. Vincendeau, G. (2000). Stars and Stardom in French Cinema. Continuum Books. Wischover, C. (2021). Inside Celebrity Beauty Brands. Allure. https://www. allure.com/story/inside-­celebrity-­beauty-­brands Zazzali, P. (2014). We’re All in This Together, Right? How Kansas City Actors Theatre Uses a Collective Ethos to Keep Its Actors and Audiences Happy. American Theatre, 70–72.

CHAPTER 2

The Social Body and Its Transformations

In this chapter, I analyse the macro-framework in which the actor is positioned as a cultural agent engaged in the representation of personhood. Mary Douglas has made the strongest argument for the role of ritual as the process whereby the physical body is placed in a relationship with a social or symbolic body. In her account, the scope of the body as a medium of expression is limited by controls exerted by the social body, which in turn structures how the physical body is perceived by others and the self (Douglas, 2002, pp. 72–74). It is perceived, on the one hand, as a physical being existing in a social space bounded on one side by how the individual conceives of and fashions self-identity, and on the other, by the socially dominant norms of comportment that others attribute to her or him, the individual stands in a relationship with the relevant social body (La Fontaine, 1985, p. 124). The force of the social body as constraint, basically the recognition or legitimation of its moral authority over the individual, is a function of two dimensions of social existence. The first is the power of the social group as the enforcer of a particular body metaphor, and the second is the degree to which an individual is committed to, or feels compelled to identify with, the values, norms and beliefs enacted and entailed by such a metaphor.1 Given that the ultimate aim is to describe how the material practices of training and casting frame the norms of identity formation, preservation and change, this chapter takes the first step, focussing on the constitution

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_2

15

16 

B. KING

of the social body in Western culture in order to place the actor’s body as the bearer of this collective process.2,3 In this respect, what I am examining here is the mediated construction of acting as a particular ideology of personhood—“the grounds of human capabilities and action, ideas about the self and the expressions of emotions” (Marcus & Fischer, 2014, p. 45). The fascination with mediated personhood—the premise of celebrity studies—will be related to a number of themes that are interwoven by and interweave through popular culture. The most critical of these is the diffusion of conceptions of creative behaviour, and a corresponding trend in the contemporary media that has led to the depletion of allegorical processes. These factors will be elaborated in the next two chapters. The first step requires the examination of the macrocosmic presumptions of the social function of drama.

Drama and the Mediation of Identity In the Western theatre, the earliest forms of public performance are associated with religion and Church-based plays such as the York Mysteries cycle. This tradition of sacred plays does not disappear, but its primacy and pervasiveness declined with the onset of the Renaissance, when it becomes just one style of theatre, even a novelty, amongst a range of others whose referential centre is the profane world in some form (Burns, 1972). Viewed in broadest terms, the underlying shift or re-gearing of pivotal reference for performances implies a change in the figurative relationship between microcosmic and macrocosmic realms. The function of theatre and, mutatis mutandis, cinema and television is to act as a mediator (or mesocosm) between figurations of the profane or human and sacred or superhuman modes of being. In general terms, any concept of identity can be represented as a spatial distribution of beings situated within and subtended on a microcosm— macrocosm map (Fig. 2.1). These features can be diagrammed as follows: Viewed abstractly, any given dramatic performance is positioned as a mesocosmic process intervening in a semantic field that has macrocosmic universal and microcosmic terrestrial framings of collective existence at its outer limits. The terrestrial level is the most differentiated, since it can range from a collective response to dramatic performances down to group and individual responses. Any dramatic performance, in whatever medium, constructs a mesocosm by making a selection from the four registers of

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

Macrocosm

Mesocosm

Domains

Drama

17

Microcosm

Audiences Feedback

Fig. 2.1  Drama as mediator of the relation between the mundane and extra mudane realms of experience

being: supernatural, natural (as animal or insectile), human and machinic.4 The relationships between these modes of being is structured by the world picture operating in a particular historical or social context.5 The Elizabethan world picture, for example, postulated a hierarchical chain of being encompassing, in descending interconnected order of importance: God, Saints, the orders of angels, demons and devils, humans and animals (Tillyard, 2017). Theatre histories identify a shift from performances based on allegory towards performances that explore various dimensions of mundane experience (Burns, 1972).6 Performance, then, can be seen as a difference machine that makes choices, tactical and strategic, between contrasting levels of social being (Barker, 2012). For my purposes, the key relationship is between the leading actor and how their body is positioned in relation to the rest of the cast and crew and, beyond that, to the function of drama in representing collective experiences. At this point, the focus is how the logic of representation in performance draws on the relation between actors performing particular fictional characters and the collective symbolic order that is embodied in dramatic forms. The body, human or non-human, is a bearer of meanings that are hierarchically valued; some to a degree self-selected and some to a degree situationally imposed. A contingency that will be explored subsequently turns on how the embodiment of social meanings brings about a downward and increasingly molecular emphasis on the signifying potential of the actor’s corporeal presence—a fact that expresses the distinguishing feature of stardom. The extent to which this shift occurs depends on a

18 

B. KING

number of situational factors but most substantially on the degree to which an actor’s professional self or persona is integrated with the surrounding collective definitions of the social body. In the West, the ontological framing of the social body has been enacted through a series of metaphors or algorithms of identity that regulate the relationship between the physical and social body and, depending on the latitude of personal choice and the normative force of their general acceptance, are perceived as the natural facts of identity. Three basic categories have been observed: a. Metaphors that identify the physical body as a barrier to be overcome in order to provide for the nurturance of the spirit or soul. Typical metaphors here see the body as trap, tomb, a site of corruption and the besmirching of what is potentially divine by bestial appetites and urges. Despite variations in emphasis, such metaphors see the body as a prison of the soul that prevents the realization (or recovery) of its ideal existence. This view is classically associated with Platonism and its variants filtered through Christian dogma. b. Metaphors that identify the physical body as a material reality that must be carefully managed if God’s purposes for the self are to be accomplished. The animal side of human nature must be recognized in order to nurture the soul or spirit. This conception of the body as a vehicle or “cloak” of the mind is found in Stoic philosophy, for example Epictetus and Seneca, as well as the Christian ideal of taking the life of Christ as a model for conduct. A similar view of the relationship between the soul and body, but conceiving both as mortal, is found in the Epicurean advocacy of the use of mental and physical resources in the pursuit of pleasure. Voltaire serves as a modern example of earthly hedonism (Porter, 2004). c. Metaphors that reflect the impact of technology, whereby the physical body is seen as a clock, a machine, a computer or a cybernetic system. A further set of metaphors has emerged from the impact of biotechnology and digital media, promoting the notion of the body as a material stock that can be harvested and gifted to other needy bodies or sold commercially. There is a further distinction to be made between traditional metaphors and contemporary metaphors in terms of their implied degree of literalness. Setting contemporary metaphors aside for the time being, what is

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

19

common to traditional metaphors—despite their difference in emphasis and the rules of conduct they advocate—is a firm belief in the relationship of the self to a macrocosmic reality, whether composed of a pantheon or a single deity. The pre-modern cosmological perspective—found, for example, in Dante’s Divine Comedy—conceived of the human condition as a conspectus or picture of the whole of creation. As the mirroring relationship between the cosmos and the individual is substantially abated or casualized, if not severed, the possibilities for self-fashioning become limitless, even though the pre-modern cast of mind acknowledges the complexity of the relationship between the realms of heaven and earth (Foucault, 2005, pp. 34–35). One major impact of the Renaissance was to consolidate the humanistic view of the individual as a self-sufficient, particular entity responsible for their own fate, limited only by the vicissitudes of fortune or divine will. The self-sufficient individual entire unto itself found its consummation in the much-admired figure of the artist (Taylor, 1992). From this disjunction between the self and the cosmos emerged the contemporary view of the person as an individual—driven internally by the Delphic injunction to “know thy self” and the corresponding demand to be true to the self or authentic whatever the cost. From this process emerged a trifold view of the self: as an individual, divided from others; as a secular being, divided from God, and divided internally, between the mind and the body (Synnott, 1992). The balance or operative coherence of these dimensions depends as a first approximation on the relationship between performance and ritual.

The Thinning of Ritual As commonly understood, ritual is a key process that inscribes and manages the relationship between the individual self and the social body. Evidently, a specific individual may fashion the physical body in defiance of, or in over-conformity to, the social body prevalent in a specific social context. For actors the very fact of performing, especially in public (but even in the privacy of a closet), posits such a play with possibility, even if the performers or the audience are not explicitly—or are only dimly— aware of the existential ramifications of what is being evoked. A dramatic performance replicates, in a sense that goes beyond mere analogy, an experiment in the interaction between symbolic fields and states of being. Different genres evoke a stock of characters and states of being that

20 

B. KING

comport with a specified world view and its associated scheme of action. Ultimately, dramatic performances mimic the mundane activity of the self (or selves in relationship) in appropriating the world through embodied action (Greimas & Fontanille, 1983). Viewed from the perspective of ritual as a process of social integration, drama is a display of the processes by which the individual is confronted with the social body. This confrontation—if never resolved and never final, because subject to social and physical change—necessitates an effort on the part of the individual to perform to a social script (Butler, 2002). Any discrepancy or misfit between the social body and any specific individual is subject to a ritual process, which aims to ensure that the individual undergoing a transition from one social status to another is placed in a temporary state of non-identity or liminality at the margins of social order. In traditional societies, rites of passage are associated with age-related transitions, such as puberty, marriage, menarche and funeral rites that regulate the disposal of the body. The concept of liminality is associated with the work of Victor Turner (1969). Drawing on van Gennep’s study of rites de passage, Turner conceptualized ritual as a process that moved its subjects through three phases of the relationship between identity and social structure: (1) Separation from social structure—symbolic death, loss of hitherto existing status (2) Liminal period—the liminar as a being with a voided social status undergoes practices, e.g., circumcision, scarification preparatory to assuming a new identity with the onset of puberty or menarche (3) Reassimilation—the bestowal of a new social status and socially recognized identity—e.g., from boyhood to manhood, girlhood to womanhood, single to married, youth to age Turner’s key emphasis was on the liminal phase as an ephemeral state, a situation of “betwixt and between” within a guided ritual process. The symbolic suspension of an individual’s identity as a necessary precondition for assuming a new identity created a temporary suspension of social structure. This liminal moment created an experience of communitas—the momentary experience of a direct affective connection or common humanity amongst the liminars. Communitas, despite sharing the same Latin root, stood in radical opposition to Community as a stable and culturally enforced structure of rules, norms and identities (Turner, 1969,

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

21

pp. 131–140, 177). Rather, it was an anti-structure in which established hierarchies and the associated scripts of identity—of class gender, status and sexuality—were suspended, parodied and reversed as, for example, in the festivities associated with Carnival. Liminal experiences were associated with three kinds of communitas—the existential or spontaneous, the normative and the ideological. Existential communitas constituted the deepest expression of liminality or anti-structure. But it was a condition that could not persist without developing its own structures of norms and rules and its own specific worldview—in short, becoming a settled scheme of life (ibid., p. 132). For Turner, the agonistic struggle between structure and anti-structure is a necessary feature, more or less pronounced, of all societies and social relationships. But the comprehensiveness of its reach and the level of its power to control the gap between the social and physical body depends on the social context of representation. In traditional societies, ritual practices are designed to affirm the power of social body over the physical body—always allowing that even individuals in small-scale societies present different degrees of subjective conformity to the social body. In modern Western societies, where mass media and social media have become the main purveyors of symbolic experiences as commodities, the concept of a social body itself is pluralized. Individuals are nominally free to choose between different identity options organized around social categories of difference based on class, race and gender. With the loosening of the ritual process, people managing identity transitions do so increasingly without close community support, reaching out instead to mediated or direct contemporary cultural events—films, music festivals, global concert tours, flash mobs, happenings and so on—where participation is voluntary and driven by individual choice. Collective events that seem to have a deep ritual potential—such as music festivals and concerts, theatrical performances, cultural movements and identity-­ affirmative consumerism—take on a diluted “liminoid” form. The gap between the social body and the individual body as the object of experiential marketing offers only a temporary and partial escape from the constraints of mundane existence (Cohen & Taylor, 2003). This view has been seen as an especially American phenomenon but, with the global reach of American popular culture, may emerge as a global constant. American public rituals … have been described as increasingly ironic … are not seen by their ‘knowing’ participants or observers to be invested with

22 

B. KING

cosmic or sacred truth, but merely as one among many equally valid group displays that may engender momentary catharsis but have little enduring cognitive hold over their performers or audiences. (Marcus & Fischer, 2014)

Acquiring a diluted or a specious ritual character, ritual events which might sustain a communitas have become matters of the individual’s voluntary choice, marking a shift from the liminal to the liminoid and at the same time providing a market for recurrent attempts at self-fashioning and identity renewal. Accordingly, what marks late capitalism with its trend towards secularism is a process of disenchantment that sees the weakening of the bond between the physical body and social body across a range of cultural settings7 (Alexander, 2004). Correspondingly, the development of marketing takes as its rationale the development of products and services designed to satisfy an interest in self-fashioning and rituals of body preparation, which, even if presented as tailored to individual needs, are standardized (Finkelstein, 1991). Considered in terms of the role of drama in formation and maintenance of self-identity, there is a double movement—a weakening of belief in the power of the macrocosm over the microcosm (self), and a corresponding fragmentation of the self as a microcosm. Individual identity, once held to be fixed by God and/or human nature, becomes a condition to be negotiated and navigated (Baumeister, 1987).8 To generalize, it is useful to identify a semiotics of impedance—which marks the degree of resistance and reactance of the self to external forces of identity formation. This relationship mediates the balance of forces between the self (the person or “I” as perceived by an individual) and the person “me” construed by others in relation to the social body (Mauss, 1985, p. 236).

The Waning of Allegory These large structural changes in the representation of the body are registered at the level of literature and drama. Like the mundane body, the dramatic body is the bearer of three dimensions of allegorical figuration held in tension around the concept of character. These are the supermundane, the mundane and the infra-mundane. Considering allegory as a general trope or figuration, certain features are pertinent and common. First, as its Greek derivation indicates, allegory nurtures and sustains a linkage between a literal set of meanings and a set of hidden meanings. This

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

23

hidden meaning purports to reveal a universal condition or purpose behind human existence. In making the connection between the empirically given profane world and a higher, sacred realm, allegory depends on the creation and maintenance of a hermeneutic wall—on the literal and perceptible side, earthly agents and images lodged in depictions, plots and narratives; on the other side, a realm of divine forces and agencies (Fletcher, 2006). In the Western medieval world view, the hidden world behind the hermeneutic wall was typically aligned with a Christian cosmogony in which the drama of Christ provided the basic map of existence (Auerbach, 2013, p.  323). In the modern period from the Renaissance onward, the strict differentiation between the experiences of mortals and the remote, mysterious world of the Gods is progressively weakened by the development in literature and the Arts of forms of representation depicting psychologically complex and differentiated characters. Such a move can be seen as incipient in the work of Shakespeare, in particular, where the classical rules of style mandated that only high-born characters should have depth of personality, while low-born characters were limited to being undifferentiated emblems of type. Shakespeare begins the process of introducing a new dramatic economy that shifts away from the world view of a society based on Estates towards a new view of society, in which individual differentiation is a far more nuanced process in both plays and performances (Lukacs, 1964). Such representational re-coding eventually saw the birth of realism, a mode of depiction, which, if mediated by developments internal to the practice of representation, derived its distant impetus from changes in political and social developments following on the collapse of the old order and the rise of capitalism. The emerging dramatic economy was to reach a tipping point with the development in the nineteenth century of Romanticism, which gave primacy to individuals whose motives were depicted as the outcome of personality rather than an extension of one’s estate (Auerbach, 2013, pp. 312–333). At the level of representation, the disenchantment of allegory is marked by the Romantic insistence on the primacy of the symbol as a self-­sufficient particular whose realm of reference is secular and concentrated on the powers of representation of the text. From symbols, a spectator or reader could infer a transcendent reality, but not see it represented literally in figures and characters as depicted. Walter Benjamin, in his study of Baroque art, recognized the shift in the ground of reference from the divine to the profane as traditional or

24 

B. KING

classical allegory practices gave way to modernism. But this shift of allegory contained an internal irony. On one side, it asserted the triviality and insubstantiality of the things of the profane world; on the other, it relied on these things to affirm its higher significance (Benjamin, 2009, p. 175; see also Lukacs, 1978). The double dialectic of the image, as Benjamin termed it, was especially evident in Baroque art. The emblems of the Baroque—the skull, the aristocratic ruins, the haunted place—evoked the pervasiveness of death and decay, thereby symbolizing the end of some teleological divine scheme. However, for Benjamin, this suspension of the promise of redemption and rebirth—once central to the operation of allegory—persisted in the form of the commodity.9 “(T)he devaluation of the world of objects in allegory is outdone within the world of objects itself by the commodity” (quoted in Rochlitz, 1995, p. 205). For my purposes, two observations are key. First, Baroque aesthetic forms provide an early signal of the recalibration of allegory as a mode of historical understanding. The aesthetics of the Baroque introduce a focus on and a fascination with particulars in an eternalized present. Allegory, in other words, crosses over the hermeneutic wall to function as the displaced but not extinguished Other of the profane, disenchanted world. As Lukacs (1978, p. 42) observes: “Benjamin knows, of course, that although details are ‘transferrable’ and thus insignificant, they are not banished. On the contrary. Precisely in modern art… descriptive detail is often of an extraordinary sensuous, suggestive power….” This crossing-over, this chiasmic binding together of disparate and incompatible objects and images imparts to art the potential for an ironic challenge to the political and ideological challenges that shape ordinary existence (Kelley, 1997, pp. 11, 255–259). Yet if the imaginative inheritance of classical allegory survives, it does so under conditions that render it as a stunted or stymied promise of a better form of existence. It ceases to be about supramundane eternal ideas and essences, since these are exposed as mere names and becomes the enumeration of objects and persons sufficient unto themselves, yet insufficient to generate hopes of a collective transcendence to a higher plane of meaning (Fletcher, 2006). This transformation, in which hope enjoys a kind of this-worldly half-­ life, is materially advanced by the penetration of cultural life by commodity relationships. In this process, commodities have inscribed upon them, by practices such as advertising and marketing, the specious aura that once belonged to cultic objects. In Marxist terms, they become fetishized. In these circumstances, the age-old impulse to seek redemption is supplanted

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

25

by the promise of consumerism (Bauman, 2007). With this reductive recalibration of allegory, the concept of transcendence becomes focussed on the interior qualities of the artwork and, with greater drive to apparent concreteness, the artist as the agent of personal redemption or the provider of temporary relief from the duller realities of everyday experience (Campbell, 1987). To mark the re-gearing of the register of allegory, it is useful to draw on Fredric Jameson’s recent book, Allegory and Ideology. Jameson proposes an allegorical matrix which contains the potential to shift between contrasting and potentially contradictory dimensions of representation; a process that resembles a differential gear shift in the grounds of identification and being and their hierarchical alignment. Taking a traditional religious world view as an example, the levels can be defined as: • Anagogical—the collective meaning of history, its movement towards some point of consummation. In the medieval cosmos, the last judgement as the fate of the human race • Moral—the psychological coding of a valid subject who in a religious cosmos seeks to redeem his or her soul • Allegorical—the interpretative code that provides a key to reading the relationship between the macro and micro-cosmos—for example, the life of Christ would be the allegorical interpretation (anagoresis) of the anagogical and moral levels • Literal—the historical or textual referent—the Old Testament struggles of the Hebrew tribes (Jameson, 2020, p. 40) In the privatized world of late capitalism, following the collapse of nationalism after World War II and the exposure of democracy as a cover for the capitalist pursuit of profitability on a global scale, the dimensions of allegory can no longer be held in an encompassing hierarchical order and reconciled by an encompassing interpretative code (Jameson, 2020). In this circumstance—our circumstance in the West—allegory itself becomes subject to a reading, an allegoresis, that treats texts as though they are allegorical when the underlying process is an ideological contestation. For Jameson, the cathectic experience of a particular text—the analogon—is what makes one particular dimension of the allegorical process existentially engrossing as primary key to meaning (Jameson, 1996, p. 31; Jameson, 2020, pp. 40, 61, 65).

26 

B. KING

The contemporary function of allegory in literature and drama undergoes a reductive dilution that is consonant with the shift in ritual from the liminal to the liminoid as an expressive service commodity. For my purposes, these hermeneutic shifts can be transcoded to provide an account—an allegoresis—of the figuration of the star or para-star as the agent of commodification. It should be apparent that this transcoding bears the marks of a reduction to the terrestrial and mundane according to the script of marketability. This recognized, the matrix of allegory to be explored has the following dimensions: • Anagogical—the universal subsumption of drama to the market and exchange value • Moral—the body as an expressive resource to be prepared and used entrepreneurially as a persona • Allegorical—the star as the personification of talent and creativity or charisma • Literal—the actor’s precarious struggle to get work in an overcrowded labour market In what follows, it is not my argument that all performances are market-­ driven; i.e., occur through personae. But rather, that even character-driven performances are read in terms of the protocols of persona, in no small part because of the operation of the paratexts of celebrity.

The End of the Dualism? In light of the thinning of ritual and allegory, the body emerges as an apparently self-standing bearer of metaphors. As noted above, there is a shifting pageant of metaphors, each proclaiming a connection between the self and a larger scheme of existence. This account has necessarily been synoptic. It does not cover in any detail how the specific metaphors arose out of distinct institutions such as the Church, Law, Medicine, Philosophy and the Physical or Empirical sciences. Neither does it explore the debates and disputes occurring within a specific institution over what would be an appropriate metaphor, nor does it explore in line with Jameson’s argument that allegory today operates through principles of transversal interaction, to what extent each metaphor interacts with other metaphors to bring out cross-fertilizations and even contradictions in everyday practices and behaviour. As an example, the metaphor of the body as a (potential)

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

27

tomb can be conjoined with the metaphor of a shrine or temple to be pampered and preserved with the application of cosmetic procedures and rejuvenating health products. In this contrast, the concept of asceticism, which in ancient practices meant denying the body, is controverted into a process of intensive grooming (Ferguson, 1997, p. 7). Another limitation of iconographic accounts of body images is that they tend to underemphasize the contradictions and discontinuities underlying a cataloguing of images. So, for example, the emergence of the bourgeois body-image weakens and ultimately ruptures the mind-body nexus.10 This rupture becomes increasingly pronounced—even in some practices absolute—in the last few decades of the twentieth century, wherein mind and body come to be seen as subdivisions of a common substance, either as materials or as ware. With the thinning of ritual and allegorical processes, the body emerges— or, one might say, is symbolically isolated—as a self-standing bearer of metaphors. As such, it is charged with recreating through drama the lost connection: most marked in terms of the universal, theological realm that projects humankind as sub specie aeternitatis, but also with the terrestrial realms of community, groups and individuals. Regarding the theorization of the body, two significant philosophical developments are relevant. The first is a consequence or corollary of Descartes’s theorization of humans as machines or automatons (Descartes, 1999). Descartes claimed, in part to protect his conception of humans as rational beings from censure by Church authorities, that humans, like animals, possessed a machine-like body; but unlike animals, humans also had an immortal soul that connected them to God.11 In a metaphor that anticipates cybernetics, the mind was conceptualized as the navigator steering the ship of the body against the resistances and obstacles provided by the clash between internal nature, as the passions, and external nature.12 In the empirical sciences, Cartesian dualism opened the door for a radical claim of mechanism. From the highest level of being down to humans and animals, the universe was governed by a giant mechanism, akin to a clock, driven exclusively by physical laws. The conception of the universe as a machine replaced (especially, but not exclusively in intellectual and scientific circles) the traditional view of existence as a product of divine authorship and stewardship. The discovery of the meaning of existence was no longer a matter of philosophical or theological speculation, though these activities were to continue. Rather, it would depend on close empirical observation. The metaphor of the machine, already found in Hobbes’s

28 

B. KING

Leviathan, became the basis for a mechanistic world picture, created by Newton’s impact in the natural sciences and Locke’s arguments for empiricism. Later Cartesian exponents of the mechanistic world view, for example La Mettrie, sought to supersede Descartes’s dualism by insisting that not just the external world but the inner world of the mind was governed by lawlike physical or psychophysical processes. In this shift, Descartes’s metaphor of the automaton was extended to humans. The theory of universal materialism decisively severed the category of body from a binding, anthropomorphic macrocosm; however, much theories of the latter persisted in lay perception and popular cultural forms such as astrology and magic (Porter, 2004). As these trends become dominant in eighteenth-century England century, with the steady transformation of traditional society by capitalism and the pre-eminence of commodity exchange, representations of the social body lose the capacity to circumscribe and prescribe collectively valid comportment options for individuals. Indeed, there is no longer a single scheme, but rather a range of identity options, so that any particular version of the social body is an option amongst others. Consequently, individuals seeking to order their appearance and comportment through self-fashioning are left to engage in identity work in an increasingly private and idiosyncratic manner, breaking the predictability afforded, however speciously, by the old order. Especially in the development of large-scale cities, the increased licence to masquerade takes on a positive and a negative aspect: on the one hand, as the exercise of freedom, and on the other, as a loss of connection, the experience of anomie and isolation (Sennett, 1978). In these circumstances, identity takes on the form of a punctual self: …the ability to take an instrumental stance to one’s given properties, desires, inclinations, tendencies, habits of thought and feeling, so that they can be worked on, doing away with some and strengthening others until one meets the desired specifications. (Taylor, 1992, pp. 159–160)

Yet even the concept of a punctual self as the instrumentalization of identity is undermined by the emergence of cultural theories and practices that show the self to be fragmented and irrational. Key factors in this transformation are the development of psycho-analysis, literary theories of discourse and historical change. One general account—useful given its widespread circulation—pertinent to the loosening of the macro-micro

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

29

binding of identity is Lyotard’s theory of the postmodern condition. In such a condition, the meta-narratives of the Enlightenment—progress towards a utopian future, technological control of nature and science as the key to total mastery of existence—collapse into a contingently driven present structured by competitions or games for legitimacy and dominance (Lyotard, 1984). In these circumstances, the self is imagined as a hypostatic entity—a collection or wardrobe of identities held in reserve to be deployed tactically in social encounters (Lifton, 1999; Goffman, 1978). The hypostatic view of identity was a philosophical reaction to the capitalist organization of the market. Locke’s theory of possessive individualism imagined, in philosophical terms, the core relationship between people engaged in buying and selling commodities (Macpherson, 1962). Yet as shown by Locke’s own examples, the right to possess the products of labour depend on owning the instruments of labour and having free access to resources in common. As observed by Marx and other commentators, the full implementation of capitalism requires that these Lockean conditions do not obtain for those locked into capitalist relations of production. The modern proletariat, whose only socially effective property is their capacity to labour or labour power, negates the legal stipulation of the free labourer who, as a wage earner under a developed capitalist economy, lacks access to the means of production—tools, machines and the sources of materials (Marx, 1990, pp. 271–280). The dependency on the labour market and waged employment was only achieved through a long historical struggle in which workers, primarily but not exclusively male, were separated from the domestic economy and means of subsistence that were independent of the capitalist system. Although dependent on wage labour, workers in the factory, shops and offices still retained some control over the expenditure of effort for a given wage, whether by informal means such as tacit agreements to limit output within work groups or through formal organizations such as unions (Behrend, 1957). The existence of a frontier of control operating within the workplace encouraged management to develop payment systems such as piecework, the redesign of the work order and the introduction of labour-shedding technology to increase the amount of effort obtained for a given wage. Of particular significance was the development of systems to control the pace and intensity of work through time-and-motion study. Critical here was scientific management as developed by Frederick Winslow Taylor, which

30 

B. KING

decomposed the work order into small units of prescribed “best” movements and set completion times. The over-riding objective of scientific management was to place the control of the labour process in the hands of management in order to squeeze the maximal effort out of the work force. The practical efficiency of Taylorism was questionable, since it left the labour process in the hands of the worker. The introduction of the assembly line by Henry Ford was designed to overcome this limitation. But more than a system of production, Fordism, as it came to be known, made the selection of workers for high-wage assembly-line work dependent on an appropriate lifestyle and the acceptance of consumerism as compensation for fragmented and monotonous work. If Taylorism attempted to structure the labour process, Fordism extended its control over the worker as well, producing a new set of psychophysical dispositions (Gramsci, 1971). Yet if the assembly line placed the pace of work more intensively in management hands, management still encountered the problem that the work process remained open to individual resistance and sabotage. But this was a bearable price to pay for the elimination of workers’ control over the collective labour process and the protection it offered the individual worker in terms of the quality of his or her labour.13 The push to maximize management control over the worker—if less successful than Taylor, for example, was wont to claim—implied a particular view of the worker as a source of energy. This metaphor in itself extended the mechanistic world picture more deeply into the recesses of the individual and his or her psychological and physical make-up. Moreover, although presented as modern approaches, Taylorism and Fordism alike drew on a view that went back to Tudor times, where the problem of productivity was perceived as a problem of idleness (Thomas, 2009). To this extent, scientific management and Fordism were systems designed to overcome slacking or, as Taylor put it, soldiering (Braverman, 1974). In Europe, in part because of fears of American influence, scientific management was perceived as a system of over-working that failed to recognize the significant impact of fatigue on industrial efficiency. Particularly in France, investigators such as Marey sought to analyse, using photography and cinematography, the nature of human movement in order to find the most efficient method to increase output without incurring the greatest level of fatigue (Rabinbach, 1992). In this refinement, the body was

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

31

re-imagined as a motor that needed to pace rather than completely exhaust its reserves of power. Yet despite its more humane figuration, the metaphor of the human motor still worked discursively to objectify the worker’s body as an instrument and source of output or labour power. The key feature of these developments for the approach taken here is that the concept of the self as an individual becomes increasingly defined by anonymizing metrics as a stock of material resources and physical energies. These resources are all required to “prove” their value by being alienated through commodity exchange. The body becomes a store of resources that is quantitatively located within an impersonal and transpersonal collective order: the realm of universal mechanical materialism. Energy as a universal resource begins to encompass the physiological and psychological dimensions of human existence, not merely in the realm of work but within the realm of social relationships and culture. Such a figuration is distinguished from earlier body metaphors because it decisively departs from the humanistic or anthropomorphic register of being, evoking beings based on artificial intelligence such as the robot or the cybernetic organism (cyborg).14 Such figurations, whether actual or fictional, evoke possibilities of other beings that are post-human and potentially anti-human (Haraway, 1985). In popular drama, human qualities are grafted or projected upon such artificial figures, recalling earlier speculations on automatons by Descartes. Not denying the imaginative potential of such mechanistic metaphors, their very currency constitutes another step in the de-subjectification of the body, turning it into a thing-­ like bundle of qualities that can supersede notions of personality. This step pushes beyond metaphor (which, based on comparing two different things, says something is like something else), towards the claim that some property especially defines the body through synecdoche (whereby a part of a person is taken as defining the totality of the person). Given a sufficient level of literalness and molecularity, a figure becomes the sign of the totality of which it serves as an essentializing part. This reductionism is not confined to an engineering or physics world view, but is driving research in genetics and embryology. The body of modern biology, like the DNA molecule – also like the modern corporate and political body – has become just another part of an informational network, now a machine, now a message, always ready for exchange, each for the other. (Fox-Keller, 1995, pp. 112 and 118)

32 

B. KING

In recent times, the confluence of big data and algorithms in the social media, driven by the commercialization of data, is creating a flattened image of the self through the construction of data profiles that “read” consumers in terms of what they consume. Users from a diversity of backgrounds are aggregated into categories on the basis of profiles derived from consumption behaviour that can guide the detailed targeting of advertising. If considered through the metaphor of tailoring, datafication is a one-size-fits-all herding approach rather than bespoke provision. The resultant categories break with the traditional notion of the consumer as a specific social type. Investigation of the motives, needs and social contexts that underlie a specific profile of consumption is replaced by algorithms that recognize patterns (Fisher & Mehozay, 2019). In the process of profiling, one individual with a particular pattern of consumption is equated with others who fit the same profile, regardless of substantive cultural or social differences. This digital revival of the behaviourist principle that motives are less important than outcomes is a further aspect of viewing (and grooming) the self as an engine whose energies—one might say enthusiasms—are understood only as factual outcomes, rather than elements in a search for meaning (Weegar & Pacis, 2012; Zuboff, 2019). The most important and functionally powerful precondition for this representational shift is the increasing penetration of society by commodity relationships that objectify the body if (and only if) it has an exchange value recognized by a market. Figured as an abstract source of energy and qualities, the body becomes a medium for exchange, sometimes as a gift or, more substantially, as a commodity. In this episteme—a way of organizing and knowing behaviour—the human being is increasingly imagined as stock or a ware (Foucault, 2005). This ontological casting of the self matches the contemporary reality of flexible accumulation (Martin, 1992; Harvey, 1998). The ensuing figuration of the body as a material resource, rather than as an encultured form of agency, can entail a logic of othering in which some people (usually non-European and non-White, female rather than male) are treated less as fellow beings sharing common values than as warehouses or stockpiles of materials, sexual affordances and energy. Such a view shares certain features with the concept of slavery, which saw slaves as animals or beasts of burden to be exploited through involuntary labour in the fields, in the manufactory, as domestic labour and as providers of sexual services (Bales, 2000). But in terms of its reach, the conception of the body as a physical or biological stock of resources, surpasses the

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

33

category of sentient beings, suggesting a process of social cannibalism in which body parts and biological materials are harvested as property with or without the owner’s or legal guardian’s consent (Staiano-Ross, 2005, pp. 57, 61; Scheper-Hughes, 2001; Scott, 1981). The precondition behind this process is the development of biotechnical science techniques that can isolate biological data and convert them into alienable materials that can be transferred or exchanged. The primary motor of this shift, the conditions under which it can attain social generality as trade, is the commodification of the body and its parts.15

The Actor’s Confinement to the Body In contrast to the mundane body, the trained body of the actor projected through a dramatic character can problematize, rehearse, affirm, test or deny the relationship between a social and a personal body—but only insofar as the physical body can find a place in a scheme of universal meaning (Douglas, op. cit. p. 89). The unmooring of allegory from the supermundane and the progressive morselization of the body through commodification makes the relationship between any particular body and the overarching social body uncertain and open to a process of symbolic negotiation. Considered specifically within the area of commercial drama—the dominant form of drama within the West—what do these developments mean for acting as a process of transforming the body for commodity exchange? As will be explored subsequently, the potential for self-­ commodification has a powerful impact on an actor’s life chances. It is a commonplace, but substantially accurate nonetheless, that the majority of actors do not make a livelihood from their craft. Even where they do—and even, in rarer cases, enjoy great economic and cultural rewards for so doing—the process of adaption to market conditions is fraught with the psychological and professional insecurities that stem from the fierce competition for work and the resultant precarity. Once again, these matters will be explored subsequently. For now, it can be noted that the actor is part of the genus of wage labour and hence positioned as a worker selling his or her labour power, most often with a markedly lower rate of success than those engaged in routine labour but with the prospect, worryingly elusive, of a fame and wealth. Viewing contemporary drama in the West as a field of practice, the actor often confronts, as a matter of principle rather than as a subjective

34 

B. KING

preference, the absence of a stable concept of the social self and of a stable narrative context. Even where a particular drama provides a strong framework, the search for novelty or a political commitment to confront existing norms of being creates performative uncertainty. How should the actor, through the medium of his or her body, deliver a character? And is character a relevant concept? This dramaturgical context can be seen as permitting an unrivalled opportunity for cultural exploration or, contrariwise, can present the challenge of finding a way through an undigested and perhaps indigestible plethora of interpretations (Gergen, 1991). With the shift of drama from the sub specie aeternitatis realm of the Church and religion to mundane forms of drama, allegory operates, as Jameson argues, as an existential desideratum. The texts and images of profane experience no longer appear as automatically real, and they require interpretation if they are to become collectively effective.16 The power of classical allegory was that it achieved coherence at the cost of adherence to a rigid scheme of representation and shallow characterization (Burns, op. cit.). By contrast, contemporary artworks—certainly in terms of how they are promoted—claim to do the allegorical work of supplying some universal framework of meaning or grand narrative. A claim which has become problematic in modernity and even more so in post-modernity. In these circumstances the aesthetic dimension of texts and performances becomes subject to competing and conflicting allegorical interpretations (allegoresis). As a result individuals are enjoined to become the author of their self-identity, undertaking the burden of curating a narrative of their life course or a reflexive project of the self (Giddens, 1991, pp. 52–55). In such a situation, of declining and weakening of collective and community support, the management of identity in everyday life becomes chronically reliant on legacy media and the social media for models and scripts of identity that make performativity a pervasive ideology (Bauman, 2013; Kershaw, 2001). As applied to the profession of the actor, reconciling the demand to be authentic, which implies a core self-identity, with the craft value of versatility is a heightened and concretizing figuration of the life experiences of ordinary people who work on their own “performances” of self-identity. The conflation between performance as work and performance in work rests on a failure to distinguish between performativity and theatricality.17 Performativity, especially as defined by Judith Butler, is properly seen as a first-order ontological concept aimed at outlining the need to sustain a culturally coded, for example, gender identity. The actor or performer is clearly subject to these kinds of processes as a private

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

35

individual like anyone else. But as a professional performer, the actor undertakes a second-­order mode of performance, denoted by the term theatricality, that is focussed on epistemology—how can I seem to be such a person for others to know? (Reinelt, 2002). The potential for confusion between theatricality and performativity is noted by Butler herself: Well, there is a bad reading, which unfortunately is the most popular one. The bad reading goes something like this: I can get up in the morning, look in my closet, and decide which gender I want to be today. I can take out a piece of clothing and change my gender, stylize it, and then that evening I can change it again and be something radically other, so that what you get is something like the commodification of gender, and the understanding of taking on a gender as a kind of consumerism. (Kotz, 1992)18

Such a statement, if a bad reading of life, is actually a good reading when applied to the actor. This is because the crux of what the actor does, his or her engagement with performance, remains a character.19 As noted above, the macro-micro framing of performance has undergone a double de-sublimation. On the macrocosmic scale, the allegory as trope of transcendence has been subverted—through the appropriation of the aura, in order to sell commodities as objects and services—into a secular frame of reference in which symbols become brands (Leach, 2011; Lury, 2004). On the microcosmic scale, the increasing literalism of metaphors of selfhood has eventuated in the view of the person imagined as a stock of psychophysical qualities driven by commodification (or the anticipation of same). In this framing, the concept of selfhood has descended from the designation of individual into the designation of a dividual being. As with allegory, the old metaphorical iconography of selfhood lives on, but under conditions in which the self is perceived as an object as well as a subject, or some balance of these conditions of being. It can be observed that the actor as a sign has to some extent been conceptualized in this manner throughout history; and indeed, this reflects a basic existential condition—humans are both subjects and objects.20 What is new is that the actor in lay appreciation, as opposed to expert opinion, has become the crux of the theatrical mesocosm, the Archimedean pivot of the discourse between the macrocosmic and microcosmic registers of dramatic signification. This development is intimately related to the value attributed to character. Compared to the rigid designation of character found in medieval drama, or of character in bourgeois drama, the

36 

B. KING

contemporary actor, especially as a star, has greater latitude of depiction or a broader range of imaginative options. How this latitude is structured, and to what degree it is influenced by the relations of performance production, as well as how the various creative inputs shape the actor’s performance, will be explored further.21 If, as Gell argues, trying to determine the meaning of a performance is akin to attempting to catch the wind in a net, the focus on the actor is the least ambiguous and most immediate way—though not without its own ambiguities—of construing the meaning of what appears on stage or screen (Gell, 1998). With all the qualifications to be advanced, it can be stated in principle that the actor’s freedom is exercised, successfully or unsuccessfully, by working through the body to achieve meaning. The intensified emphasis on the body of the actor inside the space of character and outside of it is, as we shall see, the leitmotif of contemporary efforts to bring out the essence of dramatic performance through the medium of the body. The resort to the corporeal—most pronounced in Western late capitalist societies—is understandable, given the series of detachments of social behaviour from an overarching framework of meaning. Whether arising from the disenchantment of allegory, the identity deficits of “liquid modernity”, or the view of the body as a commodity, leads to an emphasis on the immediacy of the performance and the actor’s place as a bearer of significance. The self has become fragmented and morselized down to the level of particulars. In relation to the actor as a figure deployed for existential significance, a paradox emerges that is the inheritance of the self-as-­ machine metaphor: it becomes the function of the mind to train the body to invest embodied actions with transcendent meaning. To adopt a different terminology, the body becomes a technical object that seeks to develop a soul (Simondon, 1980). Whether the actor makes use of (or is permitted to exercise) this newly offered chance to exercise a corporeal sovereignty is an aesthetic matter, but not just this. It is also a consequence that arises from the impact of the labour market for performance and how the actor reaches the position of employment. So before one talks of cultural purpose, one must have weighed the actor’s response to the pressures of employment. Further, one must clarify how the actor is subject to the pressures encountered by labour in general under capitalism, and how he or she accedes to or resists them. In other words, how the actor (or performer) becomes—or risks not becoming—a commodity.22

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

37

Notes 1. In exploring the relationship between the social body and the physical body, I bracket off questions of how audiences read texts—an area of enquiry well developed in ethnographies of fandom (see Gray et al., 2007). Rather, I focus on how dramaturgical practices provide a social space where consumers can try on social identities. For discussion of advertising identity shopping, see Goldman (2005, p. 3). 2. The concept of the social body is an abstraction—as identity politics has demonstrated, there is a range of social bodies in positions of dominance or subordination. 3. Adapted from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Human_ Predicament_Levels_of_Meaning_Chart.png. 4. The term mesocosm derives from the ecological study of organisms and processes in a structured environment smaller than a field, yet broader and less controlled than a laboratory experiment (Odum, 1984). 5. For a useful account of the conditions of persistence of theatre as a ritual practice, see Tromsdal (2018). 6. Naturalism and realism are the dominant forms of the movement towards secular mimesis. 7. Durkheim made a similar distinction between kinds of collective effervescence: creative effervescence, in which the outcome of the ritual process is uncertain and may lead to new concepts of being, and recreative effervescence, which creates a strong emotional bond amongst participants. See Olaveson (2001). 8. Although the anchoring of the self, varies in this way, this does not mean that for all individuals the balance between the physical and social body follows this historic trend. Some individuals may still strongly identify with the relevant social body for religious or political reasons in late modernity—and indeed, because of the uncertainty created by the contemporary “liquidity” of belief, be drawn towards an affirmation of belief. 9. Especially invested in the notion of souvenir as an object that promises to recover the past, albeit an essentially futile gesture (Benjamin, 1985). 10. Foucault points to this as the end of man as the crux of representation; see Foucault (2005, p. 330ff). 11. With this claim, Descartes made mind-body dualism an enduring feature of Western debates about the nature of identity. Acting and performing is, as we shall see, an area of work in which Cartesian dualism remains a contested principle of practice, as suggested by the inside-out versus outside-in approaches to performance. 12. The image of Descartes as a rationalist, committed to mind-body dualism, is qualified by his later forays into drama (Gobert, 2013).

38 

B. KING

13. As will be approached subsequently, the cultural worker and cultural work are viewed, however speciously, as a haven from the general tendency towards the degradation of work. 14. It is true that post-humanist metaphors have an ancient provenance in the comparison of humans to animals, and even the theory of humours anticipates the dissolution of human personality into its supposed elemental units. 15. “within the context of commodification, metaphorical thinking rapidly depersonalizes, de-subjectifies, and thus dehumanizes the body and its parts” (Sharp, 2000, p. 315). 16. If the objective is obfuscation and the denial of collective action, then they are effective. 17. Marlon Brando, for example, was fond of claiming that we are all actors, all performers, as in the interview with Connie Chung. Erving Goffman, as already noted, was the codifying authority for this view. 18. For some critical comments on the notion of performativity in the theatre, see States (2001). Another way to make the same point is to note that theatricality is about the re-enactment of enacted everyday behaviour (Schechner, 2010). For some commentators, Butler’s denial of genetic determinism is, ironically, too voluntaristic and one-sided because it elides the body as a determinant; see Schatzki (1996, pp. 49–77). 19. Pirandello encapsulated this dilemma in his plays, especially six characters in search of an author: that the search for the “certificate of authenticity” as directed at the playwright points to the need to fix rather than pluralise character (Gramsci, 1985, pp. 144–145). 20. In one sense this has always been the case, if the role of appearance and physique is considered. But there is a significant difference between a situation in which casting occurs within an allegorical framework and one in which the actor is outside of and yet expected to embody allegorical agency in his or her person(a). 21. As Kevin Spacey tersely puts it—the theatre is an actor’s medium, film and television a director’s and editor’s medium. 22. In this sense, Mamet’s (2011) view that the actor’s choice is to be true to the craft and not to the falsifying pressures of commercialism captures the basic dilemma faced by all actors and performers.

References Alexander, J. C. (2004). Cultural Pragmatics: Social Performance Between Ritual and Strategy. Sociological Theory, 22, 527–573. Auerbach, E. (2013). Mimesis. Princeton University Press. Bales, K. (2000). Expendable People: Slavery in the Age of Globalization. Journal of International Affairs, 53(2), 461–484.

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

39

Barker, S. (2012). Hamlet: The Difference Machine. Comparative Drama, 46(3), 401–423. Bauman, Z. (2007). Consuming Life. Polity. Bauman, Z. (2013). Liquid Modernity. John Wiley & Sons. Baumeister, R.  F. (1987). How the Self Became a Problem: A Psychological Review of Historical Research. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 52, 163–176. Behrend, H. (1957). The Effort Bargain. ILR Review, 10(4), 503–515. Benjamin, W. (1985). Central Park. New German Critique, 34(Winter), 32–58. Benjamin, W. (2009). The Origin of German Tragic Drama. Verso. Bernacki, R. (1995). The Fabrication of Labor: Germany and Britain, 1640–1914 (Vol. 20). University of California Press. Braverman, H. (1974). Labor and Monopoly Capital: The Degradation of Work in the Twentieth Century. Monthly Review Press. Burns, E. (1972). Theatricality: A Study of Convention the Theatre and in Social Life. Longman. Butler, J. (2002). Gender Trouble. Routledge. Campbell, C. (1987). The Romantic Ethic and the Spirit of Modern Consumerism. Basil Blackwell. Cohen, S., & Taylor, L. (2003). Escape Attempts: The Theory and Practice of Resistance in Everyday Life. Routledge. Descartes, R. (1999). Discourse on Method and Meditations on First Philosophy. Hackett Publishing. Douglas, M. (2002). Natural Symbols. Routledge. Ferguson, H. (1997). Me and My Shadows: On the Accumulation of Body-Images in Western Society Part 2. Body & Society, 3(1), 1–31. Finkelstein, J. (1991). The Fashioned Self. Temple University Press. Fisher, E., & Mehozay, Y. (2019). How Algorithms See the Iraudience: Media Epistemes and the Changing Conception of the Individual. Media, Culture & Society, 41(8), 1176–1191. Fletcher, A. (2006). Allegory Without Ideas. Boundary 2, 33(1), 78–98. Foucault, M. (2005). The Order of Things. Routledge. Gell, A. (1998). Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Clarendon Press. Gergen, K. J. (1991). The Saturated Self: Dilemmas of Identity in Contemporary Life. Basic Books. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Stanford University Press. Gobert, R.  D. (2013). The Mind-Body Stage: Passion and Interaction in the Cartesian Theater. Stanford University Press. Goffman, E. (1978). The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life (Vol. 21). Penguin. Goldman, R. (2005). Reading Ads Socially. Routledge.

40 

B. KING

Gramsci, A. (1971). Americanism and Fordism in Prison Notebooks. Lawrence and Wishart. Gramsci, A. (1985). Selections from Cultural Writings. edited Fogacs, D. & Nowell-Smith, G. pp 144–146, Lawrence and Wishart, London. Gray, J., Sandvoss, C., & Harrington, C.  L. (Eds.). (2007). Fandom: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World. New York University Press. Greimas, A. J., & Fontanille, J. (1983). The Semiotics of Passions: From States of Affairs to States of Feeling. University of Minnesota Press. Haraway, D. (1985). A manifesto for Cyborgs. Socialist Review, 80, 65–108. Harvey, D. (1998). The Body as an Accumulation Strategy. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 16(4), 401–421. Jameson, F. (1996). The Political Unconscious. Routledge. Jameson, F. (2020). Allegory and Ideology. Verso. Keller, E. F. (1995). Refiguring Life. Columbia University Press. Kelley, T. M. (1997). Reinventing Allegory (Vol. 22). Cambridge University Press. Kershaw, B. (2001). Dramas of the Performative Society: Theatre at the End of Its Tether. New Theatre Quarterly, 17(3), 203–211. Kotz, L. (1992). The Body You Want: An Interview with Judith Butler. Art Forum International, 81(1), 82ff. La Fontaine, J.  S. (1985). Person and Individual: Some Anthropological Reflections. In M. Carrithers, S. Collins, & S. Lukes (Eds.), The Category of the Person: Anthropology, Philosophy, History. Cambridge University Press. Leach, W.  R. (2011). Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture. Vintage. Lifton, R. J. (1999). The Protean Self: Human Resilience in an Age of Fragmentation. University of Chicago Press. Lukacs, G. (1964). Realism in Our Time: Literature and the Class Struggle. Harper Row. Lukacs, G. (1978). On Walter Benjamin. New Left Review, 1/110(July/ August), 83–88. Lury, C. (2004). Brands: The Logos of the Global Economy. Routledge. Lyotard, J.  F. (1984). The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. University of Minnesota Press. MacPherson, C. B. (1962). The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism: Hobbes to Locke. Oxford University Press. Mamet, D. (2011). True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor. Vintage. Marcus, G. E., & Fischer, M. M. (2014). Conveying Other Cultural Experience: The Person, Self, and Emotions. In Anthropology as Cultural Critique: An Experimental Moment in the Human Sciences (2nd ed., pp. 45–77). University of Chicago. Martin, E. (1992). The End of the Body. American Ethnologist, 19(1), 121–140. Marx, K. (1990). Capital (Vol. 1). Penguin.

2  THE SOCIAL BODY AND ITS TRANSFORMATIONS 

41

Mauss, M. (1985). A Category of the Human Mind: The Notion of Person; the Notion of Self. In M. Carrithers, S. Collins, & S. Lukes (Eds.), The Category of the Person: Anthropology, Philosophy, History. Cambridge University Press. Odum, E. P. (1984). The Mesocosm. Bioscience, 34(9), 4. Olaveson, T. (2001). Collective Effervescence and Communitas: Processual Models of Ritual and Society in Emile Durkheim and Victor Turner. Dialectical Anthropology, 26, 89–124. Porter, R. (2004). Flesh in the Age of Reason. WW Norton & Company. Rabinbach, A. (1992). The Human Motor: Energy, Fatigue, and the Origins of Modernity. University of California Press. Reinelt, J. G. (2002). The Politics of Discourse: Performativity Meets Theatricality. Substance, 31(2/3), 201–215. Rochlitz, R. (1995). The Disenchantment of Art: The Philosophy of Walter Benjamin. Guilford Publications. Schatzki, T.  R. (1996). Practiced Bodies: Subjects, Genders and Minds. In T. R. Schatzki & W. Natter (Eds.), The Social and Political Body (pp. 49–77). Guilford Press. Schechner, R. (2010). Restoration of Behaviour. In Between Theater and Anthropology (pp. 35–116). University of Pennsylvania Press. Scheper-Hughes, N. (2001). Commodity Fetishism in Organs Trafficking. Body & Society, 7(2–3), 31–62. Scott, R. (1981). The Body as Property: A. Lane. https://books.google.co.nz/ books?id=Nt7CQgAACAAJ Sennett, R. (1978). The Fall of Public Man. Vintage. Sharp, L.  A. (2000). The Commodification of the Body and Its Parts. Annual Review of Anthropology, 29(1), 287–328. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev. anthro.29.1.287 Simondon, G. (1980). On the Mode of Existence of Technical Objects (N. Mellamphy, Trans.). University of Western Ontario. Staiano-Ross, K. (2005). Losing Myself: Body as Icon/Body as Object(s). Semiotica, 154, 57–94. States, B. O. (2001). Performance as Metaphor. Afterall: A Journal of Art, Context and Enquiry, 3, 64–86. Synnott, A. (1992). Tomb, Temple, Machine and Self: The Social Construction of the Body. British Journal of Sociology, 43(1), 79–110. Taylor, C. (1992). Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Harvard University Press. Thomas, K. (2009). The Ends of Life: Roads to Fulfilment in Early Modern England. Oxford University Press. Tillyard, E. (2017). The Elizabethan World Picture. Routledge.

42 

B. KING

Tromsdal, R. (2018). The Saint Olav Drama (Spelet Om Heilag Olav): A Perpetual Mobile Machine? Roots, Rituals and Respect. Performing Ethos: International Journal of Ethics in Theatre & Performance, 8(1), 35–47. Turner, V. (1969). The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. Aldine. Weegar, M. A., & Pacis, D. (2012). A Comparison of Two Theories of Learning— Behaviorism and Constructivism as Applied to Face-to-Face and Online Learning Symposium Conducted at the Meeting of the Proceedings e-Leader Conference, Manila. Zuboff, S. (2019). The Age of Surveillant Capitalism. Profile Books.

CHAPTER 3

The Search for Talent

To situate acting as a form of work, it is necessary to consider the prestige attributed to the actor as a cultural figure. With the establishment of a commercial permanent theatre, successful actors from the time of Garrick have sought to demonstrate that they are of outstanding worth as personages. What is affirmed by the accompanying efforts at self-promotion and publicity is that the star or para-star possesses exemplary professional skills and a natural talent. Even if the terms remain vague, as we shall see, the claim to a special status as a performer was meant to correct the historical view of the actor as a semi-skilled strolling player eking out a hand-to-­ mouth, vagabond existence on the fringes of respectable society (Bradbrook, 1962). As already observed, with the intensifying impact of the social media and Web 2.0, the concept of the actor as a professional began to take on the burden of uniquely representing or encapsulating the relationship between everyday experience and problems of identity in a fragmented and secularized society. When the actor Hendrik Hofgen—played by Klaus Maria Brandauer in Istvan Szabo’s film, Mephisto (1981)—asks his Nazi sponsors in the final scene, “What do you want of me, I’m only an actor?”, the ensuing silence in the glare of the spotlight indicates that it is too late to claim the status of a mere player. The actor has become a symbol of exceptional qualities—which, in this case, glamourize Nazi gangsterism. In a similar fashion, actors and performers today are surrounded by certain

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_3

43

44 

B. KING

perceptions and expectations remote from the immediate demands of performing. Various terms have been used to define the qualities of the actor or performer as a captivating public symbol. Stars are said to have “It” (Roach, 2005). For most writers “it” remains mysterious, and this very indefinability explains its power. One of the most systematic sociological attempts to define “it” is to be found in the work of Max Weber. Drawing on the sociological study of religion, “it” is an expression of charisma or the gift of grace: Charisma may be either of two types. Where the appellation is fully merited, charisma is a gift that inheres in an object or person simply by virtue of natural endowment. Such primary characteristics cannot be acquired by any other means. But charisma of the other type may be produced artificially in an object or person through some extraordinary means. Even then it is assumed that the charismatic powers can be developed only in people in which the germ already existed but would have remained dormant unless evoked by some ascetic or other regime. (Weber, 1993, p. 2)

Stars in theatre and cinema are a cadet species of real-time charismatic leaders in religion, politics and business, providing models of glamorous behaviour for the projection of charisma in real time. Charismatic leaders proper (as opposed to the actors who sometimes portray them) mobilize popular movements by the force of their will, presenting a vision of a world in which forces of good and evil are engaged in an apocalyptic struggle. They invite others to join them in their struggle for a better world, and by sharing their vision, imbue the ordinary lives of their followers with purpose, offering the chance for personal redemption. To perform their role, charismatic leaders display immense self-confidence and personal charm, which inspires their followers to accord them implicit trust and make sacrifices on their behalf. By contrast to the luminous activism of the leader, the followers exhibit a deep psychological dependency, viewing the leader as superhuman and infallible. As a result, they give the leader unqualified obedience, as well as emotional and financial support (Sandberg & Moreman, 2015, p. 235; Smith, 2000). In order for charisma to become an effective social force, social criteria need to exist (or at least be successfully evoked). If religious charismatic leadership proclaims a spiritual crisis of some kind, political leaders normally evoke a threat to established values by internal or external enemies. By contrast, business leaders emerge in times of economic or

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

45

organizational stress. Whatever the crisis evoked, charismatic leaders must have the ability to generate from within themselves extreme excitement or passion to match the momentousness of the perceived catastrophe. Only with demonstration of the capacity to incarnate a force for redemption or revolution can the charismatic leader become the object of intense attention and unreflective imitation by followers. So even if charisma is a gift of nature, it must be revitalized through the performance of miracles and prophecy. Failure to deliver on these aspects is likely to lead followers to believe that the gift is not genuine, or at least, is failing; both factors, if commonly known, leading to a loss of support. For Weber, charisma is a property that resides in exceptional individuals and comes from outside the social order. For this reason, charismatic leadership is a dangerous and disruptive force that threatens the traditional or legal-rational (bureaucratic) forms of authority typical of modern societies. This is because as the original movement develops into a political organization, a charismatic transfer occurs, whereby the individual qualities of the leader are ascribed to the leaders of the bureaucracies developed to support the leader’s mission. These individuals owe their position and charismatic qualities to their office rather than to their presumed personal qualities. Thus, the process of succession leads to the routinization of charisma as the priest, for example, comes to replace the prophet; the established Church, the cult; and the constitutional monarch, the warrior-king.1 Leadership as a general phenomenon, crucial to organizational performance and profitability, has become a thriving field of research, with ever-­ proliferating fine discriminations being developed in the concept of style. For example, the GLOBE (Global Leadership and Organizational Effectiveness) project has detected six leadership prototypes: charismatic, team-oriented, self-protective, participative, humane and autonomous (Hofstede, 2010). Further research has concentrated on the role of lower-­ level managers and staff as followers in supporting or impeding successful leaders. Despite these refinements, the basic question remains: does the power to make a change reside in the personality of the leader, or in the capacities and support provided by his or her position in the organization? (Edwards, 2002; Tung & Verbeke, 2010). In other words, is charisma a collective or a personal phenomenon? (Greenfeld, 1985). Despite this unresolved question, the emphasis on charisma as a rare personal “gift” is affirmed in the study of “transformational leaders” or Celebrity CEOs, such as Richard Branson, Steve Jobs and John DeLorean.

46 

B. KING

Rather than a Weberian demonic and shamanistic figure usurping bureaucratic order, the entrepreneur is seen as projecting an image or persona as a force of nature, whose task is to counter the dissipation of inspiration, energy and vision that threatens the firm’s ability to compete. Despite Weber’s belief that bureaucratic rationality was antithetical to “pure” charisma as an exercise of personal power, he recognized pragmatically that some form of organization was necessary if the charismatic leader’s vision were to evolve into a durable social movement. However, otherworldly charismatic leadership relied on the efforts of mundane followers, who lacked (or were defined by their position of followers as lacking) the visionary élan of their leader. Further, in order to manage the inevitable death of the leader, successors had to be groomed and trained in ritual techniques, which at base were all about mimicry of the leader. In this manner, “pure” charisma evolved into manufactured and routinized charisma, an aura attached to the office or role rather than the person of the office holder (Glassman, 1975). For Weber, the process of routinization of charisma meant that the power of the charismatic leader was usurped by individuals of limited talents—the technician and the organization man. The unstoppable expansion of bureaucracy confines the daemonic force of creativity to an iron cage of rationality which overcompensates for its disruptive effects (Koch, 2006, pp. 115, 203). Weber’s charismatic leaders differ from bureaucratic leaders in their ability to formulate and articulate an inspirational vision. As such, employees and citizens choose to follow such leaders, not only because of the formal authority attached to their leadership position, but because they are perceived as extraordinary. Thus, the most reliable indication of charismatic leadership is not just specific results, but the strength of followers’ beliefs that specific outcomes stem from the personal qualities of the leader (Conger & Kanungo, 1987). In sum, recognizing Weber’s warning that bureaucratic practices shrivel aura, proponents of charismatic leadership theory attempt to theorize and advise corporate and institutional leadership on how charismatic leaders are identified, recruited, developed and represented as change agents. As a corollary, it is necessary that the negative aspects associated with the possession of charisma—such as excessive egotism and narcissism—are suppressed in order to maximize the effectiveness of leadership (Post, 1986).

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

47

In order to protect the power of the leader, corporate public relations work to a manufacture a pseudo-charisma that is designed to persuade lowly subordinates to trust and admire the leader, and in turn to ensure confidence in stakeholders, investors and, ultimately, the market (Bensman & Givant, 1975). The primary element in the manufacture of charismatic leadership is to ensure that employees and, increasingly more important, shareholders, believe in the leader’s exceptional powers as key to the company’s performance (Ciampa, 2016; Jaussi & Dionne, 2003; Gardner & Avolio, 1998). For the average employee, the charismatic leader becomes a model for a more passionate engagement with the objectives set by the leader. Responsible followership means discovering the passion within the self: “You cannot learn how to be passionate about what you do. You have to discover it yourself and passion is a big part of what drives charismatic leaders” (Conger, 1999).2 In charismatic leadership theory, charisma is not seen as Weber saw it: as an essentially anti-bureaucratic phenomenon. Rather, is viewed as a magical resource possessed by outstanding individuals who can solve the problem of organizational stagnation, inspiring employees to commit to corporate strategies and directives. In this construal, charisma becomes a style of leadership designed to resolve Weber’s woeful conclusion that bureaucracy inevitably stifles creativity. Yet, the practice of recruiting of charismatic leaders leaves many of the traditional bureaucratic controls in place: “For all we read about bold companies managing in new ways, most enterprises continue to noodle with functionally organized, many-tiered hierarchies, the mechanistic model of a century ago” (Colvin, 2000, pp. F2–F5). In sum, charismatic leadership theory, despite its claim to be rooted in Max Weber, is a performance-based managerial ideology. Charisma is not a transcendent phenomenon but a resource that is mined to create superior economic performance (Fanelli & Grasselli, 2005). Charisma is posited as a resource to be mobilized against the threat of social stagnation, in a context where bureaucratic rationality has become the norm. A theory of transformational leadership, the concept of charisma is explored in order to identify the traits of excellent leadership and, on a Lilliputian scale, the qualities of lower management and employee “followership” that support or inhibit transformations (McCleskey, 2014).3,4

48 

B. KING

Turning Charisma into Talent It is not difficult to see analogies between stars and charismatic leadership—stars generate followers, and do so on the basis of their putative personal magnetism. But they also remain—and this is more telling than the fact they pretend to be heroes—as individuals, outside the confines of the organizational context in which they work. To this extent, they are more aligned symbolically with Weber’s concept of “pure” charisma as an anti-bureaucratic force, managed in order to prevent bureaucratic stagnation and improve market performance. Charisma remains a notoriously slippery concept, and its manifestation in rhetorical behaviour is equally elusive and complex. Perhaps part of the magnetism of the concept resides in its elusiveness. (Harvey, 2001, p. 264)

In my view, the indefinability of charisma derives from its ontological status as a performance, whether situated in business, politics or entertainment. This cross-domain relevance relates to two broad conditions. First, following Weber’s neo-Kantian perspective, it is an affective or passionate force that intrinsically resists reduction to a rule-governed state. Second, it is an empty signifier that is entirely contingent on and only made manifest through the actions of a charismatic leader. This means that the properties of charisma are only discernible in their effects, the most important of which is a firm’s financial performance or, in the case of politics, with electoral success. The generalization of the criteria of performance means that fame becomes a transferrable service commodity operating in different institutions. The internal contribution of the star—which now refers to any leader in a disparate range of institutions or organizations unconnected to show business—is to generate employee commitment and maintain morale: qualities that are seen as flowing from the leader’s persona or professional personality (Adamsen, 2016). If charisma is to become an exploitable resource, it becomes imperative to study the rhetorical and performative behaviour of individuals who are popularly accepted as charismatic. To accomplish this, a considerable research literature has been devoted to exploring the nature of creativity and talent. Considering creativity first, efforts to break it down into its components have foundered on the facts of human complexity. In a retrospective review Mihaly Czikszentmihaly, a major theorist, concludes:

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

49

I have devoted 30 years of research to how creative people live and work, to make more understandable the mysterious process by which they come up with new ideas and new things. Creative individuals are remarkable for their ability to adapt to almost any situation and to make do with whatever is at hand to reach their goals. If I had to express in one word what makes their personalities different from others, it’s complexity. They show tendencies of thought and action that in most people are segregated. They contain contradictory extremes; instead of being an “individual,” each of them is a “multitude”. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1996)

Another influential theorist has argued for a componential theory of creativity, one that has the potential to unlock the mysterious complexity of the creative personality and produce generalizable results to guide employment and recruitment policy. Rather than attempting to assess the inter-individual qualities of different individuals, the component approach explores the dynamic interaction of three intra-individual components: (a) domain-relevant skills, competencies and talents, the latter composed of cognitive abilities, perceptual and motor skills; (b) personality characteristics, cognitive styles and work habits and (c) intrinsic task motivation—the determination to work hard (Amabile, 2001; Amabile and Pillemer, 2012). The latter component involves the notion of stamina, evoking the commonplace that creativity is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. Despite the fact that this componential account recognizes that contextual factors affect creativity, the emphasis remains on the individual, and the psychological capacities that she or he brings to the work at hand. This emphasis persists even in considering cultural work that contains an explicit expectation of being creative (Florida, 2002, Chapter Three). Yet in both the collective and individual factor approach, creativity is only identifiable through its outcomes. It is, in other words, a performance in role that is expected to lead to above-average outcomes: A role within the creative process that brings cognitive skills to bear to bring about a differentiation to yield either novel, or significantly enhanced products, whose final form is not fully specified in advance. (Bakshi et  al., 2012, p. 24)

To speak of creativity as a role is, of course, to imply the importance of the role set or the team. Increasingly, the team is structured as a quasi-­ dramatic performance, which charges team leaders to free their own creativity in order to inspire others to deliver creative solutions in quick time

50 

B. KING

(Thrift, 2000). In such circumstances, the work team exercises concertive control on itself (Larson & Tompkins, 2005). Efforts to define creativity in the world of “fast companies” are less a matter of finding a satisfactory philosophical definition than of finding ways to instigate a form of behaviour, which, if vague, leads to clear and profitable outcomes (Burbach, 2010). Creative labour in this circumstance is labour that justifies the investment of public or private funds in “risky” cultural activities. So, attempts to define creativity as a domain-specific quality tend to be circular, resembling the famous effort to explain the action of morphine by its dormitive qualities.

Capitalism’s Search for Talent In the capitalist enterprise, creativity is most forcefully—if equivocally— demonstrated by market performance: by profits and dividend pay-outs. When such outcomes occur (or conversely, when they do not), the immediate reaction is to attribute them to the efforts of individuals in managerial or team leadership positions. Such leaders are seen as inspiring the requisite qualities in the workforce; such qualities, inhering to a greater or lesser degree, are commonly referred to as talent (Stahl et.al (2016). As a term of art, talent—like creativity—is ambiguous. It can refer to a set of properties that everyone has in some degree—as natural ability, commitment, mastery of tasks, ability to fit into an organization. Or alternatively, it can be seen as a superior and exclusive quality of individuals with high performance potential and an organisationally appropriate mind set (Gallardo-Gallardo et al., 2013). In the era of global capitalism, it is the latter definition that has become paramount (Painter-Morland et al., 2019). The development of a new human resource specialty, Global Talent Management (GTM), is focussed on finding, developing and retaining elite talent, and aspires to operate across areas of work not normally considered to be primarily creative—such as banking and accountancy—as well as areas such as the media, sport and entertainment.5 GTM aims to place—one might even say cast—talented individuals in strategically critical positions, in order to generate profits and maintain and increase share value and returns to investors (Björkman et al., 2013). If talented individuals are thought on average to comprise 10% of a workforce, the problem is to identify which 10%, given gender, class and racial constraints (Tansley, 2011).6 Because of its pragmatic focus, talent remains a

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

51

phenomenon-driven concept that describes rather than explains its object. In this it is no less ambiguous than creativity, and leads to the same tendency to fetishize individuals as examples of the right stuff (Bakshi et al., 2012). At the same time, leadership effectiveness is dependent to some degree on the quality of “followership”. So, the practices of talent management also aim to develop talent in the lower echelons of management such as supervisors and even rank-and-file employees. Thus emerges the concept of the talented follower. Such individuals must possess the requisite practical skills, but they must also demonstrate an exemplary commitment to the policies and visions of the leader. In this transition, talent becomes a potential generalized to all employees, producing nice distinctions in the prevailing hierarchies of authority, reward and prestige. Those possessing a humbler portion of talent might not have a direct structuring impact on the ravages of competition, but they can at least engage in the fight against bureaucratic stultification and show loyalty. In this manner, the creative power of labour, which philosophically is posited as a feature of labour in general, waged or unwaged, is translated into a set of qualities possessed by teams or individuals in specific occupations. It becomes plausible to borrow the figure of the star performer from the realm of the entertainment and cultural industries, and apply it to any kind of organization. Transformational leaders are stars, but so are humble employees who follow rules and procedures defined by management in an exemplary fashion as aesthetically enthralled Stakhanovites. In the cultural industries proper, the incipient circularity in defining talent or creativity through individual results is disguised by the use of occupational nouns such as “creatives”, “the talent” and—with even greater flair for synthesis—“creative talent”. Such nouns are elements of occupational folk wisdom, defining less a set of capacities than a category of employee. In advertising, for example, the term “creative” denotes a category of above-the-line employee. By contrast, “talent” is the preferred term in television and film for on-screen employees, with creatives increasingly used to identify individuals such as showrunners and hyphenates (Boyle, 2018, p.  16). Rather than a search for the essential qualities of high-potential “creative” individuals, which marks psychological investigations of personality, there is an emphasis on the kinds of expectations that are implied by specific roles. Particular attention is given to employees in above-the-line positions—directors, producers, stars—which are

52 

B. KING

differentiated from craft-based forms of employment, thereby consecrating a separation between conception and execution (Caves, 2000; Banks, 2010). In contrast to studies that investigate the relationship between leadership and creativity, some writers define creative work as any form of employment that entails skills of symbolic production (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2013). The latter focus, also found in production studies, marks a welcome recognition of the fundamentally collective nature of cultural production. But it is a focus seldom found in star studies and celebrity studies, not to mention promotion and publicity, which by definition concentrates on exceptional individuals, thereby making their own contribution to the perception of success versus failure, inspiration versus drudgery. Despite its corporate commitment, GTM at least honours the notion that all employees have the capacity to be creative. But if the employee’s job does not present opportunities to release the genie within, this has its downside of ascribing failure to personal limitations. Still, even those employed in the most routinized forms of work can exhibit an inverted kind of stardom. At this level, star workers are those who do not take the initiative simply in order to get noticed, do not network simply to gossip, do not develop organizational savvy in order to curry favour and exercise followership to advance team goals, envisioning better ways of working rather than engaging in ego-trips. Star workers network to gain information, take joint ownership (whether as leader or follower) of group tasks in order to meet team goals, persuade others to accept the cogency and urgency of the task at hand and exercise the multi-dimensional skill of seeing the project in the larger context and through the eyes of others such as co-workers, customers, competitors and bosses (Kelley, 1998, p. 31 ff.). Star workers, in short, adapt themselves to the work team as though it were their central life purpose, all the while bearing in mind (or perhaps conscientiously setting aside) the fact that the project is short-term, compared to the traditional concept of a career. Pushing an implicit theatrical metaphor further, workers in precarious, short-term jobs come to mirror the employment conditions of actors and performers, who must maintain a high level of commitment to their “gig” role, however humble, for the duration of the theatrical run or the shooting of the film, knowing full well that another engagement is not a certainty. Indeed, as post-Fordist forms of flexible employment become endemic, the metaphor of theatrum mundi can be seen as the prototype for all forms of employment in an experience economy (Pine & Gilmore, 1999, p. 146ff).

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

53

The currency of empty nouns such as talent or creatives marks the abandonment of the humanistic tradition, where the origin of aesthetic experiences inspires precisely because it is elusive, ineffable and of spiritual rather than of earthly provenance. In general terms, the mystery of these qualities relates to the objective of converting the qualities of concrete individuals, their concrete labour within some occupational category or trade, into abstract qualities. Such qualities are rendered concrete by the metaphor of a light shining from within, which some individuals seem “naturally” to possess (Currid-Halkett, 2010, p. 25). Talent management, although claiming to be an empirically focussed practice, remains speculative in two broad senses. First, it is based on the belief—central to charismatic management theory—that some individuals qua individuals possess personal qualities that are exceptional and, although capable of being cultivated, essentially come from outside the organization. Second, that organizing a linear relationship between the concrete labour of specific individuals and desired organizational outcomes, such as profitability, is both necessary and desirable. With these assumptions in place, the star of the corporate world infuses the pursuit of profitability with the force of nature. This “infusion” is extended to cover all employees, each expected to contribute their scrap of creativity. This expectation is particularly (but not exclusively) prevalent in the cultural industries as part of the service sector, in which between 70% and 80% of workers in paid employment worldwide are located (Benanav, 2020, pp. 56–57). Under the capitalist organization of production, work especially recognized as “creative” partakes of some features of work in general. But compared to general service work—in customer relations, retailing, fashion, cosmetics and the like—in performance work, the specific functional needs of spectators are not addressed directly but through some transpersonal scheme of universal wants, needs and aspirations.7 The economic significance of service work in high-income societies makes performance work, in its peri-theatrical and theatrical senses, a glamorous symbol for service work in general and gives the dramaturgical metaphor its existential bite. But this metaphor also obscures important differences between routine service work and the specialized conditions of performance work in the cultural industries. In the performing arts market, outcomes are exceptionally unpredictable and subject to rising costs of production, though the rewards for winners are great (De Vany, 2003; Baumol, 2012).

54 

B. KING

Creative Work and the Kinds of Labour The emphasis on talent and creativity is a disciplinary demand that seeks to overcome and render exciting factors of risk, lack of stability and the steep inequality that emerge from the effort to mitigate risk—factors that are fundamental to the development of a star system. In general terms, occupational communities are structured around a moral economy that values kinds of jobs and the rewards and the dignity they are accorded differently. Occupations structured around the production of cultural commodities take this process to an extreme, defining only certain categories of work as creative or above the line. Craft work, when situated below the line, is deemed to be concerned with execution rather than conception despite the evidence that such work is essential for realizing the objectives sought by above-the-line personnel. Following labour process theory, the critical dimensions of workplace relations relate to the strictness of the management of a frontier of control and the wage-effort bargain: the former, a given body of workers’ level of autonomy in the confines of a particular labour process; and the latter, the level and quality of effort expected to be given in exchange for a wage or salary (Behrends, 1957, Goodrich, 1921). Two broad modes of work organization and their associated management strategies can be identified: direct control and responsible autonomy. In direct control, the labour process is dictated by management, by means of payment-by-results systems, time-and-motion studies or the machine-­ based pacing of work. Responsible autonomy, as the term suggests, permits the worker some discretion in the execution of the work being done, which is typical of workers employed in the production of cultural forms and in some cases, in their conception (Friedman, 1984). Underlying and overlapping with this distinction is the relationship between “simple” (unskilled or semi-skilled) labour and “complex” (skilled) labour. For my purposes, it is important to note that the distinction between direct control and responsible autonomy is not a feature defining different species of labour, but a distinction that operates, to a greater or lesser degree, within particular occupations—manual or non-manual—as employment conditions that can be applied to all employees, whether employed full-time, part-time or on limited-term contracts. Jobs formally designated as “creative” are no exception to this process of differentiation. Only some kinds of jobs are positioned within the division of labour as enjoying responsible autonomy or being “creative”; and even within this

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

55

division, some are recognized as more creative than others. Following earlier work, I define these jobs, in a descending order of “perceived” or acknowledged creativity, as modular, fractal and ergometric jobs (King, 2010).8 Briefly characterized, modular jobs recognize that useful outcomes depend on granting employees a latitude for autonomous decision-­ making. Fractal jobs, as the term suggests, define the employee as conforming to a common pattern, ascribing creativity to the pattern and the extent to which employees conform to it. Ergometric jobs, even if entailing some measure of creativity, are defined as routinized expenditures of energy in the service of predefined tasks. In reality, no two workers in ergometric jobs deliver the same level of performance. In modular jobs, employees are expected to have specific skills sets— writer, illustrator, designer, producer, director, animator—and to be flexible in the application of their skills to specific projects. But given that there is always an excess of candidates with an appropriate skill set, personality factors become paramount. In order to become and remain employed, workers are required to supplement their focussed expertise with “deep” acting skills, self-managing their emotions to fit in with a work process marked by deadlines and time-sensitive projects. Balancing deadlines and cultivating long-term professional relationships, modular workers engage (in and out of work) in networking in order to demonstrate their commitment to the project team. The dramaturgical metaphor fits this environment because, like actors, workers assume characters that are distinct from their veridical selves, especially if their “real” self could be a source of discrepant information about their commitment. This kind of job is modular because there is an element of autonomy recognized within the organization of the labour process: for example, in conception and execution of tasks, the phasing and pacing of delivery and the requirement to exhibit a “creative” personality with irony, reflexivity and humour deployed as tension management. Although the public may be the final recipient of the service or goods provided, the proximate clients are other professionals within and outside the organization (Rose, 1989). The much-touted notion of the project team collaborating in cultural production is much more problematic than it appears. Teamwork in corporate settings can be coercive and controlling, demanding high levels of psychological and physical conformity. What begins as an ideal—let’s be creative!—can rapidly mutate into a performance principle—show creativity or else! (Barker, 1993; McCann et al., 2008, McRobbie, 2018). Nor is

56 

B. KING

it clear that human resource management (HRM), with its emphasis on job enrichment and creativity, is deliverable within a system of capitalist corporate governance (Thompson et al., 2016; Christopherson, 2008). Despite these constraints, modular jobs are presented as the handmaidens of creative freedom, an image equated with service work per se— despite the fact that the expansion in “knowledge” work is greatest in routine service work, where jobs are fractal rather than modular (Fleming, 2005; Warhurst et  al., 2008). Even if the notion of creative freedom is taken at face value, modular workers are increasingly exposed to corporate or market failures and expected to accept the entrepreneurial risks once assumed by the corporation. In addition, modular workers are expected to be flexible, work long hours, donate free labour and accept lower wages in order to build a record of “creative” employment. What autonomy they achieve in work is often at the cost of self-exploitation: of showing flexibility with respect to whatever demands are made. Despite these immediate experiences, they are likely to entertain an uncritical belief in media representations of the “cool” jobs they occupy, perhaps because other jobs are no better and possibly worse (Neff et al., 2005; Ross, 2008; Terranova, 2000). Modular jobs are relationship jobs in which solicitation of collaboration, brainstorming, aesthetic appreciation and design intelligence are prioritized. The management of such jobs is a balancing act between the release and control of the “creative” impulse (Bilton, 2013). Fractal jobs are ones in which skill levels are low and personality requirements are de-individualized, focussed on the surface conformity of all employees to routinized and prescribed forms of behaviour. In line with geometric terminology, fractality is a condition of self-similarity in which sub-units are identical and function as near exact replicas of a totality. Or rather, since we are dealing with people, employees in fractal jobs are expected to perform as though they were identical. Individual employees, regardless of their actual personality, are functionally organized by management to be interchangeable. The fractal jobholder is required to project a rigidly scripted personality: a standard uniform, a prescribed demeanour and a specific interactive script for dealing with customers (Ritzer, 1996). This mode of regulation calls for a different kind of emotional labour, involving the projection of surface conformity or “shallow” acting—though the possibility cannot be ruled out that in time, the “shallowness” is no longer perceived as acting (Hochschild, 1983).

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

57

The fractal job has as its axial principle the standardization of a service or a service relationship. Such jobs are typically low-skilled and low-­paying, with few career prospects. The fractal job can emerge through a reduction in the autonomy of modular jobs, because of the tendency to reduce as far as feasible the modular job to a fractal state. Tendencies in performance work such as stereotyping, typecasting and casting by persona all constitute efforts to limit the latitude available to the performer—a process which will be examined subsequently. A third kind of job is the ergometric job, very much the offspring of direct control and the real subsumption of the labour process to capitalist direction.9 Typically, the ergometric job is characterized by machine pacing or, in Taylorized systems, by piece rates, time-and-motion studies and authoritarian styles of management. Digital technology has vastly extended the capacity to monitor work performance (West & Bowman, 2016). Ergometric work forms are no longer, if they ever were, simply associated with basic manufacture, but remain part of the so-called knowledge economy, despite the prediction that in a post-industrial society, symbol manipulation would replace the manipulation of matter (Bell, 1976, pp. 574–579). But ergometric labour is deeply entangled with production of material commodities such as consumer electronics, CDs and DVDs, fashion wear, shoes and so on, where production of symbolic products and services still entails the manipulation of matter, and none more so than in the sweat shops of high-tech manufacturers such as FoxConn. From the perspective of “creativity” research, ergometric work is a routine, soul-destroying work. Not lauded as creative, this kind of job exemplifies the cash nexus and calls for a low level of skill, regardless of the worker’s actual abilities. In such jobs, the personality of the worker is deemed irrelevant, or rather, if recognized, is usually considered a barrier to the standardization of the work order and the key priority of maintaining a rising level of output. The requirement that such jobs “bypass” personality is signalled by terms such as hands, muscle and so on. At one time, the notion of dignified labour was attached to ergometric labour and rested on the simple fact of doing a day’s work and earning wages. As Henry Ford put it: “For the day’s work is a great thing - a very great thing! It is the very foundation of the world; it is the basis of our self-respect” (quoted in Thomas, 2009, p. 166). While these labels might seem to be fancy names for skilled, semi-skilled and unskilled work, they are meant to emphasize that all labour has a skill content, and the key question is whether and how this is recognized or

58 

B. KING

discounted in the social relations of the workplace. In other words, they are ideal types, rather than empirical descriptions, that describe the moral worth or dignity of categories of worker rather than the content of the job. As one study observed: We found that knowledge workers were distributed across all occupational groups. This finding provided support for those who argue that the growth in knowledge work cannot be measured by occupational changes. (Benson & Brown, 2007)

The superior status of the modular job transfers prestige to the worker, even though a fractally regulated employee may exercise a margin of unrecognized creativity and a modularly regulated employee, exercise dull conformity. Seen generally, these kinds of jobs are positions within the structural space subtended by the processes of real and formal subsumption. In modular jobs, the actual work process and materials of production remain within the worker’s discretion—a condition of formal subsumption, which is commonly expressed in sub-contractual relationships or, in the case of direct employment, in permitting workers to exercise responsible autonomy. Modular jobs are sheltered from direct management control because of their high skill content or because they require scarce skills. In fractal jobs, work is conducted under a process of real subsumption, prescribed in detail by management, leaving workers to follow a standardized script of service, including wearing company uniforms and following prescribed patterns of behaviour when interacting with customers. Modular and fractal jobs exhibit a mix of the qualities of real and formal subsumption. In ergometric jobs, work is brought under the direct control of management through the design of the work process, setting of output targets and associated forms of personal and, increasingly, digital surveillance. Ergometric jobs take real subsumption to the point of treating the worker as a machine, with the personality of the worker treated as a factor that can advance or impede the labour process, but is not recognized as an integral aspect of task performance (Marx, 1990, pp. 1019–1028; Ouggaard, 2008). Returning to occupations that are defined and recognized as creative and “cool”, a similar hierarchy of worth operates. In the fashion industry, for example, good work or high-end autonomous work is the province of leading fashion models and designers. Below this elite corps is a periphery of catalogue editors and “part models” (valued for the photographic

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

59

qualities of their hands, hair, thighs, etc.). Further removed from these are the humble fashion production workers and, further still, companies that produce cheap imitations of haute couture (Neff et  al., 2005). In such circumstances, a collective process of production exhibits a major division between jobs that have high individual prestige and creative authority and jobs that are anonymous and routine, much like the distinction between credited and uncredited roles in acting. Ergometric and fractal jobs are historic survivals from the era of liberal capitalism, still relevant today for menial work in the service sector and employment in manufacturing, materials extraction, building and farming. Under the logic of the cash nexus, the social and cultural needs of the workers in such jobs are deemed a private matter, to be resolved in the realm of consumption. The modular subject, by contrast, rests on the category of the neo-liberal subject or self-appreciative individual, for whom more is sought and expected from employment than economic reward. Such an individual seeks to improve their value as human capital, with opportunities for self-improvement as an important part of the rewards of work (Feher, 2009).10 Actors and other “creative” workers are self-appreciative subjects in this sense, accepting the burden of growing and maintaining their corporeal and social capital as a personal investment in acquiring future opportunities.11 They weigh or are advised to weigh (as we shall see) the disadvantages of low pay, or even no pay, against the psychic opportunities for self-development and the cultural prestige of being a creative. When this strategy is adopted, a worker may accept a precarious position with low pay, gift free labour to the employer and forego benefits such as health insurance, holiday pay and job security, in the hope that this behaviour will be rewarded in future (Duffy, 2016). The discourse of creativity surrounding contemporary forms of service work and digital labour is an important support for the ideology of self-­ appreciating labour. Self-appreciating subjects are the poster boys and girls of the “information” economy in general and of modular work in particular. Conceptualizing talent as an unpredictable quality found in the individual, rather than emphasizing the relationship between the individual and collaborators, keeps open the yearned-for utopian prospect of stardom for those whose social destiny is confined to the realm of routine and precarious work. in ergometric and fractal forms of employment. As

60 

B. KING

Lottery advertising proclaims, “you have to be in to win”, which translates into the injunction to be ready, in the right place at the right time. In sum, the cultural prestige of performance work and stories of stellar success enact a moral calculus that ennobles some forms of work over others and, within each niche activity, some workers over others. Such a calculus drives people, particularly young people, to yearn for “glamorous” jobs (Hearn, 2006). Contemporary management theory, with its intensive weighing of employee motivation, is exercised by a parallel fascination (Fleming & Sewell, 2020).

Passionate Entrepreneurial Work If actors and performers are self-appreciating workers, there remains a further requirement that they demonstrate entrepreneurial flair in the pursuit of professional engagements. As used here, passionate work has three broad features. First, it requires of employees the conjoint exercise of practical skills and emotional labour—however, these are defined and to what extent, if any, they are recognized. Second, it demands a commitment from the individual employee that extends beyond the execution of tasks to encompass matters of personal comportment reaching beyond the immediate context of the workplace into a particular lifestyle, which of itself is an important supplement to the practical work to be done (Arvidsson, 2005).12 Third, to the extent that this lifestyle is publicly celebrated as the expression of “creativity”, passionate work is work that consumers would like to do, with which they find an affective connection through its products and services (Deuze, 2011). These features are associated with a division of labour that is claimed to rest on the recognition of individual talent and creativity. This division of labour is, in Bourdieu’s sense, a “structuring structure” whose rationale is the recognition of individual talent; which is not to say that an individual working within a creative organization has the opportunity to attain a position commensurate with his or her talent, or the opportunity to exercise it. The specification of creativity is always a struggle to consecrate this or that work of art or performance as exceptional and, in the last analysis, despite the tendency to deny the role of commercial considerations, to establish the economic value of a particular individual as the “true” creator of the relevant art work (Bourdieu, 1993, pp. 76–80). If it is the case that the work of the actor or performer is located on the continuum between modular, fractal and ergometric work, it is also the

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

61

case that wherever a particular role is located on the spectrum of visibility—from Hamlet down to second spear-holder on the left—the actor is expected to be passionate; even to the paradoxical extent, if required, of manifesting indifference in a role.13 The connection between acting and the passions, however defined, has a long historical pedigree and to this extent, acting and performance can be held to model or, in the case of great performers, exemplify the struggle between the mind or the body as the source of passions (Roach, 1993). That acknowledged, there is an important distinction to be made between exercising passion to win a part and the passion to be exhibited in the part. Clearly not all characters exhibit strong passions, but it is safe to say that all actors must be passionate in competing to be cast.14 The exigencies of finding work aside, passion is regarded as the quality that defines the artist and other “creative” symbol producers, and an injunction governing the cultural sector as a whole. Yet although actors are commonly viewed as epitomes of emotional management, workers engaged in ordinary service employment face a similar expectation (Orzechowicz, 2008). Performance work is a complex, skill-intensive process that rests on the extensive deployment and combination of different levels of skill, with elements of simple and complex labour brought together in the production of collective commodities— such as plays, musicals, motion pictures, advertising campaigns, fashion shows etc. Even where it is plausible to imagine the creator/producer as a solitary individual, they owe their creativity to the present state of practice, involving simple skills—such as reading, writing and calculating—and complex skills, acquired through advanced, specialized training and education. Technology must also be factored in, as embodying past or “dead” labour power which is alike decomposable into its simple and complex elements. Much the same can be said for the materials consumed in production.15 Although elements of performance enter into routine service work, acting labour is a distinct form of embodied labour in which the display of the labour process itself is the commodity. Showing the body, as a site of psychological and physiological action, whether as a single unit or as part of an ensemble, is the material basis of exchange. Under capitalist relations of production, the average worker, in whatever line of work, offers up his or her capacity to work, or labour power, and receives a salary or a wage— which in the classical Marxist sense represents a magnitude of value less than the value he or she has created.16

62 

B. KING

In performance labour the sensuous qualities of the worker, rendered through appearance, gesture and speech, are the resource to be manifested. True, all forms of labour involve the worker as a sensuous totality. In performance labour, the capture of labour power reaches deep into the person of the worker, aiming to convert physical and psychological qualities—appearance, personality and intellectual capacities—into exchangeable commodities (Elias et al., 2017; Karlsson, 2012). But for labour in general, the worker’s actual personality, however much this is resisted, is functionally suppressed (Nixon, 2009). By contrast, in performance labour the recognition of such qualities is the raison d’être, the fundamental condition, for production to occur at all. So, if it is correct that the cultural industries pursue accumulation through the production of symbols, in the case of acting it is necessary to add: through symbols that are embodied. Here the cultivation of an occupational personality as a persona is a central accumulation strategy for capital, and a tactical bargaining resource on the part of workers (Harvey, 1998). In acting and performance, personal qualities rather than skills alone tend to determine the place of the worker in the hierarchy of reward and prestige. This is so for two fundamental reasons. First, the production process is a collaborative effort, in which interpersonal relationships are intrinsic to the work process and cannot be permitted to interfere with production.17 Second, the process of representation relies on the physical properties of the actors or performers to signify. As a result, factors other than skill may lead to preference and favouritism.18 Under an ergometric work regime, the control of the working body is centred narrowly on the exploitation of physical strength and the simple skills of compliance and concentration on boring and repetitive tasks. With fractal and modular work forms, the body increasingly becomes an internally differentiated and complex source of energy, encompassing both physical and psychological resources. In sales work, the worker—often female—engages in self-exploitation, disciplining herself to sustain a comportment that fits the claimed real-time benefits of the product or service to be sold. In this sense, the sales worker can be seen as engaged in negotiating the use of her body to satisfy, or at least satisfice, what the employer defines as the behavioural elements of a profitable service. Certain idiosyncrasies are permitted if they do not disturb or, even better, if they are discovered to advance sales. In seeking to increase sales and therefore, bonuses or salary increases, the worker can be seen as managing the relationship between different uses of the body: an exploited body providing energy and a self-disciplined

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

63

body that aims to mirror the efficacious qualities of the product or service in its dress, make-up and comportment. By so doing the sales employee tends cast to the self as the interactive “echo” of the customer’s vocalized desires and interests. This kind of integrated body work is not without its problems and challenges, involving sustaining a balance between the projection of individuality and the expectation of a standard service, and between the emotions constructed for the purpose of selling and the self’s inner emotional organization (Lan, 2003; Hochschild, 1983).19 The behaviour of the sales person is located on a continuum that begins with self-presentation and ends with actual character portrayal. It is tempting to see the sales person, as in Goffman’s formulation, engaged in a dramaturgical process fabricating a pleasing image of the self which is akin to a fictional character. The kinship can also be discerned when considering certain categories of actors—walk-ons, bit players and cameos—where the line between self-presentation and playing a fictional character is blurred (Kirby, 1972). For actors, the casting process contributes its own measure of commonality, with actors being cast according to the pre-­ existent notion of their type. Again, acting proper and self-presentation in sales and service work share a commonality, since in both settings the body is disciplined as a productive resource, thus reproducing the usual destiny of the social body under capitalist relations of production (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994, p. 106). But there are also significant differences. First, barring the case of an actor playing the same character in a long-running show—e.g. The Mousetrap, or a Soap Opera such as Coronation Street or As the World Turns—the actor playing the same character type does so in differing dramatic contexts and plots. Second, a dramatic character is less circumscribed and functionally limited than a “character” inscribed in a specific non-­ performance work role. To put it differently, the idiosyncratic elements found in any performance, real or fictional, are unmarked or tacit in workplace performances; allowing that what happens does not breach the operating definition of appropriate behaviour. Such strictures can apply to actors, but with less stringency, because idiosyncrasies or minute differences lend texture and depth to a role. At the same time, actors, are expected to be passionate in the most restricted parts, and may spent their entire career playing in limited roles. The distinction between dramatic performances and quotidian performances in customer service work is not hard and fast. If a successful salesperson has specific qualities—looks, height, body size, accent and tone of

64 

B. KING

voice—these, if recognized by management, tend to evolve into a standard script which all employees are expected to follow. Models of ideal conformity are provided by the proliferation of employee-of-the-month schemes. Depending on their capacity and willingness to adapt, individual employees will be rewarded more or less, or even be replaced by employees who can adapt to the new standard. Another difference is more conjunctural. With the generalization of neo-liberalism or post-Fordist work regimes, Fordism—with its promise of consumerism in compensation for an impoverished work experience—is replaced by management systems that expect employees to become passionately committed to achieving their dreams within the workplace, as team players “joyfully obedient” to management objectives. In these circumstances, the term “star”—as already noted, once confined to show business—is stretched to cover workers in general. Those most ready to conform are defined as “star employees”, making sycophancy, real or feigned, a normal (because normalized) aspect of workplace relationships (Lordon, 2014, pp. 60–61). These overlaps encourage the idea that employees in modular and fractal forms of work engage in a kind of dramatic performance in which clients are positioned as an applauding or disapproving audience. Yet the fact of overlap does not confirm identity. This is because the overarching purpose of performance is to produce a unique collective product. In show business, even bit parts restricted to five lines of dialogue and having circumscribed dramatic potential are expected to manifest some versatility. As Stanislavski is said to have put it, “there are no small roles, only small actors”; or, as observed by long-serving character actor Dabs Greer: “Every character actor, in their own little sphere, is the lead” (Nelson, 2007). The little sphere, in cinema, television or stage, is expected to add texture to the performance as a whole and, especially, to enrich the performance of leading players and stars. Conversely, bit players, seeking to be noticed, have reason to make their work stand out from the general background of part-compliant signifying. But bits of business, if enhancing the tonal quality of a production, must not displace the focus on leading performers. The extras or walk-ons, the backing singers or supporting players provide materials essential to the delivery of exceptional performances by leading players, yet they are anonymous or only passingly acknowledged. Part of the constraint on recognizing the collective contribution to a total performance—on- and offstage, before or behind the camera— comes from the fact that media commodities (films, television, audio

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

65

books, stage performances, musical recordings) compete for market success. This means that from a marketing and publicity perspective, a particular commodity is claimed to be a unique or singular performance. But whether this is a matter of aesthetic quality or whether singularity stems from the brute fact that any artwork is unique as empirical event is a critical question not settled by the box office or ratings. A specific film, for example, may be a storehouse of already-marketed qualities and clichés, or the cinematic rendering of a well-established book or stage play. But the fact that a particular star is leading the action implies, but does not necessarily ensure, that it is the product of a singular talent. In order to establish singularity, whole categories of performance labour are denied individuality and schooled into serving as the unmarked support that makes the star’s or director’s input the alchemical crucible of collective action. Given the primary institutional definition of “talent” and creativity as economic success rather aesthetic value, then being in high demand—as testified by the box office, the purchase of copies or number of downloads—sustains the attribution of “charismatic” qualities to a leading performer (Siciliano, 2021). The fact that the qualities of the star or celebrity have a promissory status, only being confirmed after investment is committed, makes little difference to the structure of inequality in the short or medium term, especially in an industry where each production is framed as a unique rendition.20 A current exception is the franchise, which provides insurance against a lacklustre box office and preserves the star’s fame as an eternal present. That said, Tom Cruise’s stellar status would be jeopardized by a Mission: Impossible episode that was a box-­ office flop. As for the “failing” star, she or he can trade on name recognition until the next hit comes along, undertake well-paid roles in independent “quickie” productions, or descend as gracefully as possible into supporting roles.21 Running through these organizational realities is a fundamental semiotic chasm: the iconic qualities of any actor or performer are claims to the possession of “talent”. But such claims become facts only after they have been captured and distributed as performances with high commercial effectiveness or marketability. Given manifest commercial appeal to audiences and consumers, the investing or producing entity becomes dependent on the materialized images as though they were natural facts of the actor’s ostensible person, rather than the products of collective artifice.22 In short, a star or celebrity is represented as a natural resource whose

66 

B. KING

inherent qualities command a higher rent.23 So from a commercial point of view it may not matter whether a particular actor is skilled or unskilled, as long as his or her box-office performance is maintained, or the market performance of another star or celebrity demonstrates that they longer possess exclusive commodity fecundity.24 The production of symbolic goods for a mass market exists in tension with a qualitative differentiation based on the producer/artist as visionary creator (Bourdieu, ibid., pp.  113–114). This differentiation, with some simplification, can confound the opposition between mind and body, because stars are popularly represented as “authors” of their embodied performances. But the notion of an auteur is properly applied to a system of value that, if not entirely resisting market pressures—witness Quentin Tarantino—takes the realization of aesthetic value and the ensuing professional recognition as its primary objective—witness Orson Welles. Undeniably, actors and performers “moonlight” in productions that are aimed at specialized audiences such as fellow professionals, critics and scholars and culturally “sophisticated” audiences (Bourdieu, ibid., pp. 120–122). But such an orientation is a “sabbatical” from the pursuit of market-driven success, rather than a rejection of it.25 In these circumstances, the very opportunity to work depends on accepting, or at least anticipating, the need for market success. This anticipatory work, if driven by the necessity to earn a living, still poses a challenge to the values underlying professional reputation (Lang, 2015).

An Unresolvable Paradox? The foregoing has shown that the concept of creative labour, and related terms such as talent and charisma, remains ambiguous. It can be used descriptively to take as given a particular function within the division of cultural labour. But this usage begs the question of what is specific about creative labour. The emphasis on role function does not engage with the interesting question of whether it is the qualities of the individual occupying a position, or the attribution of charisma to the position-holder. (Cohen & Yoon, 2021). In the case of theatre or cinema, for example, technological effects and craft practices can have a charismatic impact, disproportionate to the qualities of the position occupant. As we have seen, for corporate leaders and managers and those that advise them, creativity is defined pragmatically. A charismatic individual is one who can direct or encourage the production of an exchangeable

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

67

commodity. Even here it is not just any commodity, but one that can capture a market share consistent with the scale of investments at risk and the profits sought.  It might seem that posing the question of creativity in relation to the realm of production rather than consumption would provide clarity. But even here the concepts of creativity, talent and charisma remain elusive. One reason for this is that in the realm of production, such attributes have a promissory or retrograde status that can only be affirmed with the release of the product into the marketplace—in itself a recurrent challenge. But distinct from this “proof”, which is the mirror image of management objectives, is the nature of production itself as depending on a complex division of labour that requires multiple inputs from an array of crafts. Complexity raises the question of whose contribution is decisive in the making of the product or artwork. Given the close observation of the participants in performance as a collaborative process, interfaced with unequal conditions of reward, questions of individual contribution are part of the culture of production. Speculations about the value of the contribution of key participants lies at the root of stardom—not just for actors, but for directors, producers and other above-the-line participants. Taking the further step of shifting the level of analysis to the labour process itself reveals that there are two dimensions to creative labour. First, there is a class of workers who exercise creative autonomy over the design and conception of new products and content. Second, there is a class of workers whose job is to execute the design of new products. Both these kinds of workers, despite being subject to capitalist control and operating in underpaid and precarious employment conditions, nevertheless derive satisfaction from the direct sensuous engagement with the work process, creating an (expressive affective) experience that stems from performing well at circumscribed tasks (Siciliano, 2021, pp. 18–19 and Chapter Two passim). In the case of acting and performance, paradoxically, the actor or performer is both the controller and the instrument controlled. The categories of modular, fractal and ergometric work, as I have described them, are gradations of the degree through which the presence of the “controller” informs or does not inform the expressive creativity of the instrument. To explore these matters requires an examination of the actor’s engagement with—as it turns out—the equally ambiguous concept of character, to which I now turn

68 

B. KING

Notes 1. The medieval doctrine of the King’s two bodies—the earthly body that is fallible and frail and eventually dies, and the institutional or ceremonial body of Kingship that survives any actual body—provides a conceptual framework through which to mediate the disparity between the individual and the institutional role (Kantorowicz, 2016). 2. In this formulation, charismatic leaders become assimilated to stars and celebrities and followers become, paradoxically, stellar conformists. 3. Transformational leadership can be contrasted to transactional leadership, which is based on providing economic rewards for effort and can be seen as a substitute for the latter. 4. That such an authoritative statement tends to tautology underscores the difficulty of finding an essence for what can only be observed as an outcome within a particular tradition of usage or, in Wittgenstein’s terms, a language game (2010, p. 6). 5. The original definition of the creative industries in the UK DCMS recognised this tendency. See Bakshi et al. (2012). 6. For a useful discussion that connections talent management to rites of passage, see Tansley and Tietze (2013). 7. When actors and celebrities become product ambassadors they become, at a high level of remuneration, service workers servicing consumer needs. 8. Two restrictions are in order. First, for purposes of simplification, I denote these as kinds of jobs. But there are elements of modularity, fractality and ergometry in all jobs. Secondly, the balance between these elements is an outcome of the balance of the frontier of control between management and the work force. 9. Real subsumption is when the capitalist or his agents immediately directs the labour process, in contrast to formal subsumption where relationships are mediated indirectly, through sub-contractual arrangements that leave the actual labour process in the hands of the employee (Marx, 1990, pp. 1025–1038). 10. In this sense, the norms of self-appreciation constitute a pragmatic compromise of the Kantian ethics of purposelessness, which sees economic reward as secondary compared to the right to live a valuable life. 11. On the precariat (see Standing, 2011; Ross, 2008; Terranova, 2000). 12. The stress on self -fashioning as central to the concept of aesthetic labour, which has a clearly gendered dimension (Dean, 2005). Overall, the features of passionate work have been identified as an ideal-typical expression of the Post-Fordist phase of capitalism (McRobbie, 2018). 13. Having said this, it is true that a craft orientation may sustain a similar intrinsic commitment in almost any kind of work. See Sennett (2008).

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

69

14. I will subsequently argue that the competitive nature of the labour market puts priority on a passionate commitment to getting cast. 15. The problem of reducing complex labour to simple labour is particularly relevant to the issue of value. See Caligaris and Starosta (2019) for a discussion, especially their conclusion (p. 85). 16. This does not address the extent of unpaid labour or, at the other end of the scale of reward as economic rent. 17. As attested by war stories about temperamental actors who are difficult to work with. 18. As the #Metoo movement has sadly demonstrated, predators may exploit the general climate of teamwork and co-operation to demand sexual favours making skill a necessary but not sufficient condition for being offered parts. 19. As Hochschild (1983) observes, shallow acting has a tendency under linemanagement pressure to evolve into deep acting (pp. 121–126). The concept of emotional labour will be considered more closely in what follows. 20. Even where mistakes occur these can have an “artistic” life as a blooper reel on DVDs and Blu-Rays and even stay in the movie. See https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=Mke9wmuebYA. 21. Though it creates and sustains gossip about talent and worth, since other participants—such as below-the-line workers—may feel that their own contribution is tarnished by the failure of the star. Much the same can be said about investors, and those who have a percentage share in back-end or box-­office gross earnings. The process of estimating the worth of a contribution is highly subjective and self-interested. But it is the box office that is the final objective arbitrator of worth, and the star its key personification. 22. This is to deploy Peircean semiotic categories. I evoke the shift from the claim from being like to literally being as is marked by the fashionable use of the term ‘iconic’. See King (2010). 23. The specific details of this claim will be elaborated in the concluding chapter. 24. Given a socially prominent name, it is not necessary that a talented actor delivers transformational performances, further confounding the distinction between stardom and celebrity or acting and behaving (Knox, 1946). 25. The tendency of major stars to moonlight on “independent” projects is what I have in mind here; also, the reverse trend of stunt casting when film stars and television celebrities appear in theatre.

70 

B. KING

References Adamsen, B. (2016). Demystifying Talent Management: A Critical Approach to There Alities of Talent. Springer. Amabile, T. M. (2001). Beyond Talent: John Irving and the Passionate Craft of Creativity. American Psychologist, 56(4), 333. Amabile, T. M., & Pillemer, J. (2012). Perspectives on the Social Psychology of Creativity. The Journal of Creative Behavior, 46(1), 3–15. Arvidsson, A. (2005). Brands: A Critical Perspective. Journal of Consumer Culture, 5(2), 235–258. Bakshi, H., Freeman, A., & Higgs, P. (2012). A Dynamic Mapping of the UK’s Creative Industries. Nesta. Banks, M. (2010). Craft Labour and Creative Industries. International Journal of Cultural Policy, 16(3), 305–321. Barker, J.  R. (1993). Tightening the Iron Cage: Concertive Control in Self-­ managing Teams. Administrative Science Quarterly, September, 408–437. Baumol, W. J. (2012). The Cost Disease. Yale University Press. Behrend, H. (1957). The Effort Bargain. ILR Review, 10, 503–515. Bell, D. (1976). The Coming of the Post-industrial Society. The Educational Forum, 40(4), 574–579. Benanav, A. (2020). Automation and the Future of Work. Verso. Bensman, J., & Givant, M. (1975). Charisma and Modernity: The Use and Abuse of a Concept. Social Research, 42(4), 570–614. Benson, J., & Brown, M. (2007). Knowledge Workers: What Keeps Them Committed; What Turns Them Away. Work, Employment and Society, 21(1), 121–141. Bilton, C. (2013). Playing to the Gallery: Myth, Method and Complexity in the Creative Process. In K. Thomas (Ed.), Handbook of Research on Creativity (Vol. 125–137). Edward Elgar. Björkman, I., Ehrnrooth, M., Mäkelä, K., Smale, A., & Sumelius, J. (2013). Talent or Not? Employee Reactions to Talent Identification. Human Resource Management, 52(2), 195–214. Bourdieu, P. (1993). The Field of Cultural Production (R.  Johnson, Trans.). Columbia University Press. Boyle, R. (2018). The Talent Industry: Television, Cultural Intermediaries and New Digital Pathways. Palgrave Macmillan. Bradbrook, M. C. (1962). The Rise of the Common Player: A Study of Actor and Society in Shakespeare’s England. Harvard University Press. Burbach, R. R. T. (2010). Talent on Demand? Talent Management in the German and Irish Subsidiaries of a US Multinational Corporation. Personnel Review, 39(4), 414–431. Caligaris, G., & Starosta, G. (2019). Revisiting the Marxist Skilled-Labour Debate. Historical Materialism, 27(1), 55–91.

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

71

Caves, R.  E. (2000). Creative Industries: Contracts Between Art and Commerce (Vol. 20). Harvard University Press. Christopherson, S. (2008). Beyond the Self-expressive Creative Worker: An Industry Perspective on Entertainment Media. Theory, Culture & Society, 25(7–8), 73–95. Ciampa, D. (2016). When Charismatic Leadership Goes Too Far. Harvard Business Review, 94(11), 21. Cohen, N. A., & Yoon, J. (2021). Who Makes Whom Charismatic? Leadership Identity Negoiation in Teams. Journal of Leadership and Organizational Studies, 28(1) 5–16. Colvin, G. (2000). Managing in the Info Era. Fortune, 14(5), F2–F5. Conger, J. (1999). Charisma and How to Grow It. Management Today, 12, 78–81. Conger, J.  A., & Kanungo, R.  N. (1987). Toward a Behavioral Theory of Charismatic Leadership in Organizational Settings. The Academy of Management Review, 12(4), 637–647. Currid-Halkett, E. (2010). Starstruck: The Business of Celebrity. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Czikszentmihaly, M. (1996). Creativity; The Work and Lives of 91 Eminent People. Harper Collins. De Vany, A. (2003). Hollywood Economics: How Extreme Uncertainty Shapes the Film Industry. Routledge. Dean, D. (2005). Recruiting a Self: Women Performers and Aesthetic Labour. Work, Employment and Society, 19(4), 761–774. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1994). What Is Philosophy. Verso. Deuze, M. (2011). Media Life. Media, Culture & Society, 33(1), 137–148. Duffy, B. E. (2016). The Romance of Work: Gender and Aspirational Labour in the Digital Culture Industries. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 19(4), 441–457. Edwards, G.  C. (2002). Does the Messenger Matter? The Role of Charisma in Public Leadership. Congress & the Presidency: A Journal of Capital Studies, 29(1), 25–46. Elias, A. S., Gill, R., & Scharff, C. (2017). Aesthetic Labour: Rethinking Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism. Palgrave Macmillan. Fanelli, A. A., & Grasselli, N. I. (2005). Defeating the Minotaur: The Construction of CEO Charisma on the US Stock Market. Organization Studies, 27(6), 811–832. Feher, M. (2009). Self-appreciation; or, the Aspirations of Human Capital. Public Culture, 21(1), 21–41. Fleming, P. (2005). Workers’ Playtime? Boundaries and Cynicism in a “Culture Offun” Program. The Journal of Applied Behavioral Science, 41, 285–303. Fleming, P., & Sewell, G. (2020). Looking for the Good Soldier, Švejk: Alternative modalities of Resistance in the Contemporary Workplace. Sociology, 36(4), 857–873.

72 

B. KING

Florida, R. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class. Basic Books. Friedman, A.  L. (1984). Management Strategies, Market Conditions and the Labour Process. Palgrave Macmillan. Gallardo-Gallardo, E., Dries, N., & González-Cruz, T.  F. (2013). What Is the Meaning of ‘Talent’ in the World of Work? Human Resource Management Review, 23(4), 290–300. Gardner, W.  L., & Avolio, B.  J. (1998). The Charismatic Relationship: A Dramaturgical Perspective. Academy of Management Review, 23(1), 32–58. Glassman, R. (1975). Legitimacy and Manufactured Charisma. Social Research, 42, 615–636. Goodrich, C. (1921). The Frontier of Control: A Study in British Workshop Politics. Harcourt, Brace and Howe. Greenfeld, L. (1985). Reflections on Two Charismas. The British Journal of Sociology, 36(1), 117–132. Harvey, A. (2001). A Dramaturgical Analysis of Charismatic Leader Discourse. Journal of Organizational Change Management, 14(3), 253–265. Harvey, D. (1998). The Body as an Accumulation Strategy. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 16(4), 401–421. Hearn, A. (2006). John, a 20-Year-Old Boston Native with a Great Sense of Humour: On the Spectacularization of the Self and the Incorporation of Identity in the Age of Reality Television. International Journal of Media & Cultural Politics, 2(2), 131–147. Hesmondhalgh, D. A., & Baker, S. (2013). Creative Labour: Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. Routledge. Hochschild, A. R. (1983). The Managed Heart. University of California Press. Hofstede, G. (2010). The GLOBE Debate: Back to Relevance. Journal of International Business Studies, 41(8), 1339–1346. Jaussi, K.  S., & Dionne, S.  D. (2003). Leading for Creativity: The Role of Unconventional Leader Behavior. The Leadership Quarterly, 14(4–5), 475–449. Kantorowicz, E. (2016). The King’s Two Bodies. Princeton University Press. Karlsson, J.  C. (2012). Looking Good and Sounding Right: Aesthetic Labour. Economic and Industrial Democracy, 33(1), 51–64. Kelley, R.  E. (1998). Star Performer: Nine Breakthrough Startegies You Need to Succeed. Orion Business Books. King, B. (2010). On the New Dignity of Labour. Ephemera: Theory & Politics. Organization, 10, 285–302. Kirby, M. (1972). On Acting and Non-Acting, The Drama Review 16(1) 3–15. Knox, A. (1946). Acting and Behaving. Hollywood Quarterly, 1(3), 260–269. Koch, A. M. (2006). Romance and Reason. Lexington Books. Lan, P.  C. (2003). Working in a Neon Cage: Bodily Labor of Cosmetics Sales Women in Taiwan. Feminist Studies, 29(1), 212–245.

3  THE SEARCH FOR TALENT 

73

Lang, K. (2015). Reputation. In The International Encyclopaedia of Social and Behavioural Sciences (Vol. 20, 2nd ed., pp. 483–491). Elsevier. Larson, G. S., & Tompkins, P. K. (2005). Ambivalence and Resistance: A Study of Management in a Concertive Control System. Communication Monographs, 72(1), 1–21. Lordon, F. (2014). Willing Slaves of Capital: Spinoza and Marx on Desire. Verso. Marx, K. (1990). Capital: Volume One. Penguin. McCann, L., Morris, J., & Hassard, J. (2008). Normalized Intensity: The New Labour Process of Middle Management. Journal of Management Studies, 45(2), 343–371. McCleskey, J.  A. (2014). Situational, Transformational, and Transactional Leadership and Leadership Development. Journal of Business Studies Quarterly, 5(4), 117–130. McRobbie, A. (2018). Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries. John Wiley & Sons. Neff, G., Wissinger, E., & Zukin, S. (2005). Entrepreneurial Labor Among Cultural Producers: “Cool” Jobs in “Hot” Industries. Social Semiotics, 15(3), 307–334. Nelson, V. J. (2007). Dabbs Greer, 90; Busy Character Actor Played Everyman-­ Typeroles”. Los Angeles Times. Nixon, D. (2009). I Can’t Put a Smiley Face On’: Working-Class Masculinity, Emotional Labour and Service Work in the ‘New Economy’. Gender, Work & Organization, 16(3), 300–322. Orzechowicz, D. (2008). Privileged Emotion Managers: The Case of Actors. Social Psychology Quarterly, 71(2), 143–156. Ouggaard, M. (2008). The Political economy of the Creative Class. Science and Society, 72(3), 349–357. Painter-Morland, M., Kirk, S., Deslandes, G., & Tansley, C. (2019). Talent Management: The Good, the Bad, and the Possible. Talent Management: The Good, the Bad, and the Possible. European Management Review, 16(1), 135–146. Pine, B. J., & Gilmore, J. (1999). The Experience Economy: Work Is Theatre and Everybody’s Business a Stage. Harvard Business School Press. Post, J. M. (1986). Narcissism and the Charismatic Leader-Follower Relationship. Political Psychology, 7(4), 675–688. Potts, J. (2020). Charisma and the Media. In Routledge International Handbook of Charisma (pp. 363–374). Routledge. Ritzer, G. (1996). The McDonaldization Thesis: Is Expansion Inevitable? International Sociology, 11(3), 291–308. Roach, J. (2005). Public Intimacy: The Prior History of ‘It’. In Theatre and Celebrity in Britain, 1660–2000 (pp. 15–30). Palgrave Macmillan.

74 

B. KING

Roach, J. R. (1993). The Player’s Passion: Studies in the Science of Acting. University of Michigan Press. Rose, N. (1989). Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self. Routledge. Ross, A. (2008). The New Geography of Work: Power to the Precarious? Theory, Culture & Society, 25(7–8), 31–49. Sandberg, Y., & Moreman, C. M. (2015). Common Threads Among Different Forms of Charismatic Leadership. Journal of Religion and Business Ethics, 3(1), 19. Sennett, R. (2008). The Craftsman. Yale University Press. Siciliano, M. L. (2021). Creative Control: The Ambivalence of Work in the Culture Industries. Columbia University Press. Smith, P. (2000). Culture and Charisma: Outline of a Theory. Acta Sociologica, 43(2), 101–111. Stahl, G.  K., Björkman, I., Farndale, E., Morris, S.  S., Paauwe, J., Stiles, P., & Wright, P. (2016). Six Principles of Effective Global Talent Management. IEEE Engineering Management Review, 44(3), 112–119. Standing, G. (2011). The Precariat—The New Dangerous Class. Bloomsbury. Tansley, C. (2011). What Do We Mean by the Term “Talent” in Talent Management? Industrial and Commercial Training, 43, 266–274. Tansley, C., & Tietze, S. (2013). Rites of Passage Through Talent Management Progression Stages: An Identity Work Perspective. The International Journal of Human Resource Management, 24(9), 1799–1815. Terranova, T. (2000). Free Labor: Producing Culture for the Digital Economy. Social Text, 18(2), 33–58. Thomas, K. (2009). The Ends of Life, Roads to Fulfilment in Early Modern England. Oxford University Press. Thompson, P., Parker, R., & Cox, S. (2016). Interrogating Creative Theory and Creative Work: Inside the Games Studio. Sociology, 50(2), 316–332. Thrift, N. (2000). Performing Cultures. Annals of American Geographers, 90(4), 674–692. Tung, R., & Verbeke, A. (2010). Beyond Hofstede and GLOBE: Improving the Quality of Cross-Cultural Research. Journal of International Business Studies, 41, 1259–1274. Warhurst, C., Thompson, P., & Nickson, D. P. (2008). Labour Process Theory: Putting the Materialism Back Into the Meaning of Service Work. Work, Employment and Organisation, pp. 91–112. Weber, M. (1993). The Sociology of Religion (4th ed.). Beacon Press. West, J. P., & Bowman, J. S. (2016). Electronic Surveillance at Work: An Ethical Analysis. Administration & Society, 48(5), 628–651. Wittgenstein, L. (2010). Philosophical Investigations. John Wiley & Sons.

CHAPTER 4

Character as a Zombie Concept

In this chapter, I engage with the actor’s direct connection to the performance—the concept of character. As will become apparent in what follows, the concept of character is as contested as the concepts of self-identity and creativity, previously considered as the grounds of dramatic performances. But even in its more vestigial post-dramatic equivalents, character remains the fundamental point of entry into acting as labour process. As such, it is—as Ulrich Beck said about social class—a zombie concept, neither alive nor dead (Beck, 2001). It is capable through its very ambiguous status of posing a puzzle of identity that exerts pressure on the practices of performance. In this chapter, the status of character, which in the absence of larger frameworks must function as a self-sufficient particular, is explored. In order to frame the discussion of the concept of character and its journey from an explicitly mythopoetic figure towards a more sociological and discursive dramatic function, it is useful to consider Jens Eder’s concept of the clock of character (2010, p. 2). Primarily an account of the spectator’s sense-making in cinema, the clock models a hermeneutic circle based on switching through modes of interpreting or reading character (Fig. 4.1). These modes are distributed across those that are endogenous to the text as diegetic artefacts and fictional beings, and those that are exogenous to the text, located in the

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_4

75

76 

B. KING

Fig. 4.1  The clock of character

realm of referents as symbols and symptoms. In construing the meaning of a given character, the sociocultural significance of a character as a transcendent cultural symbol and/or as a contemporary symptom might be emphasized. Alternatively, the process of meaning-making may rest on analysing character as an artefact or textual construction. Focussing on the general, extratextual context of a character without considering the character’s specificity as textual manifestation produces an incomplete reading. Focussing exclusively on the character as a textual manifestation is similarly incomplete. A complete reading—which practically, means an attempt at a complete reading—can only come about through considering the interaction among all four dimensions (Eder, op. cit. p. 22). For my purposes here it is the symptom quadrant of the clock of character that is most relevant, since it identifies factors that impact the production of character.1 The weakening of the “macrocosmic” frames of meaning discussed in the previous chapters—of the social body, allegory, ritual, narrative and community—means that the movement of the clock of character has become more dependent on the immediate context of performance.2,3 From the perspective of the history of theatre as social institution, contemporary drama is marked by a weakening of the encompassing force of the symbolic dimensions of character. Such a force is exemplified in Christian mystery plays, where characters are not self-sufficient particulars, but are over-determined by an allegorical framework that positions them as the instruments or cat’s-paws of divine or supernatural purpose. Characters, in this dramaturgy, are synopses of an eschatology. The advent

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

77

of early modern bourgeois forms of naturalistic drama posited character as a form of agency no longer existentially framed by an abstract cosmology (Burns, 1989). Dependent on the style of the drama and its implied mimetic contract, the actor performs as a concrete particular within a dramatic framework which is composed of particulars that have to be seized from a state of depersonalization.4 Absent an overarching world view, character becomes a heuristic for finding existential meaning (Goldman, 1975). Despite this claim, for some observers character as a concept has long ceased to be a significant feature of contemporary drama. So, Elinor Fuchs, writing in 1996, argued that character had become a vestigial trace in modernist theatre, citing the impact of symbolism, deconstruction and postmodern theories of identity.5 The identity of character has not just shifted from a state of coherence, but has become decentred and rendered vestigial (Fuchs, 1996, pp. 49, 169, 171–172; Fuchs, 1986).6 This loss of solidity is seen by Fuchs as a consequence of the emergence of a para-­ allegorical form: the mysterium. The mysterium is formed when the symbols of the super-terrestrial realm of the traditional mystery play are combined with an ironic commentary, leading dramatic characters to lose the stability and solidity of a narratively determined identity (Fuchs, 1996, pp. 35–36).7 The mysterium conjures an occult reality without providing for the spectator—let alone for the performers—a “ritual” catechism to follow (Fuchs, op.  cit., p.  51). At the level of performance, the actor’s character, designed to lack a clear or coherent narrative engagement, is framed as a self-sufficient presence whose meaning is incorporated in the actor’s body: The dramatic process occurred between the bodies; the postdramatic process occurs with/on/to the body. The mental duel…is replaced by physical motor activity or its handicap, shape or shapelessness, wholeness or fragmentation. While the dramatic body was the carrier of the agon, the postdramatic body offers its agony. This prevents all representation, illustration or interpretation with help of body as a mere medium. The actor has to offer himself. (Lehmann, 2006, p. 163)

At the forefront of this retreat is the criticism of the bourgeois concept of a rounded, if flawed and redeemable, character for its racial, gender and class biases.8 Aligned to this is the proliferation of post-dramatic forms in which the actors work to deliver unscripted, plotless performances, in

78 

B. KING

which the relationship between character and plot is dissolved and replaced by a score—an outline or plan of action. Drama that is politically committed to consciousness-raising can also call for the actor to abandon the concept of character in order to undertake a therapeutic journey of self-discovery: To play a part does not mean to identify. The actor neither lives his part nor portrays it from the outside. He uses the character as the means to grapple with his own self, the tool to reach secret layers of his personality and strip himself of what hurts most and lies deepest in his secret heart … We are dealing here with the painful, self-discovery without which there can be no communication, no unveiling of the fearsome questions we carefully avoid in order to preserve the comfort of our everyday limbo. (Barba et  al., 1965, p. 173)

Yet do such shifts spell the death of character or rather expand the possibilities of presence?9 In post-dramatic performance, the actor’s body may be deployed to create a para-theatrical encounter which replaces representation with presentation. But this does not entirely negate the relation between character and presence, even when the former takes place in a non-theatrical or ad hoc performance setting. So, for example, throughout the 1960s and 1970s, the performers Julian Beck and Judith Malina of The Living Theatre claimed that they were simply being themselves on stage as opposed to acting. However, it seems more accurate to say that they were undertaking a performance of their professional identity or persona. Much the same can be said of other self-referencing performers, such as stand-up comedians or body artists who need to maintain a distance between on and off performance identities. Such live performers enact in a crystallized form the actor’s dilemma: whether to be in persona or character (Elam, 2003, p. 24; Carlson, 1996, p. 604; Evans, 2015). One general reason for maintaining that character remains important is that character is the point of entry into a social relationship with an audience. So attuning behaviour towards the concept of character is not just a practical requirement for an actor to orient him- or herself to addressing another, but an interactive condition governing a social relationship. The concept of a self, even in denial, depends on an engagement with a narrative (Ricoeur, 1991, p. 77)—an existential predicament faced by the audience as much as the actor, though the former lacks the requisite skills of the latter.

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

79

What these contingencies mean is that despite the manifold ways in which character identity is situated in different forms of drama—as classical, realist, naturalist, expressionist, modernist, postmodern—for the actor, character remains the primary point of entry into the world evoked by the script, and, perhaps more importantly, the primary key through which audiences “read” a performance (Gordon, 2006). In the realm of performance, the deconstruction of the “bourgeois” character—or for that matter, the concept of character per se—does not free the actor to express his or her personality without reference to the external circumstances of a specific performance. Rather, even if vestigial—and particularly if unnamed—character becomes an algorithm for regulating the balance between different dimensions of “presence”: as making present the fictional body/world; as having presence, as the professionally prepared persona of the performer; and, as being present in a subjective state of heightened focus and energy whilst performing (Ravid, 2014, p. 26; Power, 2008). To which must be added, the material presence of the actor’s body as a profilmic or peri-theatrical object (Lombard & Ditton, 1997). These differing modes of presence still require the actor, in concert with fellow performers and the director or producer, to seek to position the self within the totality of the performances presented to an audience.10 This imperative is obviously the case in commercial theatre, where the bourgeois concept of character as a fully engrossed and connected agent is alive and well. But even in forms of drama that subordinate character to plot, sub specie aeternitatis, such as mystery plays, it is inevitable some performances will be judged better than others. For the actor, the creation of a high-quality performance and the capture of audience empathy depends on how the task of portrayal is approached, which depends (implicitly or explicitly) on character as a target. So, despite the provocative claim signalled in Fuchs’s title, The Death of Character, character is not dead, in part because it is always waiting to come alive. An important development from 2008 onwards has been the commercial success of big-budget action films that combine spectacular digital effects and the mythopoetic (myth-making) stock of superheroes created in Marvel and DC comics. A stream of productions from Marvel Studios and DC Entertainment currently occupy the highest reaches of Hollywood’s global box office.

80 

B. KING

The popularity of superhero narratives with their emphasis on gods and superhuman magical powers could be seen as marking a return to macrocosmic level of existence that contemporary naturalist or realist dramaturgies have abandoned. But the crossover of interlocking plot lines in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) or the rival Detective Comics Extended Universe (DCEU) detach character from its inherence in determinant realm of being. So characters from the Guardians of the Galaxy universe appear in the universe of Thor: Love and Thunder (2022). Creating an interdimensional mash-up of characters that is not anchored in the dramatic context but in the star’s personae. Added to this, the emphasis on action and computer-­generated imagery grounds character in the physical performance of the star as the burden of digital effects. A process of concretization replicated in publicity and advertising as discursive practices for promoting the star system. In commercially driven drama, the mysterium has a pronounced tendency to be colonized by stars and celebrities. In this movement, the institutional routinization of charisma, so deplored by Max Weber, gives rebirth to a revivified notion of personal charisma, albeit in a degenerate form.11 A more general reason for insisting on the persistence of linkage between character and presence is that anything appearing on stage or in a performance setting operates as a categorical summation of a quality— for example, a real dog on stage stands for the category of “dogginess” and so on (Table 4.1). Even performers supposedly playing themselves as unique personalities are signifiers of a category—even when this category has only one member (Eco, 1977). Again, the concept of character is not a thing, but an emergent product (in the mathematical sense) which, if Table 4.1  Dimensions of character (Mirodan, 1997, pp. 274–275) Invisible/ inner Visible/ outer

Character as the essence of a psychological type or meta-­ psychological archetype Character as manifested in psychophysical actions

Character as the manifestation of thought processes that communicate a personal moral quality Character as a professional identity or persona

Mirodan’s account, compared to Eder’s mapping of the field of performance, is focussed on the specific signifying work done by an actor in delivering a performance. For Mirodan, the subjective development of a character occurs in rehearsal, and the objective realization is in performance. Soto-Morettini makes a similar distinction between the phases of character analysis and character representation, between rehearsal and performance or more generally between conception and execution (Soto-Morettini, 2010)

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

81

seeming unitary, is the outcome of four activities—two of which relate to an actor’s inner subjective processes and two to an actor’s physical behaviour as presented to an audience: Although this schematic does not leave space for the important question of the impact of the technology of performance, it makes clear that character is a polysemic or hypotactic resource that is selectively deployed depending on the context of performance. Character can be performed as a maximal rendition that integrates (or at least aspires to integrate) the visible and invisible dimensions or it can place the preponderant emphasis on either the internal or external manifestations. In this latter circumstance, character exists at a minimal level of actions performed on stage or screen. But even in the most reductive form of a minimalist performance, pornography—in which the actors’ bodies behave as machines—the signs produced by them still have, however, vestigial or poorly articulated, the dramatic status of character. As one celebrity performer observed: Stephanie was going “Unh unh, uhn, uhn” at the top of her lungs when Brad said cut. They all broke character with the double headed dildos still inside them. (Daniels, 2018, p. 82; see also p. 179)

This accords with a fundamental fact of dramatic signification: however, minimally marked as a character, the actor’s body remains the pivot of departure from ordinary, non-representational behaviour (Veltrusky, 1964; Ambros, 2012).11 In performances where aspects of character work are delegated to props or objects such as puppets and robots, these only attain narrative agency by the grace of the reactions (vocal and gestural) of actors or an audience to them. Much the same can be said of computer-­ generated avatars and anthropomorphic creatures. Even where there are no human performers, the objects on stage, or in a performance space, are para-characters rather than nullification of the concept of character (Honzl, 1976). When constructing a performance in rehearsal, character is a synopsis or stencil of a being that the actor must embody, despite or because of a climate, extra-dramatic and intra-dramatic, of intensified undecidability about the nature of identity. Accordingly, in addition to the old question of whether a character is round or flat, post-dramatic theatre has raised the notion of closed and open characters: the former tightly embedded in the plot and narrative; and the latter, in extra-diegetic forms of behaviour and being.12

82 

B. KING

Whether the character is open or closed, the actor’s task remains essentially the same: to prepare a convincing embodiment of a specifically named or unnamed narrative agent. Because the actor’s body is the medium of performance, his or her personal qualities cannot be entirely suppressed from the performance of an open character. Even given the transformative powers of training and rehearsal, no character can be completely open. Like an ordinary person entering a space to be observed by others—the minimal condition of theatre—an actor will perforce quote a version of their everyday, professionally developed public identity or persona (Brook, 1996). The fundamental reason for the ambiguity between the self and its social identity is that whatever the mode of performance—live or mediated, scripted or unscripted—the actor is both a “natural” (but cultivated) sign, in his or her own person, and a producer of artificial signs in response to dramatic situations.13 This remains true even in devised or improvisational performances, where the spontaneous creation of unscripted characters necessarily draws on accumulated habits and past performances to create a selective quotation of qualities distinct from everyday behaviour.14 The performer ceases to represent themselves as “I” or an everyday being, and becomes instead a “de-quotative I” formed by their presence in the text (Urban, 2015). What starts out as self-presentation in a small world becomes a character performance created by interaction with other actors and the audience/observers.15 Evidently, these modal variations of the self as “I” create different dramatic effects that vary according to the politics of representation: for example, the refusal in Boal’s dramaturgy to accept the norm of mimesis, because it presents a spectacle of the bourgeois world that blocks the oppressed from imagining a world not yet brought into being (Boal, 2000). So “post-dramatic” practices do not dispense with character so much as with the kind of character associated with the reproduction, if not the celebration, of some hegemonic definition of reality. Pragmatically and as a matter of competitive advantage, no actor would aim to present themselves as an indistinct or indefinite character. Rather, it is a matter of filling out a psychologically thin performance with the physical intensity of the actor’s work on the body, as in Grotowski’s concept of The Poor Theatre.16 In sum, the dichotomy between dramatic and post-dramatic performances is not binary, but a contrast found between the poles of a mimetic continuum, composed of matrixed and non-matrixed performances (Kirby, 1972). The post-dramatic is located in the realm of the

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

83

non-mimetic or non-matrixed performance certainly, but as implied by the term presence, this does not mean that it does not make its own mimetic claims as being in some manner an autobiographical event (Carlson, 1996). Even in highly conventionalized performances, there remains a tendency for the audience to interpret character as indigenous to the personality of the actor—which is the phenomenological root of the development of a persona. At the core of these considerations is the ambiguity of the concept of character itself. Formally, a character can take on a set of dramatic functions—as an actantial role such as helper; as an agent or patient of a plot; a stock type; an individual within in a specified role set (father, mother, son, daughter, etc.); a dramatic representation of an actual individual, alive or dead; a person who speaks and is spoken to, thereby evoking a possible world, a set of attitudes, a particular rhetorical relationship with interlocutors and so on (Elam, 2003, pp. 132–133). Pragmatically in the context of performance, the character given by the script or score frames the interaction between the performers and the reception of the total performance by spectators. In this circumstance, a character is a promise of service that the actor aims to fulfil. The process of working up a character is analogous to the sculptor working with an armature—an open framework onto which a sculpture is moulded with clay or similar material.

Acting and Truth Bearing The relation of the actor to the character posits a relationship between truth-bearers—statements, actions, images—and the existence of something in the world—a truth-maker—whose existence makes the truth-­ bearer true.17 In relation to literary fiction, the existence of a given character, outside of a roman à clef, can only be supplied by the intention of the author to create the character and have them do certain things. As a character in a novel, Hercule Poirot is a truth-bearer, but not a truth-­ maker—in this case the author, Agatha Christie. In the case of a dramatic performance (live or captured), the actor embodies a fictional character and shares to some degree the status of truth-maker and truth-bearer with the director or producer. One might consider the status of David Suchet as a truth-bearer or a truth-maker in the television series Poirot, or Kenneth Branagh as star and director in the recent film productions. There is, then, a calculus of assigning an auteur status to above-the-line personnel that assigns varying degrees of the

84 

B. KING

truth-maker or truth-bearer. More usually than not, as far as promotion/ publicity and public interest are concerned, the statuses of truth-bearer and truth-maker are fused in the public image of the star.18 Or rather, since this is all a matter of debate, one might argue that a given star was more of a truth-maker in some of the many characters they have “made” than others, in a long and distinguished career. For the actor, judgements about the source of what is presented, that is, questions of truthfulness or authenticity, depend on the balance struck between the performer in their capacity as a professionally attuned persona and the characters they portray. This distinction will be considered in greater detail subsequently. For now, the point is that the discussion about the status of character elides the dialectical tension between the choice of moulding the self to be the character or making the character be oneself. On this choice rests the attribution of truth to a performance. However, to those watching a performance, this attribution requires a concept of character in some form.

An Economy of Presence If contemporary theories of acting have anything in common, it is that they address, from their particular angle of practice, the problematic division between mind and body—the dualism thesis—that structures the relationship in Western theatre between culture and identity as a whole. Some assert the primacy of the body over the mind, others the reverse, and some yet again refuse an essential primacy to either the mind or the body, seeing them as coeval and co-determinant. What differentiates them is that theories of actor training, unlike theories of entrepreneurial talent, have a more immediate, highly pragmatic focus on creating an effective performance. What is apparent is that there is no uniformity of approach or universal principles common to different systems of training. Instead, there is a variety of approaches, a set of heuristics tied to the work of charismatic teachers or “Gurus”. Alison Hodge, in a major review of actor training, concludes with the hope that a system or canon will emerge (Hodge, 2010, p. xxv). But there is scant evidence of agreement on fundamental principles, nor agreement that this would be a desirable outcome. As Hornby puts it, commenting on Method Acting, it is not the purity of the system, which may be messy and fuzzy, but the results that count (Hornby, 1992, p. 177).

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

85

As with the literature of talent in business, there is no stable equation between the actor’s skill set and how a specific performance is valued. This is because the criteria for judging a performance do not rest solely on the skill of the actor’s performance; there are also factors such as the nature of the text as written by the playwright or as a score derived from ensemble work, as with the work of Peter Brook or Joseph Chaikin. Paradoxically, whether the adherence to the text is close or flexible, performing a rigidly specified character affords the actor a greater opportunity for persona projection than performing a flexible character.19 Added to this are the social relations of performance, such as the relation of the actors to director. Even in the process of rehearsal, the director may decide to recast different actors to already assigned parts, cut out roles and change dialogue so that, as Chaikin put it, democracy shall not compromise art (Constantinidis, 1988). Even in contemporary forms such as verbatim or playback theatre, the cast reserves the right (without any exploitative purpose) to improve on what was said. Against this, in the performances of the Royal Shakespeare Company (considered the epitome of bourgeois theatre), a director such as John Barton could hold the view that once the rehearsal phase with its intensively text-driven analysis was completed, the actors should be free to deliver the actual performance as they saw fit (Barton, 2010). Another significant constraint relates to the affordances offered by the available technology of performance. This is a significant external determinant which must be considered in a subsequent chapter. What can be observed here is that the technological context of performance is a powerful external constraint on how actors are “present” within performance (Sarlós & McDermott, 1995; Lemasson et  al., 2021). Recent developments in television drama production that prioritize “location realism” are having an intensified impact on how performers, routinely confined logistically to specific sequences in studio work, engage with the totality of the performance (Hewett, 2017). To broach a matter to be further analysed, the general aim of actor training and preparation work is to fit—in the sense of well-adapted and judged to be context-appropriate—the physiognomic capital and behaviour of the actor to the representation of a particular character or dramatic agent. It is apparent that the actor’s performance of character will be constrained by the dramaturgy governing a specific performance and in the wider context, by the dominant approach to acting enshrined in the institutions of training.

86 

B. KING

In the history of twentieth-century acting in the West, Konstantin Stanislavski’s attempts to establish a comprehensive theory of acting has set the general parameters for acting theory and actor training.20 His was one of the first attempts to create an aesthetic that encompassed the mind-body relationship in performance. As a director and practicing actor in the Moscow Art Theatre, Stanislavski theorized best practice within a realist dramaturgy that encouraged actors to live through the characters they played. In formulating his conclusions, he also drew on the oral heritage of theatre: “the great chain of acting” whereby techniques and practices are passed as theatrical folklore from one generation of actors to the next. (Rawlins, 2012, pp. 12, 196; Bachrach, 1949, pp. 160–172)

Despite a tendency in the literature to refer to his work as a system, Stanislavski was an intuitive, practice-driven thinker, feeling his way towards increasing the actor’s presence in performance, developing ideas as a work in progress.21 In his early work, Stanislavski emphasized the importance of “affective memory”—a kind of galvanic store of remembered experiences to be deployed in playing a character in a specific dramatic situation. In later work, he placed the emphasis on a system of physical actions in which the actor rehearsed, without speaking, the actions undertaken by a character. In this phase, the performance of an action script preceded efforts to evoke affective memory (Hodge, 2010). As his pupil and disciple, Yevgeny Vakhtangov claimed Stanislavski sought to maintain a balance between psychological and physical behaviour—in part in recognition of the biomechanics developed by Meyerhold (Hornby 1992, pp. 197–198). Nonetheless, the timing of the translations into English led to the view that Stanislavski advocated the psychological dimension of performance, prioritizing the mind over the body when his most developed approach attempted to create a performance as a mind-­ body synthesis (Carnicke, 2010).22 The impact of the timing of translation aside, the American reception of Stanislavski’s system was influenced by Lee Strasberg’s narrow interpretation of Stanislavski’s approach, which he branded as “The Method”. Claiming adherence to Stanislavski’s system, Strasberg introduced a strong individualistic and psychological emphasis not found in the former’s development of a system of actor training. According to Strasberg, “truth” in performance can only be achieved when the actor draws on affective

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

87

memories derived from personal experience—memories of falling in love or grieving over the death of a pet or a family member.23 Such affective memories are chosen as parallels to what the character would hypothetically experience in the unfolding of the plot. When deployed correctly, they serve as a galvanic mnemonic resource for “breathing life” into character.24 The emphasis on relying on inner memories had the additional advantage of protecting the actor against the deadening effects of repetition.25 For some writers, Method Acting was a style of performance that aligned the actor’s training and practice with the social norms of white American mainstream culture of the 1950s and 1960s (Braudy, 1996; Conroy, 1993; Counsell, 2013; McConachie, 2000).26 Indeed, Strasberg claimed that his approach represented a distinctively American approach to performance, which prioritized personal expressiveness and creative freedom over the constraints of traditional cultures and their ossified systems of collective classification and collectively enforced styles of being (Bartow, 2008, pp. 7–9). From a more pragmatic angle, the influence of Method Acting could be seen as a response to the increasing importance of film and television as key areas of employment and earnings compared to stage work. The Method was particularly suited to the fragmentary stop/start process of film acting, which demanded short bursts of affect across temporally disjointed, fragmentary scenes.27 In these circumstances, the benefit to the actor of affective memories for character plausibility would be enhanced by using a private cache of memories to create a fixed professional personality or persona, functioning as the means to project a consistent presence across a fragmentary process of performance (Bandelj, 2003). Nor is it unimportant that developing a persona, if discursively positioned, makes acting a proprietary process, based on the exclusivity of the actor’s presence. Producing a monopoly of affect, the persona connects the concept of charisma to the non-fungible qualities of being an individual. To appreciate the reductive and literalizing potential of routing the actor’s performance through his or her affective memory, it is useful to compare the general orientation of traditional actor training in the other significant area of anglophone theatre, British Theatre (Hornby, 2007). In the British case, the focus of actor training was modelled on Repertory Theatre—despite the fact that this kind of theatre has long been undergoing a secular decline. Repertory theatre, as the term suggests, was

88 

B. KING

organized around a repertoire—a fixed slate of plays—performed in rotation throughout a given season. This form of theatre required actors to respond to a fairly regular rotation of acting styles and characters. Leading actors, and those who aspired to be leading, were expected to show versatility in performing characters that called for the exercise of different affective displays, distinct from their affective and attitudinal attachments as individuals. In this dramaturgical framing, the text remained the armature of characterization—especially in the canonical works of Shakespeare and Anton Chekov (Freeman, 2013). Given this valuation, a well-rounded or “truthful” performance is created by aligning affective displays with the interpretation of the text as a matrix of objectives, motivations and actions. This orientation contrasts with Method Acting, which tends to conflate the emotional dynamics required in character with the personal emotional experiences of the actor as the key to dramatic “truth”.28 The most significant change in conservatory-based training—as found in flagship institutions such as the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art—was the recognition of the increasing importance of cinema, television and commercial advertising as areas of employment. This has meant that the traditional forms of training, with their emphasis on a continuously evolving arc of performance, have been supplemented by training that emphasizes performance as a process composed of short bursts of action. Further, in terms of popular perception of performance, the increasing popularity (with producers and audiences alike) of reality television programming has also opened up new areas of employment, in which character acting has been minimized, if not replaced, by self-presentation. Old concepts of representation persist, but within a context of employment in which behaving rather than acting is increasingly valued. Alongside this trend towards intermittent forms of acting, the norms of “truth” have shifted, so that being authentic out of character as opposed to being authentic in character has gained new legitimacy (Bennett, 2008). In this context, some of the forms of training that derive (despite important modifications) from Method Acting, such as the Meisner Technique, have become part of the skills taught by traditional conservatories (Shirley, 2010; Jackson, 2011). Such developments have also driven an expansion in the provision of short courses for students who cannot afford or did not win a place on degree programmes and for actors, including graduates, seeking to update or expand their skill sets.

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

89

Beyond Dualism? Without denying their differences when operationalized, Method Acting and Repertory Acting can be seen as sharing a common emphasis on the directive role of the mind over the body as an instrument. The significant difference between them lies in the resources deployed to create a character. Should the affective colouration of a character emerge from the personal experience of the actor, or from the psychological implications of the text? A powerful strand in contemporary performance training rests on a different conception of the fundamental resource for characterization: one that rejects Cartesian dualism by locating the source of “presence” in the actions undertaken by the performer’s body. Although this shift has precedence in Stanislavski’s Method of Physical Action and Michael Chekhov’s concept of the psychological gesture, what is proposed claims to be a rejection—not a re-polarization—of mind-body dualism. The most concentrated expression of the primacy accorded to the body in theatrical signification is found in physical theatre and its allied area of movement studies (Kemp 2012). The pronounced importance attached to physical movement, always a feature of acting, had one of its tributaries in the relationship established between the practices of mime and physical fitness and sport, particularly in the training offered by Etienne Decroux and his student Jacques Copeau, and continued by Lecoq (Ruffini, 1995). The second tributary for physical theatre drew on the quest for industrial efficacy or ergonomics through training the body to move with a focussed application of effort (Evans, 2015). What this advocated was a theatrical practice focussed on disciplining the body, giving primary importance to the achievement of a graceful body with purity of movement, over and above the acquisition of practical skills that have always supplemented character portrayal: fencing, dancing, horse riding, physical combat and so on. In physical theatre practice, two key principles are intertwined: • First, a (more or less) acknowledged commitment to Romantic theories of selfhood. The purpose of actor training, as found in Grotowski’s Poor Theatre and his concept of the via negativa, was to transcend the limitations placed on the self by enculturated habits (Grotowski, 2012). • Second, the importance of developing a rich context of movement, as in Mime or Dance, that shifts the primary emphasis in training from textual elements to the physical action of the actor’s body as a signifier.

90 

B. KING

Movement training has a rational purpose outside of the context of performance—a relaxed, flexible body can enhance general well-being. All reputable training programs follow the principle that the more we know about things such as the vocal mechanism, kinesiology, careful practice in stage combat, diet, hydration, conditioning, and rest, the better off we are as performers and the more skillful and safe we can be in our work. (Blair, 2007, p. 7)

Further collateral benefits of physical theatre training should be recognized, such as equipping actors to deal with the stresses of professional life, providing the not inconsiderable benefit of networking, and generating a sense of being professionally engaged in an unstable labour market. These general benefits acknowledged, the achievement of bodily eloquence requires a high level of self-monitoring, involving: • The rhythm and dynamics of movement—its flow, timing • The shape/outline of body • The weight of the body—upright or downwardly • The texture of movements—soft, hard, crisp, floppy • The occupation of space—how expanded or contracted is the character’s buffer zone; how explicitly is this zone signalled, or is it implied?29 As noted, Method Acting recommends basing the construction of character on the actor’s inner experiences. In contrast, the system of notation developed by Laban maps relationships between physical movements and gestures and the inner attitudes of characters.30 By studying the choreography of action, its direction and force, a schema was identified by Laban that distinguishes character types on the basis of their fundamental existential orientation: 1. A sensing/thinking character type called Stable versus an intuiting/ feeling character type called Mobile; 2. A sensing/intuiting character type called Near versus a thinking/ feeling character type called Remote; 3. A sensing/feeling character type called a Dream versus a thinking/ intuiting character type called Awake (Mirodan, 2015, p. 34).

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

91

The general acceptance of Laban’s basic hypothesis—that controlling movements and gestures enriches the affective quality of a part—is a commonplace in movement studies (Marshall, 2002, p. 164). For example, the acting advice website declares: If you want your students to take their character development to the next level, introduce them to Laban Movement. Laban Movement will provide them with a clear and understandable tool set that will enable them to grow their own movement vocabulary and discover new ways to physicalize character. This work is not just technical but spends time teaching the students to recognise and act upon creative impulse in the body”. (Espenland, T. 2023) 

But at the same time, the extensive range of behaviours to be controlled and degree of fine attention given to them suggests that far from forgetting the body, the actor must maintain awareness of it in order to perform effectively: Awareness has to be constant. It is through awareness that we learn essential things about the body, its resistances, points of balance, its potential plasticity. The aim is to learn organically not cerebrally. Eventually the kinaesthetic sense takes over and you ‘know’ when a movement ‘feels right’. (Callery, 2015, p. 24; Middleton, D. 2012)

But if a kinaesthetic sense becomes hardwired when muscle memory takes over, does this not undercut the claim that awareness and self-­ monitoring is constant? A number of reasons suggest that it does not. First, because what feels “right” for one character may need to be adjusted when playing a different character in a different production, leading to a re-configuration of muscle memory. Pursuing a career, unless the choice is always to play the same type or the same persona, requires the unlearning of acquired “good” habits or for that matter, tricks.31 Second, in any particular performance, how other actors are playing in the moment will have consequences for the perceived “affective” quality of one’s own performance. Third, the intensity of focus on physical actions and movement is only fully realized in dance or mime, compared to spoken drama which obviously imposes an extra set of demands arising from dialogue.32

92 

B. KING

None of this should be taken as denying that the actor’s bodily comportment in character is a crucial variable. But as practitioners know, this is not the only variable that impacts the reception of a performance, even leaving aside the question of audience reactions. The particular strategy adopted by the actor in order to incarnate a character, as Laban observed, goes beyond nominal social type definition—middle-class husband, unfaithful partner, working-class sophisticate, thief and so on—in order to create an affective atmosphere or feeling tone that influences the spectators’ judgement of the type. A given character—say, a Merchant—may lack the personality implied, if not functionally required, by their social role. It is the task of the actor to manage the gap between a categorical denotation of a type and its existential manifestation, and the control of movement is an important element in this process. This raises a critical question: does physical training transcend mind-­ body dualism? As noted, the ability to control the body implies the conscious direction of it to comport and behave in specific—sometimes precisely defined—ways. It can be argued, as seen above, that physical work on the body can create “good” habits of comportment through repetition. This muscle memory no longer requires the mind to “tell” the body what to do. But actors face the task of translating habits or tricks into the dispositions and behaviours required by a specific role. This means that work on the body is a recurrent process of habituation and re-habituation. So if physical training regimes can render work on bodily comportment into habits, these habits must be consciously modified. Actors may acquire flexible bodies, but this does not dispense with the need for a flexible mind, or—depending on the role—the need to overthrow acquired good habits. Once again affirming the primacy of the mind over the body as an instrument. Finally, there is question of the ideological basis of physical theatre and its associated training systems. Outside of techniques developed specifically for performance, much of the interest in training the body has been associated with physical techniques, such as Tai Chi, Feldenkrais and Yoga, that were developed outside the context of performance (Sjöström, 2015). Where such approaches are introduced into a drama curriculum, this is often in a cursory fashion that suggests tokenism and, even if reflecting a deeper commitment, is focussed on individual wellness and the pursuit of “healthy lifestyle” consumerism (Kapsali, 2013). There is no doubting the fact that the political impetus behind physical theatre was to engage in the critique of ideologies of race, class and gender

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

93

in order to create a more open and collaborative culture of performance (Conroy, 2009). Yet the confluence of specialized training and wellness therapy can have a paradoxical outcome of deepening rather than alleviating existing inequalities; especially in the context of a market-driven tournament for parts. As we shall see subsequently, competition between individuals may have a tokenistic outcome, solidifying and extending inequality within a given category—say race, gender or class—without transforming the fundamental logic of inequality as a whole. Considered in the context of performance, the effectiveness of an individual performer can mean that the behaviour of other actors is overshadowed. Actors famous for their legendary presence, such as Marlon Brando or Charles Laughton, were experienced by fellow actors as self-contained (Callow, 2012). Again, it is difficult to discuss the qualities of “presence” in terms that are transindividual rather than individual, because the star system is structured to focus on performances by individuals already placed in the charisma-inducing position of cynosure.33 One counter-argument is that physical theatre practices are potentially democratic because they focus on “presentness”, rather than “presence” as associated with stardom and its magical, fetishistic overtones. Presentness can be defined as a basic level of being in the moment, the achievement in performance of the psychological experience of flow with its associated ease of action and energy (Ravid, loc. cit.). At first sight, presentness— which may be experienced by any actor, in the humblest part—seems more democratic compared to star presence.34 But the celebration of “presentness” as a source of creative satisfaction has its own limitations.35 Outside of amateur or not-for-profit forms of performance, the empirical reality in commercial work is that the chances to be present are unequally distributed. For a rank-and-file actor, “being there” can be a source of job satisfaction, as a private psychological satisfaction that is adjacent to rather than available in his or her role. For sure, an actor in a small role—functioning closer to an object than a narrative agent—can find expressive satisfaction for a job well done. But this satisfaction still remains a displacement from the ideal of self-expression enshrined in the tantalizing prospect of stardom.36 For the large majority of actors, it might be better to argue that the primary benefit of physical movement training is extra-­ theatrical, providing professionally “resting” actors with a general sense of well-being and being professionally engaged—a benefit available to non-­ actors as well.37

94 

B. KING

The Miracle of Mirror Neurons? The discovery of the operation of mirror neurons in the copying behaviour of primates appears to confirm the importance of movement in the generation of affect. Applied to acting, whether live or on screen, mirror neurons promise to create an affective bond that leaps the divide between performers and spectators. What do mirror neurons do? They fire in resonance with the actions of others, a resonance phrased in a lexicon of actions; they decipher the sense of the actions of others, that is they understand in terms of actions and not in conceptual or linguistic terms; they anticipate chains of actions, they form predictions, hypotheses (which are routines already etched in the motor programme). (Falletti et al., 2016, p. 12)

And: … sudden digressions, shifting intentions, leaps of thought and fluctuating rhythms are mirrored and felt by the spectator in his very being, leading him to move from one hypothesis to another, torn between predictions and rethinks by the swell of changes he finds himself caught in. (Falletti, op. cit. p. 14)

Because mirror neurons work at a pre-cognitive level, the application of high-level cognitive skills may be less critical compared to physical action in the projection of powerful emotional effects. If this is so, then the age-­ old problem of creating audience engagement would be resolved. But despite the enthusiasm for the new importance of the body in performance, the relationship between neural processing and the conscious formation of images remains uncertain: The presence in the brain of dynamic neural patterns (or maps) related to an object or event is a necessary but not sufficient basis to explain the mental images of the said object or event. (Damasio, 1999)

And: “Muscular empathy” based on simple movements separate from intention is unlike to be automatically transferred to spectators. (De Marinis in Falletti, op. cit. p. 67)38

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

95

Even accepting that neurological processes create empathy between actors and audiences, what kind of empathic relationship is involved? In watching an actor’s performance of character, does the audience feel they come to know the character’s internal thoughts and feelings, or do they imagine themselves behaving as the character in a similar situation, or do they feel sympathy for the character’s tribulations? The term empathy, in short, covers a range of identifications (Batson, 2009). So, even accepting that the perception of the inner “feelings” of a character rests on external actions, do these actions have a fixed and uniform meaning across all dramatic contexts and in different cultural settings? (Turvey, 2020) At the immediate level of performance, how do factors such as genre, blocking, staging and the physical qualities of the performer’s body impact the reception of the performance (Perez, 2015) Does the actor’s consciously driven behaviour lead to a sought-after response, or is the audience’s response unpredictable because it is based on differing forms of empathy? One might say, if the audience is engaged, does it matter why they are? How does the skill of the individual actor limit the capacity to activate mirror neurons; and, is this unequally distributed? Such questions mean that efforts to create mirroring behaviour through the deliberate control of the actor’s bodily behaviour will not create the intended empathetic bond with spectators. Indeed, a successful performance may rest on the convergence of different empathetic engagements between the performer and spectators. Given these empirical uncertainties, a more encompassing concept of empathic bonding—cognitive rather physiological—needs to be considered. Higher-level “mind”-based processes such as conceptual blending, the re-configuration of metaphors and the cultivation of responses are better conceptualized as framing rather than as flowing from bodily behaviour. (Blair, 2007; Dennis & Lewis, 2018; Lutterbie, 2011). The generation of empathy depends on the deliberate selection of what to do and say as a pre-expressive condition—an unexpected return to Diderot’s paradox. So once again, the traditional dream of exercising control over audience engagement dissolves before the complexity of the variables to be controlled. Moreover, the context of performance imposes its own demands. The actor must vary his or her performance according to the specificities of character, the dramatic setting and plot, the performance of other actors and, indeed, the responses of the audience.39 Just as the practice of physical theatre requires an intentional direction of movement, so does the attempt to control and predict dramatically created neurological

96 

B. KING

effects. Whether occurring at the level of physical movement and comportment, or on the level of physiological processes occurring in the peri-­ personal space of the brain, the goal of audience engagement requires the disciplined exercise of the actor’s imagination.40 Further, there is evidence that audiences read actors with the expectation of goal-directed behaviour, even when the actors are producing random or accidental behaviour (Hrkać et al., 2014).41 In sum, the discovery of mirror neurons does not fulfil the actor’s dream of empathic bonding with audiences. Even if an actor is skilled in creating an empathic effect, the affective reaction of spectators will be diverse and unpredictable. At the same time, the actor’s capacity to mobilize neuronal effects is constrained by the physical qualities of the actor’s body that modulates the intensity and quality of affect. The attempt to connect neuroscience with cinema raises a further set of problems. It has been argued that the emotional impact of theatre rests on a triangular interaction between the character, the actor and the audience (Cook, 2007, 2018). But in the case of screen performances, the relationship is fourfold—the actor, the cinematic apparatus, the character and the absent audience. Images of action on screen can be seen as a form of neuro-mirroring but one arising not from what the actor does, but from his or her performance as captured through a sociotechnical form of embodiment. Even allowing—in the case of cinema—for a reality effect based on the parallelism between the perception of actions on screen and in the world, this effect arises on a field or ecological scale of perception. What the individual actor might do, even in the case of the star, depends on the collective production of affect (Gallese & Guerra, 2012) The notion of presence—the manifestation of charisma—is central to understanding the impact of the actor in performance, as it is—with lesser stringency—in everyday behaviour. At the same time, it needs to be recognized that presence, whether in the reflexive and subjective mode of Method Acting or in the objective mode of cognitive science, is the outcome of techniques that are not exclusively theatrical. Rather, such techniques become theatrical as representations in specific modes of performance. There remains, then, a persistent rift between principles and physical practices, even though the advocates of particular approaches proclaim their practices as having universal applicability. This is most apparent in the case of Method Acting which—despite the claims of its most publicly recognized guru, Lee Strasberg—is a set of techniques that best fit a

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

97

certain style of drama associated with an American version of naturalism (Vineberg, 1991, pp. 114–115). Part of the reason for cognitive framing lies in the fact that acting as a craft rests on a heightened and intensified representation of everyday experience, which relies on an intentional stance in engaging in the world (Merleau-Ponty, 2013; Johnson, 2013; Gallagher, 2013). Without intentionality, neither empathy nor identification can be achieved (nor purposely thwarted as an expectation) in the audience The purpose of making these points is not to deny that physical and cognitive training can improve an actor’s performance: for example, the Laban system can unblock ingrained habits in posture, movement and vocal delivery. Rather, it is to recognize that physical benefits do not transcend the mind-body dualism celebrated by these approaches. No performance is purely physical or purely mental, so the traditional problem of creating a rapport with the audience remains. A shared danger in physical theatre training and the contribution of cognitive approach is that can lead to an atomistic view—the training of the actor is concentrated on a piece-by-piece process that fragments behaviour and eschews a holistic approach to acting. It can promote the idea that molar behaviour can be directly explained by molecular processes, for example, neurons firing, which in turn supports a mechanistic morselization of self-identity. While the goal of science is reliable and generalizable prediction, our goal will necessarily remain the interpretation and explanation of relatively unique events – acting a role, producing a play, responding to a performance, etc. Science can help us to define what performance is and to describe the cognitive systems that allow for certain kinds of artistry to flourish, but it cannot predict the emergence of discrete performances –there will always be too many variables”. (McConachie & Hart, 2006, p. xiv)

An Enigma Remaining? For all its embedding in a particular dramaturgy, the quality of a specific performance remains resistant to definition. Does quality refer to the actor’s own judgement, to the judgement of fellow professionals including other actors, to the critical establishment, to the reaction of audiences? In the face of conflicting criteria, the tendency is to accept the fact of equifinality—that a desirable outcome can be achieved by a variety of means so whatever gets a sought-after result “works”. A succès d’estime is always

98 

B. KING

desirable, but the most important result for the performer’s livelihood, of continuous employment and career longevity is a profitable commercial outcome—good box office, high television ratings, high levels of streaming or sales of DVDs, etc. These market-driven metrics do not resolve the disparities, if not contradictions, between quality and commercial success so much as pragmatically suspend them. Just as with the discourse of talent in leadership, a star is one who delivers an exceptional economic performance, but how this is done retreats to the realm of the mysteries of the craft or, more concretely, to the mysteries of personality and charisma. For the individual actor seeking to build or sustain a working career, there is very likely a prior commitment to the practice of the craft in itself. But this intrinsic motivation in a commercially driven theatre or cinema turns on the realization of an extrinsic standard of achievement based on market performance. Whether motivated by intrinsic or extrinsic goals, the actor’s engagement with character remains paramount because it is the semantic crux for the actor’s agency in a live or a mediated performance. Expressed in the terms of labour process theory, character is the mediator of exchange of actorly labour power that determines the personal expressive latitude given in playing a part. Character as an identity is formed by the frontier of control that regulates the use of the actor’s body in performance. A number of questions remain to be explored. How does the actor manage his or her process of creating agency; what skill levels are to be exercised and, relatedly, how far is the body—its fitness and beauty—regarded as a skill qualification? What are the features of the passage of the actor as an everyday person to a professionally engaged performer? These aspects will be explored subsequently. In terms of gauging an individual’s ability to act, there is a continuum of identity projection: • Level one: Successful control of body and projection of voice in everyday life • Level two: Successful projection of one’s own personality in simple everyday situations • Level three: Successful projection of one’s own personality in complex everyday situations • Level four: Successful projection of a “created” personality or character in simple dramatic situations • Level five: Successful projection of a “created” personality or character in complex dramatic situations (Wilson, 1951).

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

99

Such a scale—with the exception of level one, which refers to the minimal achievement of a socially competent identity—provides an observational heuristic for judging the performance capabilities of a student in a drama classroom and by extension, his or her acting ability in general— whether performing in a dramatic or post-dramatic context. As a gradient of identity projection, the scale has a recursive quality. Any actor trained and skilled enough to rise to the fourth or fifth level is empowered to trade downwards towards delivering a performance at level two or three—that is, out of character and based on his or her professional identity or persona as a performer. Avant-garde performers such as Simon McBurney, Willem Dafoe or Steven Berkoff circulate between dramatic and post-dramatic performances in order to earn a living, with traditional dramatic performances as characters, especially in popular cinema, providing the main source of livelihood to support more experimental but less publicly visible work. Actors with an established persona can appear “as themselves” in cameos, referring thereby to their professionally established selves without actually performing beyond level three. In this way, performing as “themselves”, they can find employment as product endorsers, brand ambassadors, or guests on celebrity talk shows and reality television. They may be able to sell their presence directly to consumers in a one-to-one video interaction on the Cameo website, providing a social media version of para-social interaction on a pay-for-view basis. On the other hand, individuals stuck (as yet) on level two, with a limited capacity to project a theatrically conditioned personality or persona, may work as extras or advertising personalities; or at level three, become social influencers or micro-celebrities on social media, where the number of followers may hopefully provide ratification of their celebrity and a revenue stream. Aspiring actors who cannot immediately move beyond levels one and two are dependent on acquiring a habitus that makes them para-theatrical “eloquent” exponents of impression management. The role of a middle-­ class or upper-class habitus—for example, that of individuals who have attended elite schools, for example, Eton, Harrow and Oxbridge in the British case, explains to some extent why white middle-class males and females predominate in the range of active professionals and why working-­ class actors, white or non-white, are under-represented (Friedman et al., 2017).

100 

B. KING

Not Acting

Acting

Non-Matrixed Non-Matrixed "Received"

Simple

Complex

Performing

Acting

Acting

Representation

Acting

Fig. 4.2  Kirby’s acting continuum

Competitive trading up or trading down these levels of capability is an unavoidable fact of life for actors seeking work in a chronically unstable and restricted labour market with high levels of unemployment; it also underscores that habitus, the ingrained disposition of the body, prior to any training, confers a social advantage. Wilson’s scale is notable for its pedagogic emphasis on the ability of the actor to project different identities through technique without reference to the impact or constraints of technology. The scale or cascade developed by Michael Kirby (1972) emphasizes the factors of the deployment of technology and dramatic resources in distinguishing not Acting from Acting. Kirby refers to performances that do not require feigning as behaving outside the matrix of theatrical resources with received acting implying the passive use of the actor as a bearer of theatrical resources to project character (Fig. 4.2). The threshold to acting proper, as opposed to behaving, is “received acting” which is roughly comparable to level four of Lewis’ model. The interface between these levels is useful for two reasons. First, it reveals the prevenient levels of interactive competencies—the realm of habitus—that constitutes the bedrock of a strictly dramatic performance. Second, it reveals the importance of technology and technique in creating an impression of a character. The next chapter considers this relationship.

Notes 1. I set aside the poetics of reception or audience interpretation. Always recognizing that the actor and other key production personnel are the first spectators of an actor’s performance, their reactions functioning, rightly or wrongly, as a surrogate for an imagined audience. 2. In his book Character, Robert McKee, a best-selling author on the art of fiction writing and a mentor to a distinguished list of novelists, playwrights and screenwriters, defines character as: “a fictitious being who either causes events to happen or reacts when someone or something else causes them or both” and “plot is character and character is plot” (McKee, 2021,

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

101

p. 15). The popularity of his advice books testifies to the widespread acceptance of the bourgeois theatre’s concept of character which McKee treats as a product of real transhistorical essential processes such as allegory, narrative, types as archetypes rather than as frameworks for thinking about the meaning of existence (190–191). 3. I concentrate here on sociological factors The arguments associated with Hegel’s claims of the end of art provide an explicitly aesthetic reinforcement of the trend towards material concreteness. (Danto, 1998; Shapiro, 1976). 4. Burns (1989, pp. 182–183) argues that the figuration of the actor shifts historically from personifier to impersonator to de-personalizer in response to the changing conceptions of human identity. In naturalist forms of drama the contemporary actor in using techniques that everyone uses in daily life is more exposed to criticism than his predecessors. 5. Framing Fuchs’ account is the rise of what she terms the theatre of absence, tracing one root in Derrida’s deconstruction of logocentrism and the other in the attempt to overcome Cartesian mind-body dualism. In a theatre of absence, the idea of character as an authentic presence is exposed as a textual effect (Fuchs, 1986). Schmitt makes an analogous argument, but sees quantum physics rather than deconstruction as the agent of dispersion (Schmitt, 1990, p. 10). 6. Though how new, as opposed to having attained greater salience, is a question. Fuchs’ account is focussed on White middle-class theatre and the avant-garde. For a roughly contemporary account of British theatre that contrasts bourgeois or White middle-class theatre with a working-class theatre tradition, see A Good Night Out (McGrath, 1981). 7. In terms used by Propp, character loses its narrative function and becomes an idiosyncratic personality (Propp, 2010). 8. Though even so, character-centred dramas maintain a dominant presence in mainstream theatre, cinema and television, a presence central to the star system. 9. A key source for a dramaturgy that prioritises presence over representation is Antonin Artaud’s conception of a theatre of cruelty—cruel in the sense that the action on the stage aims to shock and challenge the conventional expectations of spectators (Derrida, 1978; Sierz, 2014). 10. This imperative is obviously the case in commercial theatre, where the bourgeois concept of character as a fully engrossed and connected agent is alive and well. 11. In the term degenerate does not indicate a moral shift but rather a regearing of reference from the symbolic to the realm of the material giveness of the signfier, or from the condition of character to the condition of persona. (King 1992) The consequences and causes of downward shift in the vector of reference will be explored subsequently. 

102 

B. KING

12. Even within conventional mainstream drama, there were of course challenges to the concept of character as a coherent or rational subject, as for example Brecht’s theory of the alienation effect. 13. This fundamental dichotomy can be complicated by the relationship between the “I” of the actor, the “I” of the director and the “I” of the producer in situations where the actor is a hyphenate, for example, Sir Kenneth Branagh in Murder on the Orient Express. 14. A fact recognized and exploited by casting. 15. This effort to depart from the reality of the person of the actor has its fullest development in traditional theatre, where in rehearsal and in performance, the objective is to subordinate the self to character as narrative agent. 16. As Carlson observes, Grotowski’s autonomous or poor theatre was an attempt to restore theatre to its lost ritual purity by undermining the authority of the text. See Carlson (1993, p. 455ff). 17. For a useful summary of truth-making, see Livingstone and Sauchelli (2011). 18. This can be seen as major exception to Alexander’s claim that in advanced societies, drama is defused, though the slip from a collective ritual to liminoid forms is arguably a precondition for the axial importance of the individual. 19. The concept of rigidity derives from Kripke (1972). 20. This pre-eminence has not been unchallenged, most notably by Brecht’s theory of epic acting which emphasized a critical distance and alienation in the performance of character, viewing Stanislavski’s “psychotechniques” as inscribing bourgeois ideology (Binnerts, 2012, pp. 237–250). 21. To this extent, Strasberg’s use of the term Method was accurate. 22. Carnicke has consolidated the heritage of Stanislavski in her system of Active analysis (Carnicke, 2010). 23. For criticism of the incoherence of the concept of remembered emotion as a tool for constructing a character, see Mullin (1961). 24. Elia Kazan equates Strasberg’s basic idea with Wilhelm Reich’s orgone box (Kazan, 2011, p. 706). 25. The exclusive emphasis on private emotion as a source of engagement and “truth” has been challenged by a number of writers. Konijn, for example, makes a distinction between the actor’s emotional investment in a character and his or her emotional engagement with the tasks of acting (see Konijn, 2000, Chapter 2). 26. David Krashner has strongly disputed the idea that Method was a simple response to the pressures of American individualism, seeing it rather as a response to the pressures to Americanize the practices of Yiddish theatre. But since Americanization was premised on the acceptance of individualism, it is hard to see that this is a substantial disagreement. 27. It is important to stress that Strasberg’s interpretation of Method acting became a popular brand that—for the general public at least—obscured

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

103

the different adaptions of Stanislavski by Stella Adler and Sanford Meisner. Method acting was not monolithic. Sanford Meisner, for example, disagreed with Strasberg’s emphasis on affective memory and focussed on exercises that explored the immediate interaction between actors and how these generated imaginative responses. However, Meisner’s approach had its own tendency to ignore the demands of the text (Durham, 2004). Stella Adler by contrast emphasized fidelity to the overall dramatic arc of the text. One of her pupils, Marlon Brando, an actor thought to typify the Method, did not have a close engagement with the Actors’ Studio and was highly critical of Strasberg as self-aggrandizing autocrat. 28. It was Diderot who argued that the greatest flexibility in performing was associated with the lack of emotional involvement. 29. These terms are based on the system of movement first developed by Rudolf Laban and his collaborator, Irmgard Bartenneff. See https://www. theatrefolk.com/blog/the-­eight-­efforts-­laban-­movement/ for a general introduction. 30. The historical development of physical theatre offers several versions of the strategy of embodied action, for example, Meyerhold’s bio-mechanics (see Hodge, 2010, Chapter 2). 31. As we shall see, there is a tendency for stars to develop an omnibus persona in order to cope with playing different characters. When this tendency is not evident in the performance itself, the discourse of publicity and fandom reassures the general public that the star’s persona remains the crux of performance. 32. See D.  McCaw in Evan’s The Actor Training Reader, pp.  171–181 (McCaw, 2009) 33. This sociotechnical effect will be discussed in the next chapter. 34. Though as suggested by the example of Laughton, excellence in making, having and being present can overcome physical limitations which are typically driven by matters of “looks” and appearance. 35. The fact that presentness is a good that the public seeks has opened up niche markets in grooming and impression management, which is exploited by some stars and celebrities as a spin-off business. 36. As we shall see, stardom itself is often just such a displacement. 37. These matters considered, it is clear that body eloquence (or lack of it) can be used to critique, in a Brechtian fashion, the ideological basis of character by playing against type. 38. Another leading theorist also casts doubts on the integration of mind and feelings because neural patterns are inevitably third-person constructs (Damasio, 1999, p. 318). 39. Admittedly, the distinction made by Goffman between signs we give and signs we give off operates as counterpoint to intentional behaviour (Goffman, 1969, p. 2). The actor, it should be said, is expected to narrow

104 

B. KING

this gap or at least control the potential for discrepancies, or turn discrepancies to good effect. 40. This assumes that the goal of a performance is to create a specific affective response in an audience. If this is relaxed, then any response may suffice, which undercuts any notion of the importance of an actor’s expertise. 41. A further indication that the concept of character is an intrinsic element of performance, whether expressly projected or attributed.

References Ambros, V. (2012). Puppets, Statues, Men, Objects, and the Prague School. In Theatralia/Yorick 2 (A Special Issue on Structuralist Theatre Theory. Prague Semiotic Stage Revisited) (pp. 74–88). Masaryck University. Bachrach, A.  G. H. (1949). The Great Chain of Acting. Neophilologus, 33(1), 160–172. Bandelj, N. (2003). How Method Actors Create Character Roles. Sociological Forum, 18(3), 387–416. Barba, E., Flaszen, L., & Sanzenbach, S. (1965). A Theatre of Magic and Sacrilege. The Tulane Drama Review, 9(3), 166–189. Barton, J. (2010). Playing Shakespeare: An Actor’s Guide. Anchor. Bartow, A. (Ed.). (2008). Handbook of Acting Techniques. Nick Hern Books. Batson, C. D. (2009). These Things Called Empathy: Eight Related But Distinct Phenomena. psycnet.apa.org Beck, U. (2001). Interview with Ulrich Beck. Journal of Consumer Culture, 1(2), 261–277. Bennett, J. (2008). The Television Personality System: Televisual Stardom Revisited After Film Theory. Screen, 49(1), 32–50. Binnerts, P. (2012). Acting in real time. University of Michigan Press. Blair, R. (2007). The Actor, Image, and Action: Acting and Cognitive Neuroscience. Routledge. Boal, A. (2000). Theater of the Oppressed. Pluto Press. Braudy, L. (1996). No Body’s Perfect: Method Acting and 50s Culture. University of Michigan. Brecht, B., Hewitt, B., & Bentley, E. (1961). On Chinese Acting. Tulane Drama Review, 6(1), 130–136. Brook, P. (1996). The Empty Space: A Book About the Theatre: Deadly, Holy, Rough, Immediate. Simon and Schuster. Burns, E. (1989). Character, Acting and Being on the Pre-Modern Stage. Springer. Callery, D. (2015). Through the Body: A Practical Guide to Physical Theatre. Routledge. Callow, S. (2012). Charles Laughton: A Difficult Actor. Random House.

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

105

Carandini, M. (2012). From Circuits to Behavior: A Bridge Too Far? Nature Neuroscience, 15(4), 507–509. Carlson, M. (1996). Performing the Self. Modern Drama, 39(4), 599–608. Carlson, M. A. (1993). Theories of the Theatre: A Historical and Critical Survey from the Greeks to the Present. Cornell University Press. Carnicke, S. M. (2010). Stanislavsky’s System: Pathways for the Actor. In A. Hodge (Ed.), Actor Training (pp. 27–51). Routledge. Conroy, C. (2009). Theatre and the Body. Macmillan International Higher Education. Conroy, M. (1993). Acting Out: Method Acting, the National Culture, and the Middlebrow Disposition in Cold War America. Criticism, 35(2), 239–263. Constantinidis, S. E. (1988). Rehearsal as a Subsystem: Transactional Analysis and Role Research. New Theatre Quarterly, 4(13), 64–76. Cook, A. (2007). Interplay: The Method and Potential of a Cognitive Scientific Approach to Theatre. Theatre Journal, 1(December), 579–594. Cook, A. (2018). Building Character. University of Michigan Press. Counsell, C. (2013). Signs of Performance: An Introduction to Twentieth-Century Theatre. Routledge. Damasio, A.  R. (1999). The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Daniels, S. (2018). Full Disclosure. Pan Macmillan. Danto, A.  C. (1998). The End of Art: A Philosophical Defense. History and Theory, 37(4), 127–143. Dennis, R., & Lewis, L. (2018). Diderot’s Body and Cognitive Science: Sensation, Impulse and Action in Performer Training. Studies in Theatre and Performance, 38(1), 36–47. Derrida, J. (1978). The Theater of Cruelty and the Closure of Representation. Theater, 9(3), 6–19. Durham, K. (2004). Acting On and Off: Sanford Meisner Reconsidered. Studies in Theatre & Performance, 23(3), 151–163. Eco, U. (1977). Semiotics of Theatrical Performance. The Drama Review: TDR, 21, 107–117. Eder, J. (2010). Understanding Character. Projections, 4(1), 16–40. Elam, K. (2003). The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama. Routledge. Espenland, T. (2023). Retrieved May 23, 2023, from https://www.theatrefolk. com/blog/the-­eight-­efforts-­laban-­movement/ Evans, M. (Ed.). (2015). The Actor Training Reader. Routledge. Falletti, C., Sofia, G., & Jacono, V. (Eds.). (2016). Theatre and Cognitive Neuroscience. Bloomsbury Publishing. Freeman, J. (2013). Performance Studies, Actor Training and Boutique Borrowing. Studies in Theatre and Performance, 33(1), 77–90.

106 

B. KING

Friedman, S., O’Brien, D., & Laurison, D. (2017). ‘Like Skydiving Without a Parachute’: How Class Origin Shapes Occupational Trajectories in British Acting. Sociology, 51(5), 992–1010. Fuchs, E. (1986). Presence and the Revenge of Writing: Re-thinking Theatre After Derrida. Performing Arts Journal, 9(2), 163–173. Fuchs, E. (1996). The Death of Character: Perspectives on Theater After Modernism. Indiana University Press. Gallagher, S. (2013). The Socially Extended Mind. Cognitive Systems Research, 25, 4–12. Gallese, V., & Guerra, M. (2012). Embodying Movies: Embodied Simulation and Film Studies. Cinema: Journal of Philosophy and the Moving Image, 3, 183–210. Goffman, E. (1969). The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Allen Lane. Goldman, M. (1975). The Actor’s Freedom: Towards a Theory of Drama. Viking. Gordon, R. (2006). The Purpose of Playing: Modern Acting Theories in perspective. University of Michigan Press. Grotowski, J. (2012). From Towards a Poor Theatre. In Theatre and Performance Design (pp. 301–330). Routledge. Hewett, R. (2017). The Changing Spaces of Television Acting: From Studio Realism to Location Realism in BBC Television Drama. Manchester University Press. Hodge, A. (2010). Actor Training. Routledge. Honzl, J. (1976). Dynamics of the Sign in the Theater. In L. A. T. Matějka (Ed.), Semiotics of Art (pp. 74–93). MIT University Press. Hornby, R. (1992). The End of Acting. Applause. Hornby, R. (2007). Feeding the System: The Paradox of the Charismatic Acting Teacher. New Theatre Quarterly, 23(1), 67–72. Hrkać, M., Wurm, M. F., & Schubotz, R. I. (2014). Action Observers Implicitly Expect Actors to Act Goal-Coherently, Even If They Do Not: An fMRI Study. Human Brain Mapping, 35(5), 2178–2190. Jackson, D. (2011). Twenty-First-Century Russian Actor Training: Active Analysis in the UK. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 2(2), 166–180. Kapsali, M. (2013). Rethinking Actor Training: Training Body, Mind and… Ideological Awareness. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 4(1), 73–88. Kazan, E. (2011). A Life. Knopf. Kemp, R. (2012). Embodied Acting: What Neuroscience Tells Us About Performance. Routledge. King, B. (1992). Stardom and Symbolic Degeneracy: Television and the Transformation of the Stars as Public Symbols. Semiotica, 92(1–2), 1–48. Kirby, M. (1972). On Acting and Not-Acting. The Drama Review: TDR, 1(March), 3–15. Konijn, E. (2000). Acting emotions. Amsterdam University Press. Kripke, S. A. (1972). Naming and Necessity. Springer.

4  CHARACTER AS A ZOMBIE CONCEPT 

107

Lehmann, H. T. (2006). Post-Dramatic Theatre. Routledge. Lemasson, A., André, V., Boudard, M., Lunel, C., Lippi, D., Cousillas, H., & Hausberger, M. (2021). Does Audience Size Influence Actors’ and Spectators’ Emotions the Same Way? Psychological Research, 85(4), 1814–1822. Livingstone, P., & Sauchelli, A. (2011). Philosophical Perspectives on Fictional Characters. New Literary History, 42(2), 337–360. Lombard, M., & Ditton, T. (1997). At the heart of it all: The concept of presence. Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 3(2). https://doi.org/ 10.1111/j.1083-6101.1997.tb00072.x. Lutterbie, J. (2011). Toward a General Theory of Acting: Cognitive Science and Performance. Springer. Marshall, L. (2002). The Body Speaks: Performance and Expression. Palgrave Macmillan. McCaw, D. (2009). Psychophysical Training for the Actor: A Question of Plumbing or Wiring? Performance Research, 14(2), 60–65. McConachie, B. (2000). Method Acting and the Cold War. Theatre Survey, 41(1), 47–68. McConachie, B., & Hart, F.  E. (Eds.). (2006). Performance and Cognition: Theatre Studies and the Cognitive Turn. Routledge. McGrath, J. (1981). A Good Night Out. Popular Theatre: Audience, Class and Form. Eyre Methuen. McKee, R. (2021). Character: The Art of Role and Cast Design for Page, Stage, and Screen. Hachette UK. Merleau-Ponty, M. (2013). Phenomenology of Perception. Routledge. Middleton, D. (2012). Cultivating Change: Personal Challenge in Psychophysical Training. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 31(1), 41–45. Mirodan, V. (1997). The Way of Transformation (The Laban-Malmgren System of Dramatic Character Analysis, Volume 2). Royal Holloway, University of London. Mirodan, V. (2015). Acting the Metaphor: The Laban–Malmgren System of Movement Psychology and Character Analysis. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 6(1), 30–45. Mullin, D.  W. (1961). Acting Is Reacting. The Tulane Drama Review, 5(3), 152–159. Perez, H. J. (2015). The Three Bodies of Narration: A Cognitivist Poetics of the Actor’s Performance. L’Atalante, 19(January), 17–26. Power, C. (2008). Presence in Play: A Critique of Theories of Presence in the Theatre. Brill. Propp, V. (2010). Morphology of the Folktale (Vol. 9). University of Texas Press. Ravid, O. (2014). Presentness: Developing Presence Through Psychophysical Actor-­ Training. York University.

108 

B. KING

Rawlins, T. (2012). Studying Acting: An Investigation Into Contemporary Approaches to Professional Actor Training in the UK. University of Reading. Ricoeur, P. (1991). Narrative Identity. Philosophy Today, 35(1), 73–81. Ruffini, F. (1995). Mime, the Actor, Action: The Way of Boxing. Incorporated Knowledge: The Mime Journal, 20, 54–69. Sarlós, R. K., & McDermott, D. (1995). The Impact of Working Conditions upon Acting Style. Theatre Research International, 20(3), 231–236. Schmitt, N.  C. N.  U. P. (1990). Actors and Onlookers: Theater and Twentieth-­ Century Scientific Views of Nature. Northwestern University Press. Shapiro, G. (1976). Hegel’s Dialectic of Artistic Meaning. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 35(1), 23–35. Shirley, D. (2010). ‘The Reality of Doing’: Meisner Technique and British Actor Training. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 1(2), 199–213. Sierz, A. (2014). In-Yer-Face Theatre: British Drama Today. Faber and Faber. Sjöström, K. (2015). Bodily Education in Modernist Culture  – Freedom and Commodification. Theatre, Dance and Performance Training, 6(1), 72–84. Soto-Morettini, D. (2010). The Philosophical Actor: A Practical Meditation for Practicing Theatre Artists. Intellect Books. Turvey, M. (2020). Mirror Neurons and Film Studies: A Cautionary Tale from a Serious Pessimist. Projections, 14(3), 21–46. Urban, G. (2015). The “I” of Discourse. In B. A. U. Lee (Ed.), Semiotics, Self, and Society (pp. 27–52). De Gruyter Mouton. Veltrusky, J. (1964). Man and Object in the Theater. In P.  L. Garvin (Ed.), A Prague School Reader on Esthetics, Literary Structure, and Style (pp.  83–91). Georgetown University Press. Vineberg, S. (1991). Method Actors: Three Generations of an American Acting Style. Macmillan Reference. Wilson, G.  B. (1951). Levels of Achievement in Acting. Educational Theatre Journal, 3, 230–236.

CHAPTER 5

Acting and Technology

So far, emphasis has been chiefly placed on the cultural framing of acting as a form of performance. In this chapter I consider material determinants that arise from different technologies of performance. As a preliminary it is necessary to define technology in a manner that connects hardware, techniques and the social relations of production: Technologies are best seen as systems that combine technique and activities with implements and artifacts, within a social context of organization in which the technologies are developed, employed, and administered. (David Kaplan, quoted in Sacasas, 2014)

As underscored by this definition, the application of technology occurs in an organizational setting which has its own specific system of social relationships, creating a socio-technical system (Ropohl, 1999). In such a context, as argued by Actor-Network theory, the term “actor”, despite its humanistic overtones, might be better described as an actant among actants: “To use the word actor means that it is never clear who or what is acting when we act since an actor on stage is never alone in acting” (Latour, 2007, p. 46). One consequence for this account is that stage or screen acting is never solely or exclusively a human-centred activity, but involves interaction between humans and machines, with the actor providing behaviour through acquired techniques and the “machines” providing limitations and capacities in the construction of performances (Wolf, 2003). © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_5

109

110 

B. KING

Approaching performance as a socio-technical system means considering the actor as the pivot or fulcrum of three technological dimensions: a. the specific features of the media underpinning a dramatic performance; b. the relative impact of embodied technique or technology; c. the quality of the embodied skills and capacities—physical and cognitive—that an actor brings (or actors bring) to delivering a performance. Different contexts of production call for the striking of a different balance between them, so it is a truism that these three dimensions overlap in various ways within a given performance. For purposes of exposition, the general features of the inter-­relationships between technology and actor-based techniques can be identified: 1. Deployment of a system of coded gestures. As developed, for example, by Francois Delsarte in the second half of the nineteenth century; but continuing a tradition, originating in the seventeenth century, of training actors in the dramatic use of body language through the study of the classical statuary and the paintings of Charles Le Brun (Kirby, 1972; Cottegnies, 2002). The use of gestural signals was not only important in ‘live’ theatre and dance; it was a style of performance developed in the silent cinema, which persisted through the coming of sound and remained a practice in the 1950s Hollywood Studio system, before the rise to prominence of Method acting. Cary Grant’s mature acting style, with its emphasis on physical restraint, can be interpreted as an example of a Delsartean approach to performance, adhering to the principle that “inner” purpose is most readily communicated through physical movement (Naremore, 1988, pp. 63, 228–229). 2. Deployment of the formative power of the actor’s affective memories. An approach popularly associated with Method Acting but in a more extended sense, and in closer fidelity to Stanislavski, the active acquisition of manufactured memories by immersing oneself in the social situation of the character—shadowing accountants to play an accountant, for example. This process of ‘ethnographic’ observation would be extended by studying the literature, history and biography of the period (Bandelj, 2003).1 Another variant of manufacturing

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

111

memories is through location shooting, choosing an environment that provides the experiences characters would have if they were actual beings, for ­example, Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo (1982), Iñárritu’s The Revenant (2015) or Landes’s Monos (2019). 3. Character-based introspection by professional performers who seek to find the “I” of character inside the self (Callow, 2007; Sher, 2006). This informal practice receives some indirect confirmation by the practices of psychodrama as developed by, Juan Moreno  in which role-play is used to release the individual’s creative capacity to explore possible selves and develop an altered state of consciousness (Scheiffele, 2001; Blatner, 2005). 4. Deployment of technologies of self-presentation to emphasise (or de-­emphasise) the corporeal features of the individual—looks, height and body shape—as cultivated through physical training, physique development and cosmetic enhancements, as well as make-up, costuming and lighting. Essentially, designing or dressing the body as an index of folk definitions of character types active in specific social and historical contexts, whether to meet or to confound audience expectations. This approach is based on physiognomic rules that associate a given appearance and comportment with moral qualities such as goodness or badness. 5. Deployment of acquired performance skills—movement, voice production, fencing, horse-riding, dancing and so on—which, as realtime behaviour occurring on stage or captured on screen, add an aura of virtuosity to the embodiment of character as coups de théâtre. Such bits of business have the effect, particularly pronounced in musicals, of arresting narrative flow (Dyer, 2005). These various modes of deployment and activation can be used deliberately or intuitively in a given performance, and one or the other condition may swing into prominence depending on the scene. However articulated, as superordinate or subordinate, they have the common feature of being endogenous to the actor. By contrast, there is a sixth dimension related to the exogenous impact of theatrical and cinematic technologies and techniques on the creation and delivery of a performance. In a prescient early paper, Richard Schechner mapped the various dimensions of a performance as a plexus in which the actor is presented and challenged with managing a series of exchanges (Schechner, 1968). These exchanges are filtered through primary and secondary relationships. The

112 

B. KING

primary relationships are those ongoing on stage with actors and audiences. The secondary relationships refer to the means of production—scenery, costume, lighting, film/sound projection and so on—and the total production space as an environment. Schechner (2010) notes that as theatrical practice becomes more focused on spectacle, the elements of the secondary relationships become articulated as signs in their own right. Although not using the terminology, what is being described is a socialtechnical system. In the discourse of stardom and celebrity—despite the ambiguity surrounding agency in a collaborative work process—the actor is represented in marketing and promotional discourse as a self-sufficient source of the cognitive and affective impact of his or her presence. The persistence of the myth of the star as the consummating agency within a collective work process is linked to box office performance which, if contingent, depends on access to high-volume distribution and associated promotion and publicity provided by big corporations in the post-studio era. This commercial performance measure stands in contrast to the system of craft-based prestige derived from the professional evaluation of a specific performance (McDonald, 2013). Again, whatever the professional standing of a particular performance, publicity, promotion and the social media profile frames performance as a para-social relationship or mediated quasi-­ interaction between stars or celebrities and various audiences (Thompson, 1995). In this framing, the star or celebrity takes on the cognitive status of a “natural” person rather than as a professional artefact as a virtual person or persona produced by exercise of skills and technologies. In order to show the actor’s part in this dialogical relationship, it is necessary to track the interplay between the actor’s performance in a technologically supported labour process, and the role of equipment—props, costuming, make-up, lightning, set design—that constitutes a particular performance.2 Treating theatre and audio-visual media, such as cinema and television, as socio-technical systems relates to the recent interest in scenography, and to the view that different regimes of staging create distinctive relationships between actors and the physical layout of the scenery; other actors and the performance as a totality presented to an audience, whether the latter is present or remotely located. Considering acting in the theatre, the architecture of different stages—proscenium, thrust, arena, in-the-round, platform or centred—affords and constrains different kinds of action such as entrances and exits, the balance of movement and actions, the style of performance, the kind of focus on the audience—fourth-wall or

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

113

direct-­address—and the position of the audience (Sarlós, and McDermott, 1995; Baugh, 2004; Lemasson et al., 2019). Overall, the theatre entails a specific spatial organization of front- and backstage, as well as a separate space for rehearsal which may be regarded as the place where the creative work done by actors is most apparent (McAuley, 2008). A different distribution of space—how different is an important issue, as we shall see— occurs in cinema, where the role of the rehearsal may be comparatively limited and confined to a table read-through and live delivery before a camera, which can be edited to impose a different architecture or mise-enscène upon the live element of performance.3 Evidently the spatial dimensions of performance are functions of the differing socio-technical economies of theatre and cinema. A total performance emerges from a succession of scenes as a melding of subjective and objective processes; all of which means that any given performance is, to a variable degree, a technologically assisted work process. For my purposes, scenography and cinematography will be considered as mediating the causal force of the actor’s contribution to performance within a technologically circumscribed space. Within the operative style of performance, the actor’s responsibility is to function as a reliable and distinctive source of expressive qualities that impart to stage or screen a distinctive atmosphere (Veltrusky, 1964). They must embody the customs and conventions operative within a specific performance style, provide an appropriate “substance” for costuming and make-up, exercise the appropriate diction and ensure the timing, accentuation and an appropriate accent when speaking accurately memorized lines. If improvization is required, what happens must fit or be edited to fit the constraints of the small world represented through the play or screenplay. This is true whether the actor is a leading performer or a supporting, or bit player (Albright & Albright, 1980). In considering the general relationship between the actor and technology, it is useful to make a fundamental distinction between the virtual and the real as states of being. The virtual is that which is made present or actual without having an independent existence outside of the medium or activity in which it is represented.4 Although the virtual is an expression of ideational processes such as imaginings, thoughts, dreams and hallucinations, its social effectiveness depends on being actualized through exteriorization in objects, images, texts and bodies. Becoming actual in this sense is a state of deficit from what was perceived as an ideal.5

114 

B. KING

The Virtual itself can be said to be a capacity to be actualized as a singular, concrete object. Actualization is performative—the Virtual itself is a multiplicity which can be actualized in different ways. If it is known by its effects, then it is known through a specific instantiation, not as a whole. It thus retains its creative character as an ontological category pertinent to discussions of change, becoming, genesis, development, emergence, autopoiesis, the genetic power of codes as well as of codings themselves. (Shields, 2006, p. 285)

Any particular exteriorization, however skilled, does not exhaust the potential for the actualization of meaning. Accordingly, any specific representation exists in a condition of satisfying only some of the possible ways of representing the ideal that the virtual renders as a concrete presence.6 As an intrinsically partial expression of an ideal, the virtual is also distinct from concretely real things and objects—including the actor’s body as an intentional object.7 The actor, in live or recorded drama, is charged with making the state of affairs imagined in the play or screen play into a figure (Quinn, 1987). In undertaking this process, actors are concrete objects that function according to the degree to which the application of technology: represents them in terms of their actual (afilmic or atheatrical) appearance; augments this appearance; creates a virtual avatar or replaces them with a synthespian (Table 5.1). According to the actor’s position on this gradient of states of being, the figure produced in performance can: a. preserve the look of the actor in actuality by deploying make-up, costume, lighting, staging and camera angles obedient to the parameters of everyday perception. Indexed outside of the performance by the pin-up and publicity still.

Table 5.1  The continuum of modes of realization of character Actuality

Augmented actuality

Virtuality

Augmented virtuality

Person

Persona

Avatar

Synthespian

Modified from Milgram and Kishino (1994). The referenced article uses the ambiguous term “reality”, which I alter here to actuality as the real as rendered present by performance. The Prague School concept of the stage figure is useful here

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

115

b. create an image that alters the surface of the actor’s “natural” image by material and visual prosthetics in order to fit a specific role. Indexed in the publicity still. c. create an image of the actor located in a virtual world by the digital sampling of actuality, for example, Tom Hanks in The Polar Express. d. create a virtual self-image, which has no visual correlate in actuality and is free from the constraints of time and space and being human, for example, digital animation, CGI produced synthespians in Fantasy worlds (Rombes, 2017, Chapter 34). As performance technologies can be deployed to create actual and virtual images, the key differentiation rests on the preponderant sourcing of the image—from the actor’s performance or from the medium that captures it. Two polar positions can be identified, with any specific performance positioned in a balance between them: • Endogenic—any form of performance (recorded or live) that is tied to a specific location and time where co-present technologies—makeup, costuming, lighting and so on—depend on the actor’s performance to realize their narrative contribution. • Exogenic—any form of performance (recorded and sampled) that deploys the actor as a resource to be edited and reassembled to create a post-live performance that is a collage of actions and special effects not derived, even in location shooting, from a specifiable unitary time or place (Table 5.2). A general definition of acting and performance is the process whereby a coded text describing a fictional or quasi-fictional world is inscribed on the body of the actor(s). The actor inscribes the relevant physical and Table 5.2  Endogenic and exogenic vectors of reference Theatre Endogenic Actuality Live stage performance Exogenic Augmented Actuality Film of live performance, e.g. RSC Shakespeare.a

Cinema Virtuality Film performance Augmented virtuality Synthespian performances

a For the difference between a stage performance and the filming of a staged performance see DeRidder (2018)

116 

B. KING

psychological resources in the orchestration of the process from rehearsal to their performance. The process of inscription takes two broad directions, with a gradient of modes of realization in between. First, the actor works on their psycho-physical presence to secure a deflection of reference from the peri-theatrical connotations of the self, towards the character as an inhabitant of an imagined small world. Or, second, the grounding of the imagined small world is inflected towards the actor as a psycho-physical presence (Rozik, 2002). In reality, the imagined world does not exist outside of its embodiment in the actor (or an actor-like agency such as a puppet). So, there is a more fundamental question than the usual one of asking whether a character is created from the inside out (Method acting) or from the outside in (Repertory acting). Does a specific performance refer to the fictional (or quasi-fictional) world, or to the physical presence of the actor? This process will be explored further in what follows. For now, a general point is worth highlighting. The actor’s ability to exercise an autonomous choice in the nature of their engagement with a narrative and a specific character will depend on the level of skill they have attained. In other words, the very option of employing an inflective or deflective performance strategy depends on the actor’s capacity to perform at different skill levels. Extending Rozik’s observation about deflective or inflective approaches to performance, the impact of a character portrayal depends on the balance struck between playing in character and playing through the actor’s professionally established persona. The sharpest example is given by stars. But even ordinary actors must strike a balance between a part and what the part as realized brings to them. The fundamental condition of acting signs is that they are ostensive (Eco, 1979). Some point to the fictional setting, and some to the performer’s body. There are degrees of deflection or inflection, depending on the extent to which an actor goes—or is permitted to go, depending on skill level and the direction received—in suppressing or expressing his professional proxy identity (persona) through character.8 Moreover, the distinction between inflective and deflective acting is about the direction of reference, and is relative rather than categorical. The effects of deflection or inflection will also depend on the manner in which spectators read a performance: as making a personal appearance, or an appearance in character. Additionally, the way a performance is read by audiences can reflect how it is framed in publicity and advertising as tutelage in how performances should be appreciated. Nor is the performer prevented from choosing (or

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

117

being forced to choose, as a matter of employment) to adopt a style of performance or emphasizing in paratextual commentary that impersonation or personation is the “real” basis of their performance. The view that stars and celebrities play ‘themselves’ (actually their persona) can be defended as an aesthetic effect that enriches appreciation of performance as a totality and ratifies inflection as the mark of stardom (Yacowar, 1979). By contrast, the actor may engage in an intensive effort to minimize the role of persona by efforts to alter patterns of speech, accent, posture and so on. The extent of deflection or inflection in the creation of character depends on the theatrical or cinematic resources available, how they are utilized and the degree to which and skill with which the actor engages with them. These processes will vary between live and recorded performances.9 The continuum between impersonation and personation, with ambiguous moments in between, encourages commentators and spectators to engage in games of attribution. One further issue that needs to be addressed concerns the claim that the images of an actor become more intensively indexical with the advent of photography and cinema. But the claim of increased indexicality tends to confuse the means of capture with its semiotic status. Whether in live theatre or in cinema, the figure of the actor is an icon in the semiotic sense of the term. Which is to say that they are an indexical source, an embodied material, that is captured according to some scheme of resemblance. Nor do digital media eliminate indexical linkages, but mediate them in a new format (Gunning, 2007). One reason for arguing against indexicality rests on the fact that signs designated as ‘iconic’ are constructed by a selection of the indexical features of the object they stand for. The resemblance that eventuates, if thought to be formed by the object’s physical features, is always a selection of pertinent features based on a set of conventions (Eco, 1979). Such conventions may rest on strongly or weakly developed mimetic processes of sampling and coding, and on a more or less direct or abstract resemblance to its referent object—a mere two lines can represent a cross, as can a threedimensional body with arms outspread. Moreover, what applies to the individual actor—or troupe of actors—can also apply to things in cinematographic or scenographic space. Thanks to the process of hyper-­ semiotization, objects on stage or screen, including actors, are not selfsufficient particulars but signs of a category. Everything on stage and screen is a sign of a sign (Bogatyrev, 1976).

118 

B. KING

If indexical images are always and already given through a process of iconic capture, it is important to distinguish between distal and proximal technologies of capture. As Goffman has made a commonplace, we are all performers projecting a serviceable character in the moral and socially valued sense of the term—as respectable bourgeois professional or—as in the case of that exemplary chameleon, David Garrick—as a nouveau-riche person of culture with aristocratic pretensions. In this sense, any actor presents a professional persona in a peri-theatrical space as a container and bearer of indexical qualities, organized according to some culturally given and valued scheme of resemblance. In the practice of casting, this iconic coding—the actor’s look as a profilmic or pro-dramatic icon—is treated as the indexical properties of the actor as person. This person –in fact a persona, as a paratextual proxy identity—is the ostensible substance of a fictive character.10

An Art of Dys-Appearance In general terms, the practice of constructing iconic signs through the use of the actor’s body relates to the usages of impression management in everyday interaction (Goffman, 1978). The regulation of the body’s use in performance is homologous with the use of the body in everyday self-­ presentation. Considered in terms of the everyday subject’s behaviour, the physical body functions as a resource that supports the phenomenal body, or the body as experienced, by receding from the horizon of conscious awareness. (Merleau–Ponty (2013) a Obviously, certain fundamental physiological processes ongoing within inner organs remain permanently outside of awareness—unless tracked or imaged by medical or digital devices—as preconditions for living. But even observable physical processes, such as the movement of the hands in playing a musical instrument, must pass below the threshold of awareness if they are to serve the purpose of conscious expression—hence the importance of practice. In everyday life, the physical body must operate as a controlled absence if the intentionally directed body is to realize its intentions and projects. Critical conditions such as illnesses, pain, disability and psychosomatic disorders cause the physical body to obtrude into consciousness as a barrier or obstacle to maintaining a focus on ongoing relationships and projects. When this obtrusion occurs, the body dys-appears—which is to say, it ceases to operate in a condition of supportive invisibility to become ‘an obstinate force interfering with our projects’ (Leder, 1990, p.  84).

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

119

Dys-­appearance, depending on its severity, can threaten our engagement with social life and whatever projects we are pursuing, confining us to mere physical existence as a body.11 The actor by profession is a practitioner of control over bodily dys-­ appearance, seeking to minimize its impact on the process of impression management. Of course, the actor as a private person, as anyone else, is subject to the need to maintain the physical body in a condition of supportive absence. They are likely to engage in various therapies, regimes of exercise, dietary control and personal grooming, in order to ensure the maintenance of an appropriate self-image and general well-being. The difference is that these activities are occupationally relevant to actors to a greater degree than they are to private individuals, including those in occupations that require self-fashioning or impression management as a condition of employment, or anyone seeking romantic relationships or social prestige through the social media (Marwick, 2015). The core difference is that the actor treats the body as an instrument in service of drama. They are required to make the body dys-appear in order to comport it for conscious manipulation. It is not difficult to appreciate that failing to make aspects of the body dys-appear can undercut the actor’s ability to create a character. Parts of the actor’s body not consciously controlled—say, awkward hand movements on stage or in long shot—may communicate contradictory messages about a character’s function in a scene. An otherwise inconsequential tic may undermine the actions of other actors on stage as well as the contribution of other functionaries such as the director, producer, the lighting director, make-up artist, costumier and so on. Even in cinema or television, where mistakes can be corrected before a performance is shown, tics or clumsy movements and gestures may require the cutting of scenes that affect quality of the narrative, or require costly retakes that stretch the budget. To risk a generalization about a host of contingencies, it is necessary when examining acting as a labour process under capitalist relationships of production to consider the various categories of beings that are activated in a performance and, if non-human actors are involved, what kinds of existential relationship they have with actors as their human counterparts. For purposes of simplification, I will consider endogenic performance settings—largely, though not exclusively, associated with “live” performance—as a baseline for considering the exogenic shift associated with

120 

B. KING

cinema and digital media, and its impact on the actor’s place in performance.

Live Performance Scenographic practices seek to make meaningful what the actor does and to this extent, use the actor or performer as the material of realization. Correspondingly, the actor or performer functions as a guarantor of such practices. Although the treatment of the actor as an object is associated with cinema, even in live performance the actor is required, to a greater or lesser degree, to treat the self as an object to be manipulated.12 To take the example of make-up and prosthetic applications as an important technology of deflection, there is a variation between extreme and minimalist degrees of deflection which depends on the genre—more likely in horror than romantic comedy. To give one theatrical example out of many, here is a description of the make-up of Ernst Deutsch as Everyman: Deutsch’s head is completely hidden by a mask that was actually molded from his own features and then painted to show hollow eyes and cheeks and a skull as bald as bone. The actor’s body is covered by a tight-fitting black cotton tricol leotard on which is painted the white bones of a skeleton. (Goodman, 1961, p. 85)

It can be argued that in connecting to the skin of the performer, costumery has life breathed into it, conjuring up the legend of the Golem. The relationship of costume to the actor’s performance of character can be seen as homologous to the relationship of the actor to his or her body, not as shell, but as the ground of being. Costume … is viewed as a crucial aspect of the preparation, presentation and reception of live performance, revealing the relationship between dress, body and human existence in a way that causes us to question the extent it coauthors the performance with the performer. (Barbieri, 2017, p. xxii)

Shifting the focus from craft materials applied to the actor’s body to the creation of objects and non-human interactants, these fall under three broad categories—props, puppets and cyborgs. Addressing props first, there are two kinds: everyday objects that appear on stage or screen, and

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

121

specially designed objects that resemble ordinary objects, made to facilitate the projection of a fictive world. An object on stage or screen, such as clothing, is semantically richer—though likely less robust—than its everyday counterpart. When used alongside ordinary objects, props bestow an aura of theatricality on the latter. In this case, the function of props is to make the material things used in production exude vibrant energy.13 The actor’s body is an intentional object, comported in order to emphasize (or de-emphasize) through prosthetic and other techniques its inherent and cultivated individual properties when embodying a fictive character. In either case, despite differences in the vector of reference, the actor is expected to contribute through an embodied performance to the overall production of meaning. This process of realization entails interaction with objects as objects and with objects as non-human characters. According to the circumstances of making, the actor can function on stage or screen as an unintentional object: for example, acting as a corpse whose inert presence underscores the “liveliness” of the on-going action. Extras and walk-ons typify this objective status. More frequently, the actor functions as a bearer or user of props—costumes, make-up, objects. Edward Gordon Craig’s image of the actor as an uber-marionette provides an obvious example. In its most literal realization, the uber-marionette is a puppet or semi-automaton that is manipulated from within by the actor in a full body mask (Le Boeuf, 2010). In this case, the actor literally conceals his or her presence inside a puppet or behind a prosthesis in order to serve as its animating source of behaviour.14 Another function of the actor in relation to objects and props is existential confirmation. In order to function as signifiers on stage or screen, material things rely on the reaction of human actors to their presence: either negatively by ignoring their status as fakes, or positively by reacting to their presence as if they are non-human characters. Thus, actors behave towards things as though they were characters or objects that are active within a specific world. And reflexively, things are manipulated in order to ground the reality of the character, and can in some cases fail to provide and materially resist the function as an illusionistic support (Nahm, 2014). Depending on the medium and the technology, the support provided by the actor can entail responses in speech, gestures, movements and facial expressions. By contrast, in cinema, the actor’s face, accentuated by makeup, lighting and close framing, is the central iconic format for conveying

122 

B. KING

the “inner truth” of a fictive character (Balaz, 1988). There are parallel examples of hiding the face and body through make-up and prostheses— Lon Chaney, Paul Muni, Charles Laughton and in more recent times, Laurence Olivier, John Hurt and Mel Gibson come to mind.15 But despite the ingenuity of the craft of creating prostheses, there is a long tradition of arguing that in cinema, the close-up mercilessly exposes such efforts as fakery (Bode, 2017, p. 52ff). In contrast to objects is the category of automata or animated things. When a thing is animated, it engages in expressive actions that mimic human behaviour or, at least, an anthropomorphic construal of non-­human behaviour—by animals, supernatural beings and technological doubles. The behaviour of automata—using the term broadly to encompass machines with a human appearance and demeanour, such as puppets, androids or cyborgs—mimics the movements, body language and voicings of human beings as coded as common within the relevant historical and social setting. The actor, as a subject and an object, can use his or her body instrumentally as a quasi-automaton, or the self as a kind of puppet (Staiano-­Ross, 2005). Certain performance traditions strongly emphasize the use of the body as a gestural instrument requiring training. In the Western theatre, the tradition of Mime rests on the postulate that physical actions can effectively communicate the inner emotional state of a character.16 Cyborgs are robots designed to appear and behave as human or superhuman beings. As such, they present an implicit ontological challenge to the actor in performance, not to mention the potential threat to actor employment. As far as actual practice goes, it is often the case that live actors perform as pseudo-cyborgs by means of prosthetic implants or extensions and masks.17 There are many examples of pseudo-cyborgs—the most obvious being the “replicants” that populate the film Blade Runner (1982). But there are more recent examples where actors play robots, such as S1m0ne (2002), Ex-Machina (2014) and Morgan (2016). Cyborgs in cinema are effectively blends of actors and digital graphics that resemble semi-­ automata or puppets. Such examples of artificial personhood can be seen as part of a universal category of meta-psychological phenomena from which they draw their metaphorical power as characters. Thus, from a Lacanian perspective:

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

123

Within the Imaginary, functioning as it does through the Symbolic to translate the Real, artificial personhood not only manifests itself through dolls, puppets, marionettes, and robots, but also in sycophants, compliant workers, films and fictions, avatars, dreams, those afflicted by somnambulism or under hypnosis, actors, commodities, corporations, and even the state itself. (Bruner, 2019, p. 98)

Screen Performance On stage, actors mobilize the resources immediately surrounding them in order to perform as characters. The resources that aid them may be exogenic in origin, but they depend on the endogenic resources of the actor operating in real time to create an immediate effect. On film, the actual performance as given is not necessarily the performance seen on screen. The director, in consultation with the editor and other above-the-line staff, sometimes including the star, decides on a final cut—with the sequence of events rearranged and some sequences dropped. But even before this final assembly occurs, the capture of performance is a discontinuous process, with separate scenes taken in different times and locations rearranged in narrative order. One conclusion is that the actor’s contribution to the formation of narrative is significantly greater on stage than on screen. This raises the question of the causal plexus, the intersection of intentions behind what the audience sees; a question which, if not absent from stage performance, is measurably more complicated in the case of screen performance. One way of expressing the difference is to make a distinction between conception and execution, common to all forms of work. On stage, the conception embedded in the play text is directly dependent on the live execution, in which acting plays a focal part. On film, the process of conception—if beginning in the writer’s room—extends to the performance as executed, which is not the performance as finalized and seen. Because of this circumstance and the imposition of technology as a sampling process, it can be argued that the actor’s contribution can approach a zero degree, in which what is seen of the performance is predominantly drawn on the exogenic capacities or affordances of the cinematic apparatus.18 In Reframing Screen Performance, Baron and Carnicke (2010) seek to correct the perception of actors as a passive resource used in film-­making.19 Their target is the myth of received acting, which they define as:

124 

B. KING

Performance in which the representation of characters does not arise from the agency, talent, or the labor of actors, but instead through costuming, make-up, lighting, framing, editing and sound design choices made by other members of the production team. (p. 12)

Their overarching argument is that there is an autonomous (or, more modestly, semi-autonomous) contribution of acting to screen performance that is largely unrecognized or mis-recognized. Before engaging briefly with their analysis, I should point out that if they are correct, then the distinction between theatre (primarily dependent on endogenic acting skills) and cinema (as dependent on exogenic resources of technology) loses its force or is simply wrong. I will argue that the distinction remains valid even though the question of contribution of technology to performance remains unresolved (Prince, 2011, p. 101). Focusing on the arguments in Reframing Screen Performance, the authors argue that the myth of received acting stigmatizes screen acting as inferior acting or even as mere behaving, not acting at all.20 They claim that this myth has consolidated into an “intransigent” opinion (Baron and Carnicke, op.cit. p. 232). The first root of the “myth” relates to the fact that the development of film-making in Hollywood has largely followed the theatrical tradition of naturalism, with its drive to maintain a mimetic continuity with everyday behaviour.21 In particular, during the later phase of the Studio system, Stanislavski’s naturalistic approach is adapted piecemeal in Method Acting, which in popular commentary is regarded as the epitome of “received” acting.22 Hollywood screen performances tend to simulate everyday behaviour and comportment on screen. In the earliest development of the American cinema, individuals appearing in short silent films were not regarded as acting so much as posing, a function approximated to supernumeraries or extras on stage. The dramatic value attached to such individuals derived from the fact they were emblems of persons whose status and representational power were defined by their occupation and external comportment (appearance and demeanour), rather than by their individuated personality. The attainment of a greater expressive latitude of bodily and facial expression awaited developments in cinematography such as medium shots and close-ups. When these innovations became part of common film-­ making practice, the locus of the screen actor’s identity shifted from being

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

125

an intra-filmic living prop to being a trans-filmic picture personality, whose appearance and physical comportment were registered through typeappropriate nicknames such as “Little Mary” or the “Little Fellow” for Charlie Chaplin. The popular press and the trade magazines, such as Photoplay, increasingly fabricated—through images and print—a private life of the actor. In this development the picture personality evolved into the star, as an off-screen extra-diegetic personality that was educed rather than constructed by the action of cinema (deCordova, 2001). The subsequent development of sound intensified the process whereby the screen persona of Picture Personalities became the keystone of the star system. With these developments, the Studio system made the stars the lynch-­ pin of marketing and publicity. Stars, whatever their actual accomplishments as actors, were presented as “naturally” attractive individuals with minimal acting skills.23 The professional “insider” view of screen performance as a craft practice became consigned to trade periodicals. For the general public, the perception of screen actors was shaped by a paratextual circulation of images and fan publications representing stars as a discovered “natural” resource that readers might emulate or aspire to become. So, where the myth of received acting receives its fullest realization was and is in marketing. In this case, the myth of received acting is as an ideology fully realized in the studio era to justify the view that stars (in contemporary times, celebrities and reality television contestants) were non-fungible competitive assets that certain individuals naturally owned, and that anyone with good looks and physical grace might become stars. Such a lay perception was further enhanced and intensified by the publicity surrounding Strasberg’s Method, which only served to deepen the claim of an existential connection between powerful screen performances and the star performer. An important consequence of the Star system was the creation of a hierarchy of narrative engagement, with stars at its peak and extras, walk-­ons and members of the general public caught onscreen behaving as “walking scenery” in support of the star’s performance (Naremore, p.  285). Redoubling this visual support, the star with limited acting skills could rely on the processes of editing, framing and montage to protect their established—or emergent—persona. As leading players or stars, highly skilled actors exercised their talents invisibly in order to conform to the ideology of stardom as natural expressiveness (Baron and Carnicke, op. cit. p. 31).24 At the same time, Hollywood’s adoption of naturalism was hyper-real because its fulcrum, the star system, is represented for marketing purposes as composed of individuals whose appearance and comportment make

126 

B. KING

them off-screen objects of desire and attention. Hollywood’s global influence takes this illusion of mimetic continuity to a new level of glamourized exemplification. Baron and Carnicke rightly identify the implicit support for the myth of received acting found in structuralist and psychoanalytic film theories which emphasize the power of the cinematic apparatus to position the actor, and by extension the spectator, as the patient of the cinematic apparatus. The operation of this meta-psychological discourse was implicitly, if ironically, re-enforced by Hollywood’s propagation of a folk psychology reading of stardom (Plantinga, 2011). Both accounts work to ensure that the acquired skill content of screen performances was overlooked, interpreted as “natural” behaviour (op. cit., p. 234 and Naremore, op. cit., p. 34). By contrast in approaching the influence of cinema technology on the actor’s performance, Baron and Carnicke make the case for the formative power of the actor’s specific contribution: Thus, we lay a foundation for repositioning actors’ work as part of the complex interactions between performance and non-performance cinematic elements which emphases that acting plays a collaborative role in production. (op. cit. 11)

The task the authors set themselves is to “de-familiarize” the perception of received acting by presenting an appreciation of the skills exercised in simulating everyday behaviour on screen.25 Such simulations have the effect of rendering the skill content of performances unobtrusive and opaque, facilitating the perception of stars as real rather than virtual people (Newman, 2009).26 In making their case, the authors advance a strong methodological claim: Ultimately, the status of performance elements is best clarified by the analysis of the aesthetic choices actually seen on screen. From the standpoint of reception, what the actor does within the frame with body and voice, rhythm and movement, matters more than the presumed creative process. (ibid., p. 46)

This claim is evidently formalist, because it proposes to separate the analysis of screen performances from the immediate context of production and more generally, from the impact of Hollywood as an institution. Through a series of case studies, the balance struck between cinematic

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

127

techniques—framing, editing, sound and other production specialisms— and the performance choices made by actors is subjected to critical scrutiny. By examining the shifting dynamics of screen performances in different cinematic realizations of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet, the point is made that how actors move, speak and comport themselves on screen is a major determinant of the richness of what is seen. Close readings are provided of selected scenes from Smoke, Training Day and The Grifters by the use respectively, of the Delsarte system of gestures, Laban Movement Analysis and Stanislavsky’s Active Analysis. In applying these approaches to performance and training, the authors state they are not claiming that the particular techniques were consciously exercised by the actors in the scenes they analyse.27 But obviously, evidence of the conscious use of such techniques would strengthen the claim that an actor makes a discrete and active contribution to what is seen. Less this kind of evidence, their analysis functions as an heuristic for reading screen performances that actors can use to improve their own performance and, correspondingly, audiences can use to develop a more sophisticated appreciation of screen performance. As a demonstration of how to intelligently read screen performances, the authors make a valuable contribution, not merely to moviegoers but to aspiring actors. This acknowledged, it remains difficult to sustain a strong claim that the actor is making a discrete contribution distinct from the overall impact of the co-creative context of film-making. To take the example of the opening scene of Training Day, shot in the Quality Café in downtown Los Angeles, it seems plausible that the spatial dynamics of the actors’ performances were structured because their interaction is in the confined space of a booth—a location that situationally leads to a gestural competition for space. The antagonistic character dynamic is also reenforced by dialogue and the use of props: Washington as Alonzo Harris reads the paper, which indicates that Hawke, as the rookie Jake Hoyt, is not worthy of undivided attention. The subordinate position of Hawke is reinforced by his deferential manner and his indecisiveness, first refusing coffee and then ineffectively attempting to get one brought. These bits of business communicate Jake’s relative powerlessness and indecisiveness compared to Alonzo. To account for the physical behaviour that makes up the scene, the impact of cinematography and editing need to be factored in. This four-­ minute scene comprises about forty shots, varying from an extreme long shot of the Los Angeles skyline down to medium and extreme close-ups and low camera angles, focused especially on Washington, that emphasize

128 

B. KING

his character’s dominance. The attempt to demonstrate acting as a skilled craft activity through the analysis of scenes is inevitably provisional without more information about how many takes occurred, how the scenes were edited, and what scenes were excised from the final cut. Again, treating the scene as a finished product—without detailing the circumstances of its preproduction and production context—might be defensible in the case of individually produced artworks, but is problematic in collaborative projects such as cinema (Stecker, 2010, Chapter 6). The authors are not unaware of the various craft specialisms that go into a screen performance—cinema, they note, is a composite art form (p. 5). But they tend to view by default these collaborative inputs as invisible servants to the actors’ performance—especially true in the case of a hyphenate star of the magnitude as Washington. Yet one could plausibly argue the reverse: that the actor’s performance is structured to serve technological set-ups, for example in the recording of dialogue (Coleclough, 2014).28 The authors identify the most important collaboration as between the star and the director: When film performances are seen as traces of acting-directing choices that are informed by aesthetic traditions, it is possible to see that they are comparable to a film’s editing design, framing patterns, lighting design or musical score, namely, the result of ideologically informed but conscious decisions made by individuals. (op. cit., p. 31)29

Yet the importance of this relationship further qualifies the notion of an autonomous actor contribution. Although the relationship is direct and personal, it is actually transpersonal because the director is the focal point of the socio-technical system of film-making, mediating between the actors and other above-the-line personnel: the director of photography, set designer, customer designer, sound designer and so on. Certainly, what the audience sees is actors behaving and emoting. But these are not self-­ sufficient, empirical events; they are collaborative actions.30 Although the authors choose not to discuss the concept of intentionality, it is difficult to see how any account of acting can avoid it (p. 254). Does the actor’s intentional use of a specific acting technique or interpretation matter more to the final outcome than the intentionality embedded in the technique or the technology? However this is adjudicated, one thing is clear: audiences look for and value intentionality, often in terms that conflate the character and the actor, and the concept of intention figures

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

129

strongly in journalistic writing about cinema and in interviews with actors (Drake, 2006, p. 85). Acting is an intentional process, even parts that have a supporting rather than a formative role in film-making. The intentions of extras or walkons—if invisible—are significant, because they permit others to perform in roles that are crucial to driving the plot and narrative (Veltrusky 1964). Recalling Stanislavski’s dictum that there no small parts because each part is important to the formation of the total performance, these unmarked intentions must be considered, if only to be discounted, in any account of the contribution of actors—they also serve who merely stand and pose, or offer one line. At base, the study of acting—and performance in general—is a study of the causal role of intentional action. This is because performance is a teleological process, driven—however intuitively or precisely—by aesthetic goals and objectives. Obviously, the intentions of all the participants cannot be included in a theory of the cause or causes of what is finally seen. But the star system does just this, anchoring the attribution of causal power to above-the-line actors, as an institutionally privileged sample of the contributors to what appears on screen.31 The consideration of actor-centred and cinematographic effects cannot finally avoid questions about the actual site of intentionality and whose intentionality counts. If this is conceived as resting in stars, then the impact of an individual’s position in the organizational hierarchy needs to be considered and not set aside. Photographic collections such as They Had Faces Then can only work as a fan celebration if the impact of the socio-technical system of production is unmarked (Cooke, 2009; Springer, 1974). The placement of a particular craft specialization in a particular cluster—dramatic, visual, technical and musical cluster—bears on the formative power of intentional actions. So, for example, sound or lighting set-ups are intentional, but they follow the creative intentions of the director, the director of photography and other craft specialists. Acting as an intentional process is equally subject to chance qualitative variations. But compared to the contribution of below-the-line, rank-and-file actors or craftworkers, only the star or leading player has the chance of becoming part of the finalized performance as an individual contributor to the overall conception of the project. The supporting labour tends to remain anonymous, as a means of realizing and executing the set creative objectives.32 If one takes the view that cinema, like other performance arts, is co-­ creative, then the sharp contrast between an individual contribution, which

130 

B. KING

equates intentionality with above-the-line personnel, and collaboration is not justified.33 Underlying this kind of discussion is the assignment of causal efficacy. In this process it is useful to consider Aristotle’s causal model.34 Applying his schema of the four kinds of causes to the case of screen production usefully isolates the dynamic interaction between kinds of causal formative power: a. The material cause: the actor’s body as a genetic substance purposively modified by training and skill acquisition. b. The formal cause: the application of the craft of acting in the given circumstances of the production of a fictional or documentary world. In producing or embodying the material and formal cause, actors manifest their specific knowledge and craft skills. But it is important to note, following Latour, that the impact of the craft of acting depends on the affordances provided by the current state of technical know-­how and technology. c. The efficient cause: the process of managing and coordinating the manifold inputs of expertise and skills necessary to bring the artwork into being. d. The final cause: the overarching purpose, which can be a mix of conflicting objectives—one of which, typically in a market-oriented theatre or cinema, is to achieve, at best, an artistic and commercial success. Considered as a process of causal attribution, the perception of received acting is a symptom of the star system’s tendency to restrict the role of the actor to performing as a material cause with a limited or even passive role, rather than as a formal or efficient cause of what is seen. According to the received view, the actor’s engagement with the process of final causality rarely gets beyond providing material for attractive images on-screen and in promotion and publicity.35 This much acknowledged, in the post-studio environment, there are some stars who operate beyond the constraints of material passivity, levering autonomous influence over all levels of the four causes. But the extent to which this occurs, or is feasible, depends on the actor’s position in the institutional hierarchy, and not as a linear expression of their talent and creativity. Stars with proven box-office clout can have a substantial impact on the degree to which other causal factors enable the control they have over their own performance.36 Given the focus on refuting the concept of received acting, the authors are led away from applying to acting a view of

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

131

creativity that recognizes that causal agency remains a possibility, even where the process of creation is reliant on technological affordances (Anscomb, 2021).37 In the post-studio environment, certain stars functioning as hyphenates have a causative impact at all levels of the causal matrix as director, producer and guarantor of investment. It would be useful to consider case studies of the performances of hyphenates such as Mel Gibson or Clint Eastwood, as well as recognizing that star status, as in the case of Denzel Washington, has a formative power beyond what is available to leading players.38 One of the key planks of Baron and Carnicke’s argument is the concept of the ostensive sign. The authors claim that ostensive signs are a category of signs distinct from iconic, indexical and symbolic sign forms (pp. 93–97). As generally understood, ostension is a foundational semiotic process in drama that refers to the action of pointing or selecting aspects of a scene to communicate meaning (Eco, 1979; Schmid, 2008). Actors are intentional objects, and in a combination that depends on the dramatic context, point towards their own body, the bodies of other actors and to objects in order to create a dramatic figure (Quinn, 1987). The basis for the claim that an ostensive sign is distinct derives from Mukarovsky’s analysis of Charlie Chaplin’s last silent film, City Lights: Chaplin’s gestures are not subordinated to any other components. In this way Chaplin’s acting distinctly differs from the usual cases. Even if an actor differentiates and emphasizes gestures, they usually serve a word, a movement, or the plot. (Mukarovsky, 173)

In a review of City Lights, Mukarovsky focuses on the hierarchy of characters in a dramatic work, methodologically excluding consideration of the character in relation to scenic space, to other actors and to the dramatic text (p. 172). This focus is justified by three conditions. First, that Chaplin’s performance is primarily gestural. Second, that his gesturing is not in service of dialogue. Third, that he is the star and the producer-­director, who has exceptional formative power over the creation of a dramatic figure—a process which the authors term performance montage, in order to emphasize its discrete nature (Baron and Carnicke, pp. 93–97). Given these factors, Chaplin provides a special case in which other characters and the entire mise-en-scène are subordinated to the projection of his persona.

132 

B. KING

This bears on the author’s claim that ostensive signs are a distinct category of sign. On one account, ostension is not about signification but the showing of objects, including both things and people. Accordingly, ostension is a non-signifying process (Osolsobĕ, 1979). There is no general agreement with Osolsobe’s view (Gramigna, 2016). Instead, it can be argued that ostensive signs not a category of sign distinct from icons, indices and symbols but a specific articulation of these sign forms. Following Eco, ostensive signs are a specific mode of sign production which draws on a sampling of the actual (iconic) qualities of the object according to some set of symbolic conventions. In other words, the process of ostension, of pointing to or showing a person or an object, creates an indexical connection. The selected conventions may rest on a strongly or weakly developed mimetic process of coding and on a more or less direct, more or less abstract resemblance to its referent. Further, ostensive signs can be homo-material or hetero-material or, more exactly, are composed of degrees of homo- or hetero-materiality (Eco, 1979). The actor on stage appears homo-material with the character; the actor on screen is necessarily a hetero-material sign. What is distinctive about signs appearing on stage or screen is that they undergo a process of hyper-semiotization, functioning not as self-­sufficient particulars but as signs standing for a particular category. Everything on stage and, by implication on screen, is a sign of a sign (Bogatyrev, 1976). Through the process of screen capture, the actor shifts from being a three-­ dimensional material body to modelling a two-dimensional immaterial character, which in turn models an absent immaterial world created through the performance. In the case of stage acting, the actor’s performance is perceived directly by the audience as a figure; in the case of cinema, what the audience sees is a model of a model. This is because a screen performance is an ex post facto product of an intricate collaborative process of capture, which forms a screen figure as virtual substitute for the real-­time performance. The actor, in short, is a model of a category. Shifting attention from what appears on stage or screen, there is a more fundamental pre-performance process that limits what an actor can mean. Actors already pre-signify a type of person, albeit honed and sharpened by the application of presentational techniques. The authors tend to assume that the impression of a character received by the audience is formed on screen. But this underestimates the actor’s acquisition, through practice and training, of automatized forms of comportment and behaviour that

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

133

project a persona that the on-screen performance aims to reproduce, which even casting against type affirms by exception (Spatz, 2015, pp. 52–53). Insofar as Reframing Screen Performance tends to focus on what is on screen, there is the risk of the fallacy of misplaced concreteness. With exceptions, the myth of received acting is not propagated in academic commentary, but through the paratextual practices of persona and image management. The authors have rightly identified the importance of a close analysis of acting as an element in the exercise of creativity. But their argument threatens to undercut the collaborative nature of screen performance, in which acting and technology cannot be meaningfully separated.39 This is because they do not emphasize sufficiently that the reading of characters through stars is a strategy strongly endorsed by promotion and publicity, which provides a script of intentionality used by audiences in recognizing and interpreting. In these circumstances—which, paradoxically, is recognized by the authors in their chapter on Robert Altman’s The Player—the institutional discourse of stardom provides a more compelling source for the myth of “received acting”, which arises less from theatrical prejudice than from the marketing agendas of the stardom and celebrity. Such practices, intensified by the social media, seek to persuade the spectator that the actor’s image on screen is an extension of their off-screen presence.40

Digital Performance Contemporary popular cinema, whilst still claiming photographic realism, increasingly reduces the need to rely on profilmic locations and events to construct a story world.41 Virtual camerawork, digital compositing and sampling sharply extend the capacity—already present in analogue cinema—to seamlessly combine strips of action captured at different times and in different spaces into apparently continuous and extended sequences in analogue and digital formats (Rehak, 2018, Chapter Three). Especially prominent in action movies, but found in many productions—are “Oners”—spectacular sequences and tours de force rendered in post-­ production from green-screen work and performance capture (Livingstone, 2020). The widespread adoption of “Oners” signals a deepening of the distinction between performance as given and performance as seen; a distinction based on visual events and temporal rhythms that are not possible in real time. What emerges is an even more abstract rendition of what occurred in actual (i.e. profilmic) space and time—to the point where there need not have been an original live performance anyway. The development

134 

B. KING

of post-continuity narrative forms that simulate interactive games produces a new affective regime—apparent not only in blockbuster productions but in straight-to-video low-budget productions such as The Crank series (Daly, 2010; Shaviro, 2010, p. 123ff). In the creation of such sequences, the isolation of the actor’s specific contribution becomes uncertain, as their performance is subject to increasing fragmentation and dislocation from what he or she did, in real time before the camera or in a motion capture set-up (Kennedy, 2021). This severance of the ‘indexical’ connection between what was done and what appears in the final cut rests on the greater directorial control provided by digital cameras, which for over a decade have lowered the cost constraints of multiple takes, allowing the director to step into filmic space to coach the actors in real time (Cohen, 2007). But the benefit for actors of live coaching before the camera is accompanied by the increase in their control over how they appear on screen.42 If in analogue cinema much of the action on screen is generated from the internal resources of the apparatus, digital compositing and performance capture create an even more abstract record of what occurred in ‘real’ (i.e. profilmic) space and time (Sperb, 2012). This process of digital furnishing can extend to the point where there need not have been an original live performance. In sum, the technical affordances provided by digital cinema pose questions about the ontological and epistemological features of cinema as a form of perception (Casetti, 2008; Cubitt, 2017). The advent of digital cinema makes use of the actor’s body optional. The actor’s actual body can be replaced with a simulated body created by the combination of separate images. The general term for this combination is “compositing”. There is a distinction to be made: between composite images, which treat the actor’s body as a self-contained image that interacts with other images—for example, green-screen filming—and digital processes, which render the actor’s body as a mixable ingredient of a composite digital actor. In analogue film, the actor provides a living presence that interfaces with images produced by the social-technical systems of performance. Such interfaces subtend an expressive infra-space circumscribed by the boundary of the actor’s body (Muñoz, 2013, p.  15). In digital film performances, the actor’s infra-spatial zone of autonomous action is increasingly populated by digital interfaces—for example, blue and green screens—that allow greater freedom of expression in the moment of performance, at the cost of narrowing the actor’s control over the final configuration of his or her image on screen. Although some stars welcome the

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

135

replacement of their on-screen image with a younger or more powerful avatar, the rise of the digital actor or synthespian marks the passage to a more intensive exogenic system of performance.43 In this process, things with the status of mere objects are digitally manipulated, more or less successfully, to act as intentional performance objects. For employers, this development promises to replace expensive and perhaps temperamental actors with docile synthespians, thereby cutting the costs of production and eliminating costly performance mistakes. Certainly, as regards acting, it is not difficult to cite claims in the trade press that digital actors (software) will replace real actors (wetware) with profound consequences for an already-threatened livelihood.44 But it is far from certain that these outcomes will ever be fully realized. For if technically possible—itself a matter of dispute—they conflict with marketing imperatives, which continue to use the branding power of stars to drive the market. A more measured conclusion at this time is that the actor’s performance is more intensely attenuated rather than replaced. But it is the manner of this attenuation that needs to be considered. To appreciate this, we first need to get a fix on the fuzzy assemblage of beings which, when represented in cinema, comprise the ontological variants covered by the category synthespian. Currently, Artificial Intelligence Research envisages four such cybernetic beings: 1. Robots, as material doubles that have human bodies and faces responding to real-time commands from a human “puppeteer”. Robots in this mode are termed androids. The Geminoid series developed by Hiroshi Ishiguro is a cutting-edge example. But such doubles, with varying degrees of realism, are part of an extended history, encompassing semi-­ automata used in medieval plays and churches, the nineteenth-century fascination with automata, down to the animatronic figures developed in Disney World (Butterworth & Normington, 2017; Reilly, 2011; Parker-Starbuck, 2013). 2. Avatars, as “interactive social representations of a user” (Meadows, 2007, p. 13). In contrast to digital puppets, Avatars stand for and respond to data inputs from a user without mirroring the user’s own behaviour or appearance. In instructing the ‘actor’, the user selects from a pre-set menu of actions, gestures and facial expressions collected from real-time, rotoscoped examples stored in a database. Conventional point-and-shoot video games such as Grand Theft Auto, as well as on-line virtual worlds such World of Warcraft, Final

136 

B. KING

Fantasy and Second Life are peopled with avatars. Increasingly, avatars are constructed as look-alikes of stars and celebrities, with or without the stars themselves being directly involved. 3. Virtual actors (vactors), programmed to react to objects and other virtual entities within the diegetic world without a direct user input. In motion pictures, the self-activating background character software, Massive, has accomplished this, eliminating the need for large crowds of extras. But for the most part, these are cinematically faked automatons created by applying digital make-up effects to real performers, such as Tom Hanks in The Polar Express (Aldred, 2013). One of the more ambitious attempts using vactors is found in Hironobu Sakaguchi 2001 film  Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within) which featured photo-­realistic characters that are computer animations, rather than transcriptions or mash-ups from a pre-existing human performance. 4. Cyborgs, or interactive-perceptive robots capable of interacting with humans in real time. They range from those that model human appearance and behaviour, through to artificial beings that are totally different in appearance to humans; and lastly, hybrids blending human behaviour with animal characteristics or those of fantastical beings. Cyborgs are the fullest manifestation of autonomous intentional objects and constitute the most futuristic and radically “ontic” goal of robotics.45 Intelligent software agents (ISA), a derivative of artificial intelligence research applications, are being designed that transcend the capability of traditional applications that most individuals use. In particular, ISAs are autonomous, so they can complete tasks without direct intervention by the user. Additionally, they can adapt to changes in their environment and can communicate and work with other agents as well as users. (Stout, 2006, p. 5)

These advanced agents need not have a human appearance, and user acceptance of them as interactants is more likely if they do not. This is because of the “uncanny valley” phenomenon, whereby the more closely robots resemble humans, the more they are perceived by human observers as disturbing (Jochum, 2013).46 Synthetic actors or synthespians are characters that draw on these four categories, depending on the specifics of mise-en-scène and plot. As products of digital work, they have three ontological modes:

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

137

1. beings produced by the technological capture of “live” performance; for example, Benedict Cumberbatch as the dragon Smaug in The Hobbit. 2. digital clones that are constructed by manipulating and redeploying stored images of stars (dead or aged out of credible ownership of their personae) in commercials. Or, in order to complete a character performance when the actor has died during production—for example, Oliver Reed in Gladiator (2000). 3. composites who are actually “live” actors pretending, with the benefit of digital make-up, to be virtual humans or non-human beings. Credible composites are basically deep fakes. The television character Max Headroom, played by Matt Frewer, is an early television example.47 A more recent cinematic example is the model Rachael Roberts’s uncredited performance as S1m0ne in Andrew Niccol’s film of that title. Even more recent are the digital rejuvenations of Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Al Pacino in Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman (2019). The deployment of synthespians has parallels with typecasting, suggesting a continuity with established analogue practices—so it is common to refer to digital make-up.48 But this claimed continuity hides a more profound shift in the use of human actors. In the composite, the real actor becomes dependent on the character image, which supplies what he or she lacks in the particular dramatic context: No longer are actors simply driving the character. Through advanced 3D scanning and Full Performance Capture techniques the actor becomes the character. Actors are now being cast for appearance, facial expression, voice and movement, which increases the need for a wider pool of actors. (Boiselle, 2015)

The use of the verb “becomes” evokes the craft ideal of a psychologically rich and seamless playing of character. But this ideal is immediately qualified by the statement that its achievement depends on digital technology. The actor is not imagined as providing an exclusive bespoke service, but as part of the collective mass of acting labour; a mass that performance technology, with its capacity to augment the actor’s capacity to perform, has expanded. This is because the actor’s performance as visually rendered ceases to be tied to a specific body, but is derived from a multi-local

138 

B. KING

distributed body: “a body submitted to and constituted by an unavoidable and empowering technical deterritorialization—a body whose embodiment is realized, and can only be realised, in conjunction with technics” (Hansen, 2012, p. 20). The traditional norm of a character—that it arises from a more or less rounded and bounded individual performance—is challenged by the transition to digital cinema. The actor’s performance becomes a dividual, or a fractionalized package of bits of behaviour reassembled ex post facto by animators.49 When this occurs, any given performance can be even more intensely fragmented than is possible in analogue cinema. If the latter performances have a scene-based integrity subject to the length of take, editing and the final cut, digital performances are ab initio a composite of heterogeneous elements, cohering into a total image only in post-production.50 These developments confront the spectator with a number of identity processing options. Are specific characters identified with as surrogates, or as delegates? Does the spectator experience the action on screen by identifying with or through a given character? With synthespians, the primary route to identification is through viewing their responses to what is happening to them—a third-person process of emotional contagion51 (Coplan, 2004). When an actor produces a digital performance, his or her behaviour seems closer to a game-player directing an avatar to achieve an outcome. In motion capture set-ups, the performer becomes an external observer of his or her own performance through feedback loops.52 But even this affordance does not mean actor empowerment, because the power to shape performance rests ultimately in the hands of those controlling post-­ production. This fact is not always recognized, because publicity implies that the star is somehow uniquely and indexically present in a digital character.53 So it is argued that in performance capture, the actor’s “enlivening” contribution to a digital “double” is present in some personal detail.54 For instance, the claim that Andy Serkis’ eyes soulfully penetrate through the digital “make-up” used to create Caesar in Rise of The Planet of the Apes (2011) has been made in promotional and publicity materials and entertainment news features. Mini-documentaries about the process of performance capture on DVD/Blu-Ray editions further intensify an already pervasive interest in how digital performances are manipulated and achieved.55 The audience is primed by a “how it was done” backstory

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

139

promoting an operational aesthetic that has long been a feature of the culture of stardom (Mittel, 2015). But in performance capture, the appearance and behaviour of the actor is subject to a protracted finishing process that conforms to the specific features—eyes, hair, appearance, size and so on—of the avatar’s category of being. What was accomplished by the actor as a bearer of signs on stage or in cinema is now accomplished by the animator—in which case, the insistence that the soul of the star shines through the avatar signals an ironic affirmation of the myth of received acting. The actor emerges as the absolute provider of what is seen precisely because he or she is not seen. Moreover, in the interest of promoting stars, the animator’s role in creating a performance is not accorded due recognition (Mihailova, 2016, p. 43). If claims of the perduring presence of the star in performance capture do not rest on the facts of digital technology, this is because they cannot be separated from the legal and commercial constraints imposed by stardom as a marketing framework—constraints which stars (or would-be stars) have no rational economic interest in overturning. The star stands behind the synthespian, not as an indexically driven iconic presence but as a legally enforced name, an index guaranteeing his or her virtual presence; a presence that is less apparent on the screen than in the circulation of paratextual texts about production. Intermediate markers such as a voice or a graphic resemblance can evoke the star’s presence. But since these are digital prostheses which increasingly can be faked, the final guarantee of presence rests on the legal association of the name. In this circumstance, the actor no longer functions as an iconic presence so much as a conventional symbol of ownership (Gaines, 2000). For example, Ray Winstone did not have his likeness rendered in Beowulf. His voice was offered as a thin guarantee of corporeal presence which, absent legal control, could just as readily be provided by a vocal impersonator. In video games, avatars may resemble their performers, for example, Kevin Spacey in Call of Duty. But just as often their look is rendered generic, and there is no difficulty having them voiced by vocal impersonators (Litty, 2016). With the animators’ contribution elided, the terrain of presence in digital cinema can be imagined as an ontological contest between the human actor and the synthespian.56 Compared to human actors, synthespians can be celebrated as self-­ sufficient, post-human technological beings, standing for freedom from the brute obduracy of the body and the social-cultural constraints inscribed by patriarchy, racism and class. Although it is part of the ideology of stardom that successful stars and celebrities surpass such constraints, avatars

140 

B. KING

can be viewed as signifying a deeper transcendence shedding “all the ills that flesh is heir to”.57 But the separation of the on-screen body from the constraints of physical nature and the law of gravity actually subverts the vision of the radical decentring of identity proposed by the theory of the post-human cyborg: What kind of subject am I as I stand musing before this installation? I certainly am not the autonomous liberal self who located identity in consciousness and rooted it in my ability, first and foremost, to possess my own body. Rather, as I think about my connection to virtual creatures, I am tempted to fashion myself in their images, seeing myself as a distributed cognitive system comprised of multiple agents running the programs from which consciousness emerges, even though consciousness remains blissfully unaware of them. (Hayles, 1999, p. 26)

This formulation catches the freedom that performance artists encounter with mixed media; but when applied to performance capture in the cinema, the celebration of the supposed infinite plasticity of digital doubles is contained by the exclusive droit du seigneur accorded stars in the marriage of bytes and flesh.58 In relation to digital performance, the stars serve to humanize a practice that, in terms of its general impact, narrows actors’ employment opportunities and their scope for exercising creative control.59 For would-be stars and rank-and-file actors, gaining access to the means of cinematic or digital production becomes the absolute precondition for developing their careers. In such circumstances, what is determinant is not the performance given on screen but the audition. For the established star, the issue is to control how the screen presents them; for the majority of actors, the issue is to gain admittance to the realm of socio-technical image manipulation itself. In conclusion, a key feature of contemporary Hollywood mainstream cinema is that the actor—unless they have some contractual leverage—faces the immanent possibility of a loss of direct control over the time and space of performance. In labour process terms, a frontier of control operates with the actor (as a worker) and management both seeking to control the actor’s image. Even where there is no overt conflict, a fragmentary form of performance emerges in which the actor or actors provide a surface for the application of cinematic techniques. Baron and Carnicke acknowledge that screen performances are constructed out of fragments of performance that in real time occurred out of sequence, with minimal rehearsal and in the absence of scene partners. But their view, even in the context of digital

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

141

cinema, is that these limitations can be readily accommodated without compromising the integrity of the actor’s performance (op. cit. 235–236). But even if this view is accepted, the direction of accommodation means that the actor—even a star like Tom Hanks—is positioned as an individual contributor to a collective process whose contribution may or may not be used and if used, may be used in a manner inconsistent with the actor’s intentions (Remnick, 2023). At best, in building a character the actor can exercise control over the means of representation, whilst ceding the final realization or end to those controlling the technology of performance. The key benefit for the actor in submitting to this shift in control is popularity and the advantages of stardom. But this is achieved at the cost of the exercise of craft practice becoming subordinate to more intensive technological control. A viable generalization is that with digitization, a tighter, more finely grained exogenic control than already available in cinema emerges, which determines what survives to be shown of a performance. By comparison, when performing on stage, the actor—if constrained by the set and the actions of other players—retains at the micro-level of their own performance a greater margin of control over the texture, intensity and pacing of performance, of seizing dramatic possibilities in the living moment. The reduction of the actor’s exercise of the craft is compounded by the need to find work in an over-crowded labour market. Training and preparation in the craft of acting, whilst still necessary, are not sufficient and must be complemented by another kind of performance in the process of selfmarketing and being coached for auditions. The role of the formation of a persona is considered in the next chapter.

Notes 1. Marlon Brando, incorrectly attributed to be the epitome of Method, did extensive research into the social and cultural background in which a character was set (Baron, 1996). 2. This is clearly not a topic so much as a field of enquiry. See for example John Caldwell (2008). 3. For a useful general discussion see Martin (2013, pp. 295–299). 4. In this sense, the virtual is not a simulation in Baudrillard’s sense of a sign without a referent. Virtual beings refer to real experiences, but without fully capturing all the possibilities contained in the relevant ideal. In a capitalist media, the impetus is to produce the definitive rendering of an ideal as a commodity.

142 

B. KING

5. The opposition between the real and the virtual can be read as anti-Kantian if one recalls Kant’s view that any image or simulation of a thing, say a triangle, must always exist as a deficit, failing to attain the purity and definitiveness of the idea of triangle. But one can argue that in a media-saturated society driven by the competition to produce technologically perfected virtual images, the ideal becomes a shadow of what can be shown. This perfection of the actual is particularly relevant in relation to stardom. 6. As argued by Deleuze (1994). This is one reason why it is possible to see versions of the same play, or motion picture re-boots, not as repetition, but as attempts (not necessarily successful) at realizing the unexplored possibilities not realised in the original. 7. As suggested in an earlier chapter, the general function of drama (and the place of the actor within it) is to mediate between the microcosmic and macrocosmic realms. 8. The late character actor Roy Kinnear when asked how he would play a character, joked: as a short, fat person with a Wigan accent (quoted in Mirodan, 2016). 9. The actual presence of the actor in live performance creates a strong impetus for the audience to identify the actor with the character so that a deflective approach is prized as the demonstration of the actor’s skill in departing from the constraints of the body. 10. Amy Cook, one of key proponents of the cognitive approach to performance, identifies character creation as a natural process based on cognitive compression in which the complex is reduced to the essential (Cook, 2018, p. 35ff). Actors are specialists in invidious compression claiming to be the essence of a particular character type. Although focused on acting, Cook tends to elide the difference between general cognition and acting as a specific mode of cognition, as suggested by her title Building Character, in contrast to Stanislavsky’s Building a Character. 11. As Goffman (1973) shows, individuals develop strategies to conceal discrepant aspects of their being from public view. 12. The key question: is the process of representation driven by the apparatus or the actor? 13. See Bennett (2010, p. 10). She uses the example of objects found together in a gutter (a dead rat, a stick, etc.) to describe how the random configuration of dumb objects bestows vibrancy and formative efficacy to matter, for example, images created by natural processes, such as the image of Christ found in melting snow. This is a random example of the process of hypersemiotization that is typical of theatre, whereby ordinary objects and theatrical props are endowed with enhanced meaning. 14. The obvious contemporary example of actors’ bodies being enhanced with prostheses is the stage version of Disney’s The Lion King (Wickstrom, 1999).

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

143

15. This practice while affecting male and female actors is most strongly felt by female actors  with few females spoiling their “natural” looks—though Charlize Theron observes of her role in Monster that beautiful actresses such as herself need to play “ugly” characters in order to gain artistic ­credibility (Carrigy, M. 2015). 16. The examples of Eastern theatre practices such as Noh place a stronger emphasis on the connection between gesture and transferred affect. 17. As the example of Stelarc shows, cyborgs have a prominent place in performance art where the performer is the author of his or her appearance. 18. Much will depend on the relationship between the leading actors or stars and the director; some directors, for example, Robert Altman, John Sayles or Mike Leigh, encourage actors to improvise on screen. 19. In making the following comments I would still acknowledge that Reframing Screen Performance establishes its objective of demonstrating that the actor’s performance is an important element in the formation of what the audience sees. 20. The claimed pervasiveness of the myth of received acting has been questioned (McLean, 2010). It seems more plausible to argue that the ideology of stardom in attributing too much “creativity” to the star represents the actor qua star as the “natural” source of the on-screen image. 21. The failure of John Gilbert’s voice to confirm the “masculine” power of his on-screen image is an oft quoted example. 22. Notwithstanding the fact already mentioned, that some leading players and stars such as Marlon Brando did not study with Strasberg but with Stella Adler, who taught Stanislavski’s mature system of Active Analysis. Sharon Marie Carnicke is the leading commentator on the “Americanisation” of Stanislavski’s system. 23. Which is not say that “excessive” acting does not occur but that it tends to be seen as exaggerated, showily theatrical, over-acted if not justified by the relevant genre, for example, Screwball comedy (Gehring, 1986). The authors also note that screen acting can follow a minimalist aesthetic, as in Bresson’s use of untrained amateurs as models, but suggest this is exogenic approach is largely confined to art cinema. 24. Far from being untrained, stars and leading players in Hollywood after the transition to sound were theatrically trained and had careers that modulated between stage and screen (Baron, 2016). 25. Even allowing that the actor “receives” the affordances of screen technology, they must be genetically suitable as well as disposed to receive them. Wallace Shawn cannot play, unless some parody is intended, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator persona. But correspondingly, Schwarzenegger could not plausibly perform Shawn’s role in My Dinner with Andre.

144 

B. KING

26. The material of the actor’s body is a pre-expressive condition considered in casting. As suggested by any thought experiment using the commutation test, the body of the actor poses a material limit on connotation (Thompson, 1978). 27. A better argument would be that established stars have developed through practice an intuitive appreciation of the nuances of performance which various methods of analysis can make legible. But even here, the question of the role of direction and editing still needs an answer. The opportunity to learn by doing is one of the benefits of stardom. 28. Simonton ports that the quality of film is the outcome of interaction between four clusters: the dramatic cluster, composed of persons in direction, acting, and film editing; the visual cluster, composed of cinematography, art direction, costume design, and makeup; the technical cluster, consisting of those individuals involved in visual effects, sound effects editing, and sound; and the musical cluster, consisting of the score composer and the songwriter. Of these, the dramatic cluster is decisive. (Simonton, 2004). 29. Despite being aware of the role of stardom, this statement does not mention the impact of the occupational ideology over ideology in general. Given this loss of proximate context, the causal framework remains individual. 30. For a good account of the discontinuous nature of screen performance see Carnicke in Lovell and Krämer eds (1999) pp. 75–87). 31. Assuming of course that the choice to focus on an individual rather than collective model is valid. For an account of the latter see Caldwell (2008). 32. Even where mistakes occur, these can have an “artistic” life as a blooper reel on DVDs and Blu-Rays and even stay in the movie. See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mke9wmuebYA. 33. On the co-creative approach see Davis (2017). 34. Aristotle’s framework is teleological, so debatable as a theory of nature. But it is defensible when considering craft and arts practices (Broadie, 1987). It is important to note that for Aristotle it is not the desires or motivations of individual practitioners that are causally decisive—though they may account for the force of engagement—but the constraints and affordances inherent in the current practices of the craft and the materials. 35. This implies that the star system as a discursive practice does not merely obscure the star’s contribution through the trope of received acting, but also minimises the collective production effort, making screen performances appear as an entirely endogenic expressions of persona. 36. Though even here much would depend on the latitude of interpretation the director accords stars in a given production. 37. But see also: “Thus, we lay a foundation for repositioning actors’ work as part of the complex interactions between performance and non-­performance

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

145

cinematic elements”, which emphases that acting plays a collaborative role in production, p. 11. 38. The exception is the chapter on Altman’s The Player but the implication that there is a persona-based form of suture are not brought to bear on the close textual analyses. 39. Cinema resembles a culinary art whose outcome rests on the specific combination of ingredients (Milo, 1986). 40. Regarding the intrinsic quality of film as experienced, this narrowing of actor control may be less important, though as noted intentionality remains an important dimension of audience appreciation. For actors wishing to improve employment chances it can be very consequential. 41. The degree of dependency on digital resources will vary depending on the particular film and on the mix of live versus virtual sequences. For a general discussion see Belton (2008) 42. How “alienating” this experience is will depended on exogenous factors— how successful the film is at the box office, their fee and deal structure-­front or back-end and how loss of control in commercial films is matched by the ability to pursue more satisfying “creative” products. The audience interest in authenticity may be another constraint as well as professional reputation. 43. Ray Winstone, for example, welcomed being replaced by the taller, more cut avatar in Beowulf see King (2011). 44. Over the long run, such digital repurposing of star images is likely to make significant inroads into the employment of actors, quick or dead, not to speak of other craft specialisms. One of the rationales for their development is that synthespians may undertake stunts that are too dangerous or impossible for human performers. At the current time, while photorealistic standards dominate in computer graphics, the technical obstacles remain formidable, continuing to use live actors for performance capture is ­economically expedient. For an early assessment for copyright issues see Kurtz (2004). 45. Kasap et al. (2009). 46. This is because of the phenomenon of the uncanny valley, whereby the closer robots resemble humans, the more they are perceived by human observers as disturbing (Jochum, 2013). 47. See my consideration of this early composite character in King (1989). 48. Synthespians have their own stock characters: (1) Humanoids: Human-­like avatars textually located in different dramatic worlds (cyberpunk, pornography, steampunk). (2) Mecha: Robots that act as fighting machines, assuming a human or animal appearance. (3) Abstracts: Avatars in shapes that do not exist in the physical world. (4) Furry: avatars with animal features. (5) Non-Humanoids: Avatars without humanoid characteristics (Schlemmer, 2014).

146 

B. KING

49. Acting in digital cinema is therefore distinct from performance and accordingly a digital animator can be defined as an actor producing a character (Prince, 2011, pp. 102–103). 50. There is a useful analogue in music between a take—which is a complete version of a song—and sampling. In performance capture, the actors’ behaviour is sampled. 51. This situation is in contrast to games where the user directs the avatar as a surrogate participant. 52. For a thorough explanation, see David Sturman, “Computer Puppetry”, IEEE Computer Graphics and Applications 18, no. 1(1998): 38. 53. An overview of some of these difficulties, and a suggestion for an alternative direction, is given in Amit Agrawl, “Non-photorealistic Rendering: Unleashing the Artist’s Imagination (Graphically Speaking)”. IEEE Computer Graphics and Applications 29, no. 4 (2009): 81–85. 54. For similar observations on Zoe Saldana’s performance in Avatar see King (2011) and Mihailova (2016). 55. Ironically, the extra scenes of the process of performance capture only detract from the claim of an original individual input (Bode 45ff). 56. For a useful definition see Lee (2004) 57. Avatars are profoundly behaviouristic agents devoid of an unconscious; see Creed (2000). 58. Prince op.  cit. p.  126 records the sense of freedom that motion capture gives the actor when compared to the stop start process of analogue cinema. A precondition of this “freedom” is that the star has institutionally protected ownership of the performance compared to rank-and-file actors. Bode misconstrues my argument when she comments that the digital treatment of stars does not really humanise digital technology, but simply ­rejuvenates the star’s image (p. 188). But this is actually my point that performance capture preserves the human capital of stars. 59. As will be considered subsequently, the advent of virtual cinema intensifies the displacement of character performance into the peri-theatrical realm of the persona.

References Albright, H., & Albright, A. (1980). Acting, the Creative Process. Wadsworth Publishing Company. Aldred, J. L. (2013). From Synthespian to Convergence Character: Reframing the Digital Human in Contemporary Hollywood Cinema. Carleton University. Anscomb, C. (2021). Creative Agency as Executive Agency: Grounding the Artistic Significance of Automatic Images. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 79(4), 415–427.

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

147

Balaz, B. (1988). Theory of the Film (T.  F. T.  H. B.  E. Bone, Trans.). Dennis Dobson LTD. Barbieri, D. (2017). Costume in Performance: Materiality, Culture, and the Body. Bloomsbury Publishing. Baron, C. (2016). Modern Acting: The Lost Chapter of American Film and Theatre. Springer. Baron, C., & Carnicke, S. M. (2010). Reframing Screen Performance. University of Michigan Press. Baron, C.  A. (1996). Before Brando: Film Acting in the Hollywood Studio Era. University of Southern California. Baugh, C. (2004). Theatre, Performance and Technology: The Development and Transformation of Scenography. Macmillan International Higher Education. Belton, J. (2008). Painting by the Numbers: The Digital Intermediate. Film Quarterly, 61(3), 58–65. Bandelj, N. (2003). How method actors create character roles. Sociological Forum, 18(3), 387–416. Bennett, J. (2010). Vibrant Matter. Duke University Press. Blatner, A. (2005). Perspectives on Moreno, Psychodrama, and Creativity. Journal of Creativity in Mental Health, 1(2), 111–121. Bode, L. (2017). Making Believe. Rutgers University Press. Bogatyrev, P. (1976). Semiotics in the Folk Theatre. In L. Matejka & I. R. Titunik (Eds.), Semiotics of Art: Prague School Contributions. MIT Press. Boiselle, T. (2015). Breaking into Motion Capture Guide. Accessed at https:// www.themocapacademy.com/eguide. Retrieved September 2023 Broadie, S. (1987). Nature, Craft and Phronesis in Aristotle. Philosophical Topics, 15(2), 35–50. Bruner, M.  L. (2019). Rhetorical Unconsciousness and Political Psychoanalysis. University of South Carolina Press. Butterworth, P., & Normington, K. (Eds.). (2017). Medieval Theatre Performance: Actors, Dancers, Automata and Their Audiences. Boydell & Brewer. Caldwell, J. T. (2008). Production Culture. Duke University Press. Callow, S. (2007). Being an Actor. Picador. Carrigy, M. (2015). Hilary Swank and Charlize Theron: Empathy, veracity, and the biopic. In R. Bell-Metereau & C. Glenn (Eds.), Star Bodies and the Erotics of Suffering (pp. 80–98). Wayne State University Press. Casetti, F. (2008). Eye of the Century: Film, Experience, Modernity. Columbia University Press. Cohen, D. S. (2007, April 13). New Cameras Have the SPS Reloading: High-Def Revolutionizes the Craft of Actors and Directors. Daily Variety, p. B1. Coleclough, S. (2014). FILM PERFORMANCE: The role of the actor within cinematic expression. University of Salford (United Kingdom). Cook, A. (2018). Building Character: The Art and Science of Casting. University of Michigan Press.

148 

B. KING

Cooke, G. (2009). We Had Faces Then: Sunset Boulevard and the Sense of the Spectral. Quarterly Review of Film and Video, 26(2), 89–101. Coplan, A. (2004). Empathic Engagement with Narrative Fictions. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 62(2), 141–152. Cottegnies, L. (2002). Codifying the Passions in the Classical Age: a few reflections on Charles Le Brun’s scheme and its influence in France and in England. Études Épistémè. Revue de littérature et de civilisation (XVIe–XVIIIe siècles), (1). Creed, B. (2000). The Cyberstar: Digital Pleasures and the End of the Unconscious. Screen, 41(1), 79–86. Cubitt, S(2017) Digital Cinemas in The Routledge Companion to World CinemaStone, R., Cooke, P., Dennison, S., & Marlow-Mann, A. (Eds.) Routledge. Daly, K. (2010). Cinema 3.0: The interactive-image. Cinema Journal, 81–98. Davis, N.  M. (2017). Creative Sense-Making: A Cognitive Framework for Quantifying Interaction Dynamics in Co-creation. Georgia Institute of Technology. DeCordova, R. (2001). Picture Personalities: The Emergence of the Star System in America. University of Illinois Press. Deleuze, G. (1994). Difference and Repetition. Columbia University Press. De Ridder, A. (2018). Filming the Stage: Reflections on the Historical and the Aesthetic Perspectives of an Essential Archive of the Future. Proceedings from the Document Academy, 5(4), 1–9. Drake, P. (2006). Reconceptualizing Screen Performance. Journal of Film and Video, 58(1/2), 84–94. Dyer, R. (2005). Only Entertainment. Routledge. Eco, U. (1979). A Theory of Semiotics (Vol. 217). Indiana University Press. Gaines, J.  M. (2000). Contested Culture: The Image, the Voice, and the Law. University of North Carolina Press. Gehring, W. D. (1986). Screwball Comedy: An Overview. Journal of Popular Film and Television, 13(4), 178–185. Goffman, E. (1973). Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity. Pelican Books. Goffman, E. (1978). The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life (Vol. 21). Penguin. Goodman, R. (1961). Drama on Stage. Holt, Rinehart, Winston. Gramigna, R. (2016). Rethinking theoretical schools and circles in the 20th century humanities. Σημειωτκή-Sign Systems Studies, 44(1-2), 251–254. Gunning, T. (2007). Moving Away from the Index: Cinema and the Impression of Reality. Differences, 18(1), 29–52. Hayles, N. K. (1999). Simulating Narratives: What Virtual Creatures Can Teach Us. Critical Inquiry, 26(1), 1–26. Herzog, W. (1982). Fitzcarraldo. Werner Herzog Filmproduktion. Iñárritu, A. G. (2015). The Revenant. Los Angeles: 20th Century Fox.

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

149

Jochum, E. (2013). Uncanny Aesthetics. Presented at the Meeting of the IEEE/ RSJ International Conference on Robots and Intelligent Systems: The Uncanny Valley Revisited. Kasap, S., et al. (2009). Making Them Remember—Emotional Virtual Characters with Memory. IEEE Computer Graphics and Applications, 29(2), 20–29. Kennedy, J. (2021). Vactor Ontologies: Framing Acting Within a Motion Capture Context. International Journal of Performance Arts and Digital Media, 18, 341–356. King, B. (1989). The Burden of Max Headroom. Screen, 30(1–2), 122–138. King, B. (2011). Articulating Digital Stardom. Celebrity Studies, 2(3), 247–262. Kirby, M. (1972). On Acting and Not-Acting. The Drama Review: TDR, 1(March), 3–15. Krämer, P. and Lovell A. (Eds.). (1999). Screen Acting. Routledge. Krämer, P., & Lovell, A. (Eds.). (2014). Screen Acting. Routledge. Kurtz, L. (2004). Digital Actors and Copyright-From the Polar Express to Simone. Santa Clara Computer & High Technology Law Journal, 21, 783. Landes, A. (2019). Monos. Stela Cine Production. Latour, B. (2007). Reassembling the social: An introduction to actor-network-theory. OUP, Oxford. Le Boeuf, P. (2010). On the Nature of Edward Gordon Craig’s Über-Marionette. New Theatre Quarterly, 26(2), 102–114. Leder, D. (1990). The Absent Body. University of Chicago Press. Lee, K. M. (2004). Presence, Explicated. Communication Theory, 14(1), 27–50. Lemasson, A., André, V., Boudard, M., Lippi, D., Cousillas, H., & Hausberger, M. (2019). Influence of Theatre Hall Layout on Actors’ and Spectators’ Emotions. Animal Cognition, 22(3), 365–372. Litty, J. M. (2016). How Real Is Too Real for the Law? Realism versus Right of Publicity in Video Game Design. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 60(3), 373–388. Livingstone, T. (2020). Temporal Experience and On-Screen Violence. The Digital “Oner” in Action Cinema. The Philosophical Journal of Conflict and Violence, 4(2), 1–14. Martin, A. (2013). Mise-en-scène.. Branigan E and Buckland, B (Eds), The Routledge Encyclopedia of Film Theory (pp. 295–299).  Marwick, A.  E. (2015). Instafame: Luxury Selfies in the Attention Economy. Public Culture, 27(1), 137–160. McAuley, G. (2008). Not Magic But Work: Rehearsal and the Production of Meaning. Theatre Research International, 33(3), 276–288. McDonald, P. (2013). Hollywood Stardom, pp. 215–253. Wiley Blackwell, Chichester, UK. McLean, A. L. (2010). Reframing Screen Performance. Film Quarterly, 63(4), 83. Merleau-Ponty, M. (2013). Phenomenology of perception. Routledge.

150 

B. KING

Mihailova, M. (2016). Collaboration Without Representation: Labor Issues in Motion and Performance Capture. Animation, 11(1), 40–58. Milgram, P., & Kishino, F. (1994). A Taxonomy of Mixed Reality Visual Displays. IEICE Transactions on Information and Systems, 77, 1321–1329. Milo, D. (1986). The ‘Culinary’ Character of Cinematic Language. Semiotica, 58(1–2), 83–100. Mirodan, V. (2016). Lying Bodies, Lying Faces: Deception and the Stanislavskian Tradition of Character. Stanislavski Studies, 4(1), 25–45. Mittel, J. (2015). Complex TV. The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. New York University Press. Muñoz, M. (2013). Infrafaces: Essays on the Artistic Interaction. University of Gothenberg. Nahm, K.-J. (2014). Props Breaking Character: Performance and the Failure of Real Objects on the Naturalist Stage. In M.  Schweitzer & J.  Zerdy (Eds.), Performing Objects and Theatrical Things (pp. 187–199). Palgrave Macmillan. Naremore, J. (1988). Acting in Cinema. University of California Press. Newman, I. (2009). Virtual People: Fictional Characters Through the Frames of Reality. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 67(1), 73–82. Osolsobĕ, I. (1979). On ostensive communication. Studia Semiotyczne, 9, 63–75. Parker-Starbuck, J. (2013). Animal Ontologies and Media Representations: Robotics, Puppets, and the Real of “War Horse”. Theatre Journal, 65(3), 373–393. Plantinga, C. (2011). Folk Psychology for Film Critics and Scholars. Projections, 5(2), 26–50. Prince, S. (2011). Digital Visual Effects in Cinema. Rutgers University Press. Quinn, M. (1987). The Semiotic Stage: Prague School Theatre Theory. Stanford University. Rehak, B. (2018). More Than Meets the Eye. New York University Press. Reilly, K. (2011). From Automata to Automation: The Birth of the Robot in RUR (Rossum’s Universal Robots). In Automata and Mimesis on the Stage of Theatre History (pp. 148–176). Palgrave Macmillan. Rombes, N. (2017). Cinema in the Digital Age. Wallflower Press. Ropohl, G. (1999). Philosophy of Socio-Technical Systems. Society for Philosophy and Technology Quarterly Electronic Journal, 4(3), 186–194. Rozik, E. (2002). Acting: the quintessence of theatricality. SubStance, 31(2), 110–124. Sacasas, L.  M. (2014). Traditions of Technological Criticism. https://thefrailestthing.com/2014/02/15/technology-­that-­word-­you-­keep-­using-­i-­do-­not-­ think-­it-­means/ Sarlós, R.  K., & McDermott, D. (1995). The Impact of Working Conditions Upon Acting Style. Theatre Research International, 20(3), 231–236. Schechner, R. (1968). Six Axioms for Environmental Theatre. The Drama Review: TDR, 12, 41–64.

5  ACTING AND TECHNOLOGY 

151

Schechner, R. (2010). Restoration of Behaviour. In Between Theater and Anthropology (pp. 35–116). University of Pennsylvania Press. Scheiffele, E. (2001). Acting: an altered state of consciousness. Research in Drama Education, 6(2), 179–191. Schlemmer, E. (Ed.). (2014). Learning in Metaverses: Co-Existing in Real Virtuality. IGI Global. Schmid, H. (2008). A Historical Outlook on Theatrical Ostension and Its Links with Other Terms of the Semiotics of Drama and Theatre. Semiotica, 2008(168), 67–91. Shaviro, S. (2010). Post cinematic affect. John Hunt Publishing. Sher, A. (2006). Year of the King: An Actor’s Diary and Sketchbook. Hal Leonard Corporation. Shields, R. (2006). Virtualities. Theory, Culture & Society, 23(2–3), 284–286. Simonton, D.  K. (2004). Group Artistic Creativity: Creative Clusters and Cinematic Success in Feature Films 1. Journal of Applied Social Psychology, 34(7), 1494–1520. Spatz, B. (2015). What a Body Can Do. Routledge. Sperb, J. (2012). I’ll (Always) Be Back: Virtual Performance and Post-Human Labor in the Age of Digital Cinema. Culture, Theory and Critique, 53(3), 383–397. Springer, J. (1974). They Had Faces Then: Annabella to Zorina: The Superstars, Stars and Starlets of the 1930’s. Citadel Press. Staiano-Ross, K. (2005). Losing Myself: Body as Icon/Body as Object(s). Semiotica, 154, 57–94. Stecker, R. (2010). Aesthetics and the Philosophy of Art: An Introduction. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Stout, N.  K. (2006). Exploring the Initial Intention to Delegate to Intelligent Software Agents. Indiana University. Thompson, J. B. (1995). The Media and Modernity: A Social Theory of the Media. Stanford University Press. Thompson, J.  O. (1978). Screen Acting and the Commutation Test. Screen, 19(2), 55–70. Veltrusky, J. (1964). Man and Object in the Theater. In P.  L. Garvin (Ed.), A Prague school Reader on Esthetics, Literary Structure, and Style (pp.  83–91). Georgetown University Press. Wickstrom, M. (1999). Commodities, Mimesis, and “The Lion King”: Retail Theatre for the 1990s. Theatre Journal, 51(3), 285–298. Wolf, M. J. (2003). The Technological Construction of Performance. Convergence, 9(4), 48–59. Yacowar, M. (1979). An Aesthetic Defense of the Star System in Films. Quarterly Review of Film & Video, 4(1), 39–52.

CHAPTER 6

Work—Rarely a Feast, Mostly a Famine

In this chapter, I address the question of the impact of the labour market on how actors engage in the search for work. Generally considered, the demands facing an actor in his or her professional practice are threefold: a. the requirement to maintain a professional identity as a persona when seeking to be cast; b. the requirement to compete with other actors through auditions or, at the level of star or leading player through negotiations, around offers of a part; c. the requirement when cast to embody the character as written or devised. These challenges are recurrent elements in any professional acting career. The balance between them varies according to the actual circumstances and artistic context in which they operate. But the ultimate objective of reaching level (a) rests on overcoming the barriers presented by levels (b) and (c). One can speak of performing in or as a character and performing in order to access a character. This latter orientation, which leads to the formation of a persona, could be ascribed to a personal competitive disposition. But if so, it is strongly re-enforced by the dual structure of the labour market for actors and other performers, which has an inner core of regularly employed actors and a much larger periphery of

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_6

153

154 

B. KING

unemployed and underemployed performers (Fortmueller, 2019; Blair, 2001; Hennekam and Bennett 2017). It is estimated that around 90% of actors are unemployed at any time— percentages that are broadly consistent, allowing for the differing size of the labour market for actors in the countries employing the largest numbers of anglophone actors: the United States and the UK (Renaud, 2011; Fortmueller, 2014; Wilkie, 2015; Delorme, 2016; Schneider, 2012).1 Outside of these figures, derived from union sources, there are a dark number of non-union actors and performers who engage in professional work “off card”, or in work that is not directly connected to professional employment: in hospitality, as waiters, or as realtors. Even union members undertake non-professional work in order to subsist between professional engagements. It is routinely the case that the average actor spends much of their time seeking to be auditioned: Statistics dictate that it generally takes between 150 and 200 auditions to book a job. If you are only getting two to three auditions a week from the one singular (sic) talent agent you have, then it will take you a year or more to land a single job. (McClanaghan, 2014)2

Not surprisingly, in order to increase their competitive chances, actors (union or non-union) are rarely “resting” when not professionally employed. Apart from taking non-acting work, they are engaged in expanding their skill sets and marketing themselves on- and offline, as well as seeking effective agent representation.3 Accordingly, there is a dimension of being visible that is far less glamorous, far less a matter of giving an effective performance of character, than of searching for the chance to perform. As a result, there is a considerable market for promotional skills operating as a penumbra around the formal systems of actor training. It is in this twilight zone of job-seeking and honing self-marketing skills that most actors and performers encounter the core reality of their chosen occupation; a zone that calls for the performance of a fixed self-image, rather than the protean ideal associated with character versatility. In reality, an actor is likely to be capable of performing a range of characters. But for the purpose of getting noticed by casting directors and agents, their head shot should emphasize their type as personality: Ideally, your acting headshot will convey not just your general look, but your brand, your type, your age range, your possible occupations, your ­professionalism, your socioeconomic background, your personality traits, and even hints of your inner emotional life. (Backstage https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/headshots-­everything-­need-­know-­5052)

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

155

The ramified and highly glamourized media focus given to the actor’s being in performance rests on a vast continent of performances given in the hope of being cast. In general terms, actors and other performers seek work, whether on stage or screen, in what can be termed a peri-theatrical space: a space that is neither theatrical nor even paratheatrical. The distinction between theatrical and paratheatrical space specifies the permeable border between events—such as happenings, political demonstrations and ceremonies— performed in real time, and the explicit fictive bracketing of stage or screen (Wilshire, 1990). Peri-theatrical space, a realm of work neither explicitly dramatic nor ritual in content, can be defined as aesthetic labour. The elements of affective display and emotional projection typical of the “gig” economy have spread to employment in the service sector, where factors of dress and comportment are a primary requirement for employment (Karlsson, 2012; Elias et al., 2017). Such requirements—long established in performance work—have spread to service work in general; not least because a majority of actors, given the sporadic and casual nature of their employment, are obliged to undertake routine non-professional work. By this means, profession-specific competencies begin to model what ordinary workers need to exercise in order to find employment and distinguish themselves as worthy employees. In these circumstances, the actor’s presence in performance, and the fascination with it, functions as an epitome or crystallization of commonplace doings off-stage and off-screen.4 The actor, by his or her intensive physical and psychological preparation, takes self-presentation to a new level of intensity as a tonic exemplar of comportment.5 It has been suggested that performance proper is a realm of restored behaviour, reconstructed in rehearsal as a simulation of mundane behaviour (Schechner, 2010). But in the contemporary situation of a performative society, in which theatrical, paratheatrical and peri-theatrical performances resonate and overlap, this observation needs to be extended. The behaviour restored in performance can be said to have undergone a thrice—rather than a twice-layered process of restoration. This refinement, intensified by the market for jobs, has the following features: a. The objective on the side of the actor is to project (and on the side of the employers to discover) a unique and singular personality—however much these qualities are embedded in a standard formula, narrative and plot.6 Creativity consists in enlivening what is (or could become) routine.

156 

B. KING

b. The process of being cast is, ideally, a product of the intersection between the aesthetic objectives of the play or screenplay and the purposes of those who are charged with overseeing the aesthetic quality, or at least, the commercial fecundity of the final product. c. What the general public finally sees is the outcome of a collective decision-­making process in which opinions of some team players—such as the director, producer, director of photography—carry the greatest weight. d. Given the imperative to break through the clutter by creating a performance that is unique—whether as new play or screenplay, or a revival— there is no settled template to follow. The job of marketing and publicity is to proclaim retrospectively (normally through cast interviews) that there was from the start a unifying and animating creative vision.7 For the actor or performer, the immediate problem is to “ace” an audition. Compared to selection processes in service occupations—where the concept of creativity has also been evoked—casting does not definitively determine how the actor, having won a part, will be expected to perform within it.8 Rather, what is determined is the probability that the actor can embody a specific character type existing at the point of audition as a verbal description of a person.9 This determination of the likelihood of a good performance can only draw on the actor’s appearance and demeanour as present before them. Where the actor has a visual record of past performances this can be consulted, but there is no guarantee that what was done before can be replicated in the present production. Even the actor’s present appearance and demeanour may show signs of wear and tear and in any case, is not likely to match their onscreen or on-stage image as a product of technological rendering. Given these uncertainties, it is more accurate to say that in casting the actor is not assessed as a type, which remains abstract. Rather he or she is an ectype, the impression of a character thinly etched in the actor’s professional persona that promises a performance to come. So, compared to service work in general, casting is not a matter of assessing the ability of an actor to follow specifically codified feeling rules or precise behaviour. For even if these could be reliably formulated, the actor is expected to provide something original as yet undefined.10 What is determined by casting gatekeepers is the willingness of actors to be cooperative and how their general habitus fits with the character description, a similar but more provisional

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

157

mode of candidate assessment found in employment in general (De Keere, 2014). As observed in Chap. 4, performance in character can entail a deflective or inflective strategy of characterization. By contrast, in the peri-theatrical realm, the struggle to be cast constrains actors to prioritize their powers of inflection, seeking to impress upon the agent and casting director that the self as presented off-stage or screen is “naturally” charismatic, even prior to the application of enhancements possible through the crafts of stage and screen. This zero-degree of presence is part of the folklore of stardom. As Cate Blanchett observes: If you stand blank in front of a camera, there’s something you cannot control that is simply what the camera sees in you. You do nothing in front of a camera and it sees into you and there’s some quality, some inescapable quality, and it’s not really useful to know what that is. (Zucker, 2016)11

Coming from an accomplished star, it is doubtless an authentic expression of her experience. But the manifestation of this seeming “fact” of nature rests on a foregoing access to the affordances provided by lighting, camerawork, costume, make-up and so on. This access is precisely what the majority of actors are competing to obtain, with all the determination and self-regard necessary to overcome rejection.12 In the contemporary setting, thanks to the self-promoting opportunities afforded by the digital media and digital photography, the actor appears more often as a peri-character; not as a specific individual, but as an individual capable of aligning their behaviour or appearance to some conception of a type. Even here, the actor’s presentation of the self as a type is competitively aligned with other actors of the same type. So vying for work entails a gamut of time-consuming practices: the production of headshots, a show reel, a Facebook page, building a resume; finding an agent; taking lessons to acquire a portfolio of skills; undertaking unpaid or profit-share work to obtain a union card; developing fitness; acquiring performance-specific and non-performance-specific skills; motivational learning; networking; entrepreneurial training (Zazzali, 2016). In general terms, this diet of activities demonstrates the actor’s commitment to their chosen profession, with the additional benefit of displaying a good work ethic and busyness as a general cultural virtue (Gershuny, 2005). In undertaking this (more or less intensive) development of an image portfolio, the actor demonstrates flexibility and versatility, qualities

158 

B. KING

that agents and casting professionals see as important. Outside of the specificities of acting as a particular kind of labour in pursuing the path of career development, the actor undertakes—likely in a more adept manner—a form of self-discipline common to all workers in the service economy. To be employable, workers must adjust their impression management to project the right “look” and motivational commitment to the realities of competition in an increasingly unstable labour market. The self which is formed in these conditions has been characterized as enterprising: Enterprise designates an array of rules for the conduct of one’s everyday existence: energy, initiative, calculation and personal responsibility. The enterprising self will make a venture of its life, project itself a future and seek to shape itself in order to become what it wishes to be. (Rose, 1996, p. 459)

Yet in contrast to standard forms of employment, the enterprising self that is called for in acting has a specific intensity, arising from the fact that the instruments and energies of production are grounded within the body and represented as arising from a unique individual. Enhancing this individual focus is the extreme precarity of the labour market for all forms of embodied performance. This means that the majority of actors and other performers are not supported by a bureaucratic environment with defined skills and entry qualifications. As exemplified by the star, but applying to actors in general, the “creative” enterprising self takes on the connotation of the self-made individual struggling against the dominant organizational structures, which in mainstream theatre and cinema are market—rather than craft-driven. Yet the uncertainties of occupation mean that the average actor is not a traditional self-made expressive individual seeking to gain wealth and respectability (Fluck, 1990). Such a status is reserved— but even then, rarely, and always conditionally—for stars. Paradoxically, the average actor must place a high value on self-expression and personal creativity as a strategy to get work in a field that requires conformity to stereotypes. So, the actor’s enterprising self demands a higher level of extroversion, passionate engagement and personal charisma than is required of employees in standard employment. What eventuates is a particularly intense drive to stand out through exemplary conformity with established industry definitions of a charismatic personality. The material elements of this process of adjusting the self to the market, whilst denying its demands, is what is defined as “talent” in entrepreneurial literature and “presence” in the study of performance. The impact of marketing the self on the form of training is the focus of what follows.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

159

Body Workings The fascination with presence in performance literature is, on one hand, a symptom of the desperation generated by the scarcity of work. Most literature exhibits a preoccupation with how by working on the self, an actor may mobilize psychophysical resources in order to create an empathetic bond with spectators. As noted previously, the hope that the findings of neuroscience will enable actors to create such bonds through the activation of mirror neurons that bypass consciousness remains speculative. But this does not mean that attempts to consciously coordinate physical behaviour will not produce marginal affective impacts. If the hope of transcending Cartesian dualism fails, the effort to fine-tune attitudes and actions by body work may enhance the actor’s performance nonetheless, because the body becomes what it can do (Spatz, 2015, p. 157). Yet what tends to fade from view amid concerns about how to develop the body as an expressive instrument is the function of this anticipatory labour or shadow work in a labour market where success in finding a job is rare. The truism that luck comes to those who are prepared may come to define preparation of a persona as a professional identity. Preparing to be ready to perform is a generic fact of professionalism. But precarity imposes a supererogatory burden of shadow work dedicated to increasing networking, as detailed above. Given the scarcity of work, these practices may come to dominate the realm of representation itself, shifting the emphasis away from improving performance skills towards developing a professional persona.13 Another consequence is that actor training may be refocused on self-­ presentation and coping with the psychological consequences of rejection and unemployment. Shadow work begins to function as a therapeutic “cure” for a lack of success. When this happens, the benefits of self-­ cultivation extend beyond the acquisition of performance skills and merge with the general practices of well-being so that the actor, particularly the star, comes to serve as the symbol of and advocate for an admirable lifestyle and associated consumption practices. When this happens, the reception by critics and audiences of an actor’s work rests on its potential for existential exemplification, for showing a way of being in the world (Zamir, 2010, pp. 235–237). The role of training in securing this configuration will be explored in what follows. It is worth returning briefly to Rozik’s distinction between deflective and inflective acting. This model assumes there a realistic choice

160 

B. KING

exercised in creating a character. But this choice may already be narrowed by the actor’s gender, race, ethnicity and class attributes, which could tend to limit the moral qualities of a character to more or less negative cultural stereotypes.14 Further, some actors, because of the actual limitations of their looks or skills—or conversely, because the power of their physical attributes is too good to hide—will opt for a strategy of inflection. Again, the part itself may also require an inflective approach; as in the case of stunt casting, or being cast in action movies where much of what the actor does is in conformity with martial arts practices such as Tae kwon do and Kung-Fu. In the case of action stars, it is apparent, however much fight scenes are faked, that inflection as a performance strategy is dictated by their physical skill set, which predates being cast. As Mamet observed, character only exists as words on a page (Mamet, 2011). So, it is in the nature of character that it acquires and sheds layers of meaning as it moves through the cycle of development, from audition and casting to rehearsing and performing. Especially at the stage of audition, character is an abstraction that is intangible because it awaits a concrete embodiment.15 And even so, it remains an abstraction during and after performance (Shields, 2006).16 Further, in casting—the all-important anteroom to performance— actors are advised to stay ready and committed to “being themselves” in the production of promotional materials (Forchetti, 2020). Such materials still only indicate the potential to be a character, so that as the actor approaches the hurdle of an audition, character is necessarily inflected through the persona of the performer as guarantor of a future performance. As casting directors recognize, casting is a risky process. None of the indicators of potential can confirm definitively how a character will actually be realized, nor can any actualization be sure to satisfy the key objective of marketability. Indeed, a performance can be aesthetically superior but still fail economically (McDonald, 2013, pp. 239–251).

Acting as a Tournament Acting has always been a precarious occupation. But an increased number of individuals seeking work and, the increasing rationalization and bureaucratization of the process of selection and casting, is creating a new kind of acting subject, one that increasingly dominates the realities of performance as a collective labour process. Acting becomes a practice in which the actor is positioned as an individual engaged in a tournament of self-­presentation.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

161

This results in a shift from one realm of predication to another—from the actor as dramatic subject to the actor as a professional personality or persona being coached to succeed or persist in failure. If considered in isolation from the constraints of a precarious labour market, the impact of coaching, despite being rationalized as a route to self-mastery, is to tighten the focus on the actor’s inner experience as a dramatic resource. For the character to become real, it is claimed that the actor becomes open to their own psychological and emotional resources. This injunction to “lay bare the soul” is entangled with a more assertive projection of the self through therapeutic work on the self (Seligman, 2006, p. 25ff). In whatever the particular approach, freeing the self from inhibitions or blocks is depicted as the means to succeed and excel as an actor. Various “gurus” present themselves as boosters of personal transformation, affirming that self-change is possible if (and only if) guided by a competent and experienced coach. Gurus offer their services to individuals and on a group class basis, which nonetheless has a marked focus on the individual. Another shared feature of the shift to coaching is that they are primarily inflective: the individual actor must discover and be prepared to confront personal “inner” dilemmas and demons in order to succeed in a contest with other actors, who are framed as rivals rather than as collaborators.17 As the pedagogy of performance is infiltrated by contemporary philosophies of self-improvement, the figure of the actor finds its disciplinary consummation in a marketized version of “care of the self”.18 This strong pragmatic emphasis on an inflective approach to characterization is arguably seen as an outcome of post-studio Hollywood’s increasing influence as a global employer. Yet a theatre-centred approach is no more immune to the pressures of the market, as the following consideration of some recent best-selling acting advice manuals will seek to demonstrate This is not the immediate impression because the overt focus is on the practice of theatre, where a deflective approach is standard—especially given the insistence on the importance of rehearsal as a zone of creativity, sheltered from the more immediate pressures of the market. Yet in effect, by focusing on performance as an individual competition, they ratify an inflective approach by default. Compared to such theatre-based approaches, which by default speak of acting in general when they mean acting in theatre, there are other texts that, by implication, focus on cinema acting as though referring to acting in general. In either case, these categories of texts have passed beyond any hard-and-fast distinction between acting in theatre as against cinema or

162 

B. KING

television. But acting in general, without consideration of the medium, is obviously a fiction that sells acting advice books, and less obviously, a confirmation of the view that all acting is inflective rather than deflective. In sum, there are two key consequences that follow from the imperative of marketability. The first is that Rozik’s distinction between deflective and inflective acting is rarely a realistic choice in a market-driven theatrical economy, and is probably only a realistic choice in state-funded conservatories or community-funded theatre sheltered from the full impact of commercialism. The second is that the inflective dimension of character performance becomes hardwired through the emphasis on self-marketing. As is well known, there is a large number of books offering advice to actors—for example, the website www.readthistwice.com lists forty-three. For my purposes, the focus is not on books that discuss acting techniques and practices such as Sanford Meisner’s On Acting. Rather I want to focus on books that offer advice to aspiring actors (and even insecure successful ones) on the cultivation of the appropriate attitude to adopt in pursuit of a professional career. Obviously, this general focus—which can be described as a popular social psychology of acting—comports with the objective of reaching the widest possible readership, when compared to books which focus on training in a specific set of techniques. I am not arguing that the books I consider do not contain useful advice, nor do I claim are they merely cynical exercises in selling the dream of winning. Rather, they can be read symptomatically as competitive guides to a labour market in which there is a systemic over-supply of individuals seeking work. That said, since they do not address this basic fact, they have a degree of complicity in reproducing it. First, I will consider Declan Donnellan’s The Actor and the Target (2002) which states at the outset: “Therefore, this is not a book about how to act; this is a book that may help you when you feel blocked in your acting” (p. 3). Donnellan proposes that the process of character creation should be rigorously focused on external observable behaviour as opposed to the scrutiny of internal processes; this latter focus is seen as especially associated with the actor’s endemic experience of psychological blocking. To remedy this problem, the actor should recognize that in creating a character performance, they confront a series of sharp existential choices. Should their preparation and rehearsing prioritize Concentration over Attention (p.  28ff); Certainty over Faith (p.  158ff); Freedom over

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

163

Independence—the latter, usually viewed as positive, is seen as a refusal to be open (p.  40ff); Showing over Seeing (p.  80ff); Originality over Uniqueness (p.  229ff); Excitement over Life (p.  232ff); Creativity over Curiosity? (p. 28ff). In discussing these choices, Donnellan argues that outstanding acting rests on abandoning the first side of the binary couplet in favour of the second. The overarching principle governing his argument rests on the belief that risk-taking, uncertainty and trust in the unknown makes for great acting. So, the qualities of concentration, certainty, freedom and originality, often regarded as virtues, are seen as valuing the already-done and promoting defensiveness and a lack of openness in the actor, who as a consequence becomes blocked and resistant to the workings of chance. Through the actor’s willingness to suspend their self-conscious focus on the self, the observable world, forever in flux, becomes a source of energy and inspiration. Since the actor cannot play a verb without an object, the target, as an external object, permits the actor to overcome an inhibiting focus on the self. In a Zen-like movement of emptying the self, it is the target that acts and the actor who reacts (Donnellan, 2002, p. 68). Through an eclectic combination of elements of behaviourism and existentialism, actions alone count and acting, like life itself, is a process of becoming. The actor is urged not to know but to do.19 Given the emphasis on doing rather than knowing, the target remains an elusive and ineffable function of the imagination. It resists definition, since it is a particular created in the moment of performance. It is not an objective, a want, a plan, a reason, an intention or a goal (op. cit. pp. 13, 26, 27). Instead, it is the vector produced by the actor’s reaction to these external forces that sets the quality of a performance. Through submission to the target, the actor learns to see through the character’s rather than through their own eyes (op. cit., p.  57). Fixing on the target creates a disposition towards openness to the external world, rather than an inward focus on the body and its psychophysical resources. In this situation, the actor should not rely on a stock of acquired skills but be open to treating creativity as an emergent quality that is only released through an external focus on the target. Rather than searching for elements of the character in the self, the target is to be found in the present moment, by observing and channelling emotion towards the external behaviour of other actors and, in a live performance, toward the audience. The theme of creating powerful performances through an external concentration on actions and the texture of the environment is a feature of

164 

B. KING

another popular text, Robert Cohen’s Acting Power, republished in a revised form in 2013 from a text originally published in 1978. Cohen’s fundamental claim is that acting power—the capacity to deliver compelling performances at any given level of natural or developed talent— depends on following three widely accepted cardinal principles: . The actor must play goals, not attitudes or indications. 1 2. There is a hierarchy of goals, including big ones that exist throughout the play (super goals) general long-range ones (regular goals) and small moment-to-moment ones (subgoals). 3. Goals are only positive. As the traditional maxim has it, “you cannot play a negative objective” (Cohen, 2013, p. 25). Goals are not what the actor wants—which is to be acknowledged for a great performance—but rather, what the character wants to achieve. The actor’s focus should be on improving the character’s situation through performance victories, on winning goals rather than attitudinizing or posturing and drawing attention to the self. Following this course means eliminating elements of by-play not focussed on reaching a certain outcome. Super-goals define the kind of being a character is—a miser, lover, warrior and so on—with mid-range and short-range goals being concerned with creating behaviours (verbal and physical) that actualize the character as a personality. At all these levels—bits of action, scenes and narrative arc—the actor playing a character will encounter obstacles which must be navigated. For Cohen, the metaphor of the slalom is used to mark the unfolding dynamics of any performance. Characterization is approached in the way of slalom race, by “planting flags” – which in acting are called obstacles. These “flags” are the obstacles the actor must circumvent or overcome as she pursues the ever-changing path – or paths – of her character’s intended victory. Most of the “flags” will be plot obstacles, planted by the playwright. Others will be physical obstacles, planted perhaps by the director and the scenery, costume and even the prop designers. And some arising from the actor’s preparation for the role. Then during the performance, she plays against those flags, skirting around them, batting them down, fighting them and undermining them in any way she can. This fight is what gives her character “character” and which lets her explore and display her intellectual, physical and dramatic gifts”. (op. cit., pp. 104–105)

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

165

In this struggle, the actor’s power is demonstrated and, Cohen claims, the audience will be enthralled. Winning, as Cohen describes it, has a double payload: by creating victories for the character, the actor earns the accolade and applause for inspired acting. Against conventional dramaturgy that views theatrical events as a specialized practice discontinuous with mundane experience, Cohen argues that theatre in fact expresses the fundamental substance of the real world, which exists as an ever-expanding intertext of performances, rippling out from the character as a “properly ego-centric centre”. In acting, the point is to bring the audience into the world of the play; not bring the play into the world of the audience. This is why “conscious performing is not contrary to real acting, it is part of real acting. We do it in life and our ‘living’ characters do it on a stage”. (p. 184)20

To warrant an individualistic interpretation of the metaphor of Theatrum Mundi metaphor, Cohen corrects the mistaken view that theatre is best understood as a battle between two contradictory states—the actor’s belief in the role, and the external contribution of technology and technique. Yet this contradiction is not exclusive to theatre. It is a universal and pervasive feature of social life which is a process of relational communication—a concept drawn from Gregory Bateson. Relational communication, or Relacom as he brands it, is a pragmatic form of communication through which the self and its other relate through the invocation of a kind of being (ibid., p. 62). The actor’s task is to affirm the character’s goals primarily by behaviour rather than speech. Relacom consists in pursuing the character’s goals as the actor defines and imagines them. Merging the playwright’s dialogue, the director’s staging and their own personal psyche and theatrical gifts. The actor plunges into relationship communication with all her fellow-actors to realise the goals she seeks. Whether she gets them or not is the playwright’s decision: her decision is simply to try. (op. cit., pp. 67–68)21

The secret to successful acting is the pursuit of relational communication through which the actor creates the character’s subjective reality by attributing motives to other characters. Playing a paranoid character can be subjectively made real for the actor by seeing others as “a vicious pack of would-be killers” (p. 103).

166 

B. KING

Relacom is a process of reciprocal attribution and confirmation based on the way the actor sees others in performance, determining how the actor qua character approaches these others, thinks of them and talks to them. And how onlookers—whether as other cast members or in the audience—can be persuaded to infer from these actions what sort of person the character is (op. cit., p. 115). General psychological processes—egocentrism, cognitive dissonance and social attribution are marshalled in support of Cohen’s theory of Acting Power: • Egocentricity, the tendency to view the world from the standpoint of self-interest, provides the opportunity for the actor to tap into a common framework that audiences will recognize. To achieve this, the actor must strive to see the dramatic situation through a character’s eyes, without judging the quality of the character’s viewpoint.22 • Cognitive dissonance, as the process whereby behaving in a manner inconsistent with one’s belief alters those beliefs in a direction consistent with behaviour, suggests how the actor may self-induce a belief in the reality of the character’s feelings. As a process, cognitive dissonance enables the actor to adjust inner thoughts and feeling to the actions of the character in a scene, just as unusual behaviour may encourage the actor to readjust their feelings by doing what the character does (ibid., pp. 135–136). • From attribution theory, Cohen extracts a theory of orientation to others, imagining them as personalities with fixed motives that can be exploited as a resource for leveraging advantage in the pursuit of the character’s goals—a construal that, if transferred to real life, supports an egotistical approach based on calculating “what’s in it for me?” (ibid., p. 139).23 By cherry-picking psychological research alongside developing physical technique, the actor can achieve an empathic bonding with the character, relishing the character’s victories and sympathizing with defeats. A wholehearted identification with character can have important benefits, such as overcoming shyness and the fear of exposing the self in public.24 What is determinative in Cohen’s theory—what must be present for the litany of psychological and social psychological process to work—is an egocentric view of the self. In creating character creation not only is winning everything but losing is everything too.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

167

The basic mechanism, then, for creating a character is to examine a world as your character sees it, and then play within – and at many times against— that world as yourself. You see the world as she does, you fear what she fears and you want what she wants, so go after those wants with every skill at your command. Whether you remain “you” should not be of concern, you are you. You have unique qualities that will come through regardless of the character you play or the costume or the makeup you wear. You are also capable of winning situational victories with your own powers, though these may not be powers that you use in everyday life. You retain the self-­ centredness, the egocentricity and personality of all living beings. You can then bring life into the characters you play. (ibid., p. 106, italics in original)

In Cohen’s account, the actor’s performance is driven by the desire to impress and win over others—both other actors on stage and people in the audience. Relacom is a view of drama as an individual competition—much like Donnellan’s pursuit of the target.25 Its primary purpose is to secure victories for the character’s plans, hopes and fantasies, which in real time are victories for the actor. In this process, the character and the individual actor undergo a quasi-religious consubstantiation: “The actors are not playing to an audience, their characters are. They are playing to a wide, wide world. They are playing to our world; the audience’s world” (ibid., p. 184). Despite differences in their accounts, Donnellan and Cohen make a similar argument. The actor must seek identification with external challenges in order to create a powerful performance.26 Again, their examples share a common feature: they all address the actor as an individual rather than as a member of an ensemble. Both, despite differing nuances and level of argument, take the “I” rather than the “We” of performance as central. What their examples propose is that there are no universal principles beyond the competitiveness of human nature. This emphasis may be defended as an implicit recognition of the empirical reality of the intense competition for parts. The key to a quality performance is the motivational integration of the actor’s and character’s will to power, of which the former is the cause and the latter a dependent effect. At least these approaches remain within the terrain of dramaturgy and strive, with greater or lesser success, to advise the actor how to craft a powerful performance. Their limitation is that they imagine performance as a practice entirely within the actor’s control, based on the fact that theatrical performance leaves more of performance in the actor’s hands. What

168 

B. KING

now must be considered are approaches to training that offer practical advice about how to succeed in the tough market of American mainstream cinema and television, where the potential for reward is highest but the technology of production fragments and morselizes the actor’s performance.

Enter the Coach The peri-theatrical realities of rare success, omnipresent failure and intense and stressful competition have created a need for “therapeutic” products and services that are tangential to the teaching of traditional performance skills. In contrast to the general orientation of training, the following texts provide a form of training and advice focussed on self-management and life skills. In relation to the concept of character, these new training practices are not focused on preparing the actor to perform a fictional character; but rather, they focus on preparing the actor to present a persona—a professional simulation of a private self—in order to surmount the formidable threshold of casting. It is, therefore, necessary to trace the emergence of a coaching approach that posits a new kind of performing subject, as a competitor in a pragmatic tournament for work. The emergent emphasis on self-presentation owes more to Erving Goffman than to traditional theatre training. To illustrate the rise of the coaching approach, it is useful to consider in turn Hollywood-based “gurus” Milton Katselas and Ivanna Chubbuck.27 As stated on the Beverly Hills Playhouse website: “the tradition established by Katselas rather than emphasizing any one techniques or school of acting thought – such as Stanislavski, Meisner, Adler, Strasberg ‘sense memory,’ etc. utilizes a down-to-earth approach developed over 40 years by its creator, renowned director and teacher Milton Katselas” ­(https:// www.bhplayhouse.com/). The cornerstone of the Milton Katselas “system”—still taught today after his death—is the commitment to the three pillars of the actor’s work: • Acting—talent as developed through the acquisition of performance skills and techniques. • Attitude—the viewpoint and feeling of the artist towards life, himself and others and what to what the artist creates. • Administration—the means by which the artist, through exercising specific choices and the actions undertaken, puts art into the world.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

169

This includes networking, writing flattering letters to directors and agents, preparing headshots, CVs and other activities of self-promotion. Though these dimensions are empirically interrelated, it is the motivational dimension of the actor’s performance that is marked as crucial.28 This is because individuals who join the class are assumed to be talented and otherwise working on honing their performance skills. But these assumed attributes alone are not sufficient. The critical variable is the cultivation of a “professional” commitment. In his book (Katselas, 2008) based on his formerly confidential lesson plans, Katselas defines the actor as an artist with a mission to make great art and to be the best they can be. To be a true performer, the actor must be able and worthy enough to awaken “enthusiasm”—the Greek word for divine inspiration (ad loc. 97). Given this view of the actor as a passionate and “dangerous” romantic, restraint and middle-class inhibitions are the enemies of creativity. The role model advocated, and supported by referral to unruly stars such as Marlon Brando, is the Warrior and Artistic Killer who “embodies the fusion between attitude and the feeling you have to do something. Of critical importance is administration which informs the choices you make and getting these choices made no matter what” (Kindle loc. 2936, see also loc. 2964). Given the strong emphasis on being a winner, and overcoming inhibitions, Katselas’s system is littered with demands to follow the higher duties of acting as a vocation. There are essentially two ways to be an actor: One is the poseur, the indicator, the phony, and the other is that of the honest actor who tries in his or her own way to live the experience of the ­character. My approach is geared to the latter, toward helping the honest actor develop a very personal experience. (Kindle, loc. 126)

Or: But as much as I’m trying to unleash this highly expressive, personal artist, I’m also trying to unleash the mensch within all actors. (Kindle loc 104)

In formulating these maxims, the resemblance to sports coaching is underscored by references to sport as providing the moments of self-­ transcendence that Katselas associates with great acting and artistry. The

170 

B. KING

hard yards of training and the polishing of craft can only pay off if there is a will to win.29 Although this call for a heroic commitment is a professional commonplace given the state of the competition, Katselas’s unique selling point is to associate winning with the application of self-analysis, in order to remove emotional blocks that deplete the energy and passion available to the individual in performance. It is not difficult to discern in his anecdotal mix of theatrical common sense and folk theories of personality, nuggets of wisdom plucked from assertiveness training and the Gospel of Therapy (Hutto, 2004; Moskowitz, 2001). But there is a more proximate source. Katselas was a long-term Scientologist and an Operating Thetan. A number of prominent actors who studied with Katselas—to mention a few, Jenna Elfman, Giovanni Ribisi and Anne Archer—are practising Scientologists; and others, such as Jeffrey Tambor, George Clooney and Michele Pfeiffer, have at one time or another attended classes (Kent, 2017). Such luminaries, whatever else they did, can follow the time-honoured practice of using an outcome as a justification for the means. The degree to which Katselas’s background as Scientologist made the Beverly Hills Playhouse a recruiting wing for Scientology is a matter of debate: Most people in the Los Angeles acting community believe that the Beverly Hills Playhouse is a serious conservatory where actors train with a master teacher, while others think it’s a recruitment center for Scientology. I wondered if it might be both. What if the playhouse was a serious conservatory, and Katselas a master teacher, not in spite of Scientology but because of it? (Oppenheimer, 2007)30

However, the connection between Katselas’s approach to teaching and Scientology’s own philosophy of selfhood suggests, if not a direct influence, a strong elective affinity. The figure of the Warrior and the emphasis on self-transcendence is a foundational principle in Scientology. For example, L. Ron Hubbard’s The Problems of Work, the vade mecum for all aspiring Thetans, identifies three factors that are of the utmost importance to personal success. Known in Scientology as the ARC triangle, Hubbard’s model is composed of the trifecta: Affinity—emotional responsiveness; Reality—the real things of life; and Communication—the interchange of ideas between two or more terminals (people). The balance between these factors struck by the individual provides answers to key questions about being effective in life and in the workplace: “How should I talk to people?

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

171

How can I sell people things? How can I give new ideas to people? How can I find what people are thinking about? How can I handle my work better” (Hubbard & Chase, 2008, p. 83). The ARC model is echoed in Katselas’s model of the three A’s. But an even closer connection is found in the emphasis on a positive attitude as the basis of success.31 In contrast to Katselas’s channelling of Scientology, Ivanna Chubbuck draws freely on her sampling of psychology and behavioural science, with a brief accreditation nod to early Stanislavski and Strasberg (loc. 112). Yet the closest model for her approach is the culture of talk shows which encourage participants to seek emotional release through confession.32 Chubbuck argues for releasing the actor’s power through pain, while evoking a heroic pedigree: This technique will teach you how to use your traumas, emotional pains, obsessions, travesties, needs, desires and dreams to fuel and drive your character’s achievement of a goal. You’ll learn that the obstacles of your character’s life are not meant to be accepted but to be overcome, in heroic proportions. In other words, my technique teaches actors how to win. More than two thousand years ago, Aristotle defined the struggle of the individual to win as the essence of all drama. Overcoming and winning against all the hurdles and conflicts of life is what makes dynamic—people. Martin Luther King, Jr., Stephen Hawking, Susan B.  Anthony, Virginia Woolf, Albert Einstein, Beethoven, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela all had to overcome almost insurmountable struggles in their lives to achieve their goals. (Chubbuck, 2005, p. 12)

Through following her system, the actor’s will learn how to turn the experiences of personal hurt and trauma into source of emotional power. The efficacy of her system is endorsed by testimonials found on her website (cited on http://www.ivanachubbuck.com/): Ivana taught me fearlessness and freedom as an artist. I used to be ashamed of my pain and my past but she taught me how to use my pain in my art, which made me realize it is the very things that gave me shame, that empowered me as an artist and as a human being. (ibid., Tasha Smith)

Or:

172 

B. KING

She right away got into really subliminal, exploratory personal chambers that I wanted to keep closed. Like my son’s death. I said, “I really don’t want to go there, I really don’t want to talk about that.” She said, “Well, that’s what needs to come out. You need to express that. This is what this character is dealing with, that kind of loss, that kind of grief”. (ibid., Sylvester Stallone quote from NPR)

As another exemplary proof of the efficacy of her technique, she recounts her experience in privately coaching Halle Berry for the role of Leticia in Monster’s Ball (2001)—an extremely heartrending story (ibid., p. 176). Berry won an Oscar for her performance, the first to be awarded to a Black actress in a leading role, with Berry in her acceptance speech extolling Chubbuck as a world-class acting coach. Monster’s Ball is a fitting choice for illustrating Chubbuck’s theory of redemption through suffering. Berry’s task was to find a way to turn a tale of oppression and defeat into a search for love. Her system has two modes of delivery, the most prestigious being one-­ on-­one coaching for A-list stars and performers. Her biggest impact rests on the running of rehearsal studio for aspiring actors. As stated in the short biographical introduction to her book, Chubbuck is the most sought-after acting coach in the world, with her system having been used to train thousands of actors in her brand-name workshops located worldwide. Overall, the actor in following the Chubbuckian system, creates character as a personal hieroglyph of suffering drawn by a damaged psyche. The pathos of suffering has obvious appeal to actors, who seek their livelihood in an environment in which failure is endemic and rejection the likeliest outcome. Adopting the twelve-step model common in addiction and recovery programmes, the Chubbuck method’s world view is defined by the emphasis on the effects of abusive relationships. If the American culture of positivity examined by Ehrenreich demands a sunny disposition, Chubbuck associates powerful dramatic effects with the actor’s struggle with personal abuse and pain (Ehrenreich, 2009; Hope, 2011).33 Redrawing the art of performance around the art of war, Chubbuck advocates sourcing personal pain to create sensational, high-impact performances. As she observes in the introduction, “My technique teaches actors how to win”, which is essentially a divisive, individualistic objective. Hers is a Samurai view of existence, whose overriding goal is the Big Win against obstacles. As a

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

173

measure of the value accorded negativity and pain, her book only mentions happiness 8 times, as opposed to pain (89 times) and sadness (12 times); moreover, happiness is linked to the abatement of pain and suffering. Chubbuck’s heuristic for powerful acting depends on the decisions any actor makes about the following components: a. The overall objective: defined as a given character’s primal needs— which is assumed to be easily assimilated to the super-objective required by the play or screenplay. b. The scene objective: What the actor, having defined his or her character’s primal need, is striving to realize in a particular scene against obstacles presented by other characters and the plot. c. The substitute: a figure drawn from the actor’s personal experience—or as necessary, from the behaviour of others present in a scene. In its most potent form, the substitute springs from the actor’s inner life, creating an intensity of personal affect that creates a great performance. d. The inner monologue: this is Chubbuck’s gloss on affective memory, which is operationalized as a private subtext that adds an emotional coloration to the actor’s pursuit of the character’s overall objective and scene objective. In the inner monologue, the actor must confront inner demons (p. 57 ff). In other words, the actor is already the character if they are willing, with Chubbuck’s tutelage, to open the self to its inner fears and vulnerabilities. Some problems are worth considering. In relation to exercising the imagination, the actor is advised to base the overarching objective on primal needs. Her list of needs is deemed to be universal—to find love, to get power, to be unconditionally loved, to have children, to get married, to be loved by my mother or father, to get my ex back, to have a great career, to be validated, to survive, to protect and keep a loved one alive (p. 23). Such a list, in making no distinction between basic and higher order needs—as found, for example, in Abraham Maslow’s popular conceptualization— equates personal and professional needs as the spurs to characterization (Maslow, 1943).34 This equation is reductive and produces its own problems: what if the primal needs of the actor as person are contradictory, but the needs of the character are linear? What if the primal needs of the actor and the character

174 

B. KING

conflict? How does the overall objective constructed by the actor fit or not fit with other actors’ choices, the director’s or writer’s purposes and so on. These matters are not systematically addressed. But this is more than compensated by an emotionally intense performance which the audience recognizes subliminally. One obvious limitation of the Chubbuck technique is that it does not address acting as a collective endeavour. To be sure, participants in her workshops get to play scenes in front of other participants, who in turn get to perform. But this “audience” does not provide direct feedback, which comes from Chubbuck herself: some of which is frontstage, and some privately given to the participant backstage. Following her guidance, the actor is positioned as a monad outside of the dramatic action, conscientiously formulating tactics to achieve the character’s objectives based on a selection of the private experiences that Chubbuck has identified. Accordingly, Chubbuck’s approach does not consider inter-character conflict. The other actor B does not exist for actor A other than as a foil or means for personal success through the resolution of psychological conflicts. It can be questioned whether the actor’s deep engagement with personal problems necessarily leads to an affectively superior portrayal of character. Vakhtangov, for example, propounded the importance of physical actions for adding an emotional tone and resonance to a character portrayal (Brestoff, 1995, p. 61). Against Chubbuck’s exclusive linking of a powerful performance with the memories of private suffering, the actor could generate—as Donnellan and Cohen advocate—a powerful performance from their emotional reactions to the immediate situation of performance.35 The Chubbuck and Katselas “systems” propound a shame ethic in which a failure to realize one’s objectives is a cardinal sin (Giddens, 1991). Indeed, Chubbuck especially describes herself as a survivor of childhood abuse and, having been confronted throughout her life by controlling others, has refused to be a victim. What finer example of the virtues of overcoming inner pain and rejecting victimhood than her own rise to international fame as a Guru? What she admires in others is their ability to win despite suffering, and what better employment than acting to extol the drive to overcome harmful others, past or present? At the same time, Chubbuck’s idea of a great performance implicitly extols commercial success, if only because her exemplars are stars and the fact that she does not question this equation. Success for her is not about exhibiting acting skill, because the exercise of such skills depends on a

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

175

prior therapeutic accomplishment: the refusal to be a victim, and the determination to honour the precepts of a culture of survival (Lasch, 1985). In summary, these approaches, however much they are refracted through the personality of their teachers, share a common emphasis on self-improvement and therapeutic work. Both view freeing the self from inhibitions or blocks as the means to succeed and excel as an artist. Both affirm that self-change is only possible if guided by a competent and experienced coach. Both offer their services as guides on a personal-service basis which, even in the context of a group class, has a marked focus on the individual.36 The individual actor qua individual must discover and be prepared to confront personal “inner” dilemmas in order to succeed in a contest with other actors. This contest includes finding an agent, securing an audition and more rarely, within performance itself. At core, the systems of Katselas and Chubbuck focus on self-mastery. For the character to become real, the actor must become open to his or her own psychological and emotional blocks and impulses. Both approaches call for an assertive projection of the self. This call is linked, with Katselas, to the removal of negative emotions or, in an echo of Scientology, engrams; and with Chubbuck, the unblocking of affective memories of personal pain and trauma. In either approach, the overcoming of limitations on the self is the sine qua non of a high-energy performance. Overall, the instruction offered is solipsistic, with other actors framed as rivals or as a means to personal ends, rather than as collaborators. The influence of Method, however filtered and intensified by contemporary philosophies of self-­ improvement, is taken to its intellectual consummation in a Hollywood version of “care of the self”—to achieve, through overcoming the limitations of self, the overcoming of others in pursuit of commercial advantage.37

A Players’ Theodicy If Katselas and Chubbuck—as owners of acting studios in Los Angeles— treat the craft of acting from the perspective of Hollywood insiders, other texts are couched less in terms of defining the essence of “good” acting per se than focusing on the search for work. The stark facts of limited employment opportunities in an over-crowded market confine the majority of actors and performers to the realm of the peri-theatrical, where self-marketing is a governing imperative in building and sustaining a career. In this realm, the most pressing need is to learn how to attract the attention and gain the support of key

176 

B. KING

gatekeepers—agents, managers and casting directors. This requires a different kind of performance; one that is not focused on the embodiment of a fictional character. Rather, the focus is on configuring the self in order to attain a condition of occupational “grace” in the search for work. To attain this state, one must possess—besides the requisite skills for the job—certain dispositions such as being or becoming equipped to deal with rejection; and, given the fact of rejection, still treat the needs of above-the-line personnel—producers, directors, agents, casting directors and (sometimes) writers—as paramount.38 In these circumstances, the actor is expected to possess the personal qualities that make any individual employable such as honesty, cooperativeness and the willingness to take and follow instructions. Character here means being an agent possessed of moral qualities that define a “suitable” or even a “good” person. Because the talents and skills necessary to portray a fictional character will only be confirmed after an offer of employment, the moral qualities or character of a person must serve as a kind of bona fides. Even the evidence of track record of engagements and the fitness offered by the actor’s appearance will not necessarily remove the element of uncertainty surrounding the process of production. Indeed the cultural impact of the market creates a systemic obsession with success and failure and self worth (Tervio, 2009) In this respect the actor shares the same constraints that operate in routine employment, but with the enhanced risk to the employer entailed by the high costs of production and market risk. The actor, then, is a creature with a double virtuality— required to present a professional persona and acting in a character as a vehicle of trans-personal cultural stereotypes and ideals.39 From the actor’s side, the motives for practicing the craft rest on long-­ term creative aspirations or the love of the art. But these can only be realized through providing a service that fits the behavioural requirements of a specific production. Only by proving the self to be useful and compliant in the present will the long-term objective of building a career be served. Yet even here, given professional success, creative aspirations may still be thwarted by such industry practices as type-casting, or the lack of opportunity to capitalize on a breakout role. The intensity of competition for parts and the terms under which employment is offered mean that the actor (or any other performer) engaged in a cultural activity premised on creativity may find their options routinized. In this circumstance, the kinds of training and research activities extolled by acting trainers and assorted gurus focused on dramaturgy undergo a displacement onto self-­impression management, of the kind advocated by Erving Goffman, but given

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

177

additional stringency through the increasing emphasis on self-help and the recommendation of techniques and tricks of the trade as an at-cost service. In this realm, it is not a fictional character that is the goal of development but a professional persona. Maintaining a persona, especially given the dearth of work, depends on developing a personal portfolio and a social media presence, which in turn requires marketing skills. But more important, if such projects are to be useful, is the question of an appropriate motivation and attitude. This is because it is necessary to deal with the psychological effects of failure in order to gain employment or, if fortunate enough to be employed, to have the kind of career and the associated wealth and fame that brought the actor into show business in the first place. The advice that targets the development of a professional persona can be seen as a theodicy, wherein the purpose is not to explain how evil can flourish in a world created by a benevolent god, but rather to explain how failure or rejection occurs despite individual hard work and talent. The advice books that take aim at this problem deal with two fundamental issues: how to be sufficiently entrepreneurial and how to have the fortitude and determination to strive against overwhelming odds. The concept of training in these circumstances partakes of a process of presenting, despite challenges and disappointments, a likeable persona, with an optimistic outlook. The key to being likeable rests on teaching the self (with a coach’s support) to respond positively to the realities of the business as defined from a producer’s perspective. Self-management for the actor takes the following forms. First the aspiring actor must learn to accept the intrinsic unfairness of the casting process, whether for stage, film, television or commercial work. These areas of performance have their specific differences, but there is one factor in common: there is no systematic relationship between levels of ability and casting—less talented actors will often get cast over those of greater or comparable ability.40 This is a sufficiently regular occurrence that versatility is not, finally, conducive to success—but the right attitude is. In order to have a chance of succeeding, actors must learn not to become bitter— because this is to internalize failure, which communicates a bad “vibe” to casting directors. Rather than “bitching” about the undoubted unfairness of the industry practices—nepotism, disparagement of “losers” and the sycophantic treatment of today’s winners (who may be tomorrow’s losers), the aspiring actor needs to recognize that not winning a part, even if asked to confirm availability or receiving a call-back, is a level of success: a professional endorsement that one is inside rather than outside the game.

178 

B. KING

Being outside the game would mean that one is not placed and ready for the once-in-a-lifetime, lightning-strike break. An actor who is seriously committed to building a professional career must stay motivated, continuing to pitch despite negative outcomes (Gillespie, 2003, p. 10). An effective strategy for confronting the challenges of being cast is to develop an industry-specific personal brand. This brand is not based on self-analysis of one’s talents and skills, but rather on how others perceive one as a type—contingent on body shape, looks, hair and eye colour, and general habitus. These significant others will be located within the industry, or in informal networks that are industry-connected. Deciding on which self-image to develop should be guided by an audit of the perceptions of the self that are held by friends, partners, fellow actors, followers on Facebook or other social media. Remarks made by school friends in the High School Yearbook, such as “most unusual personality” are deemed especially valuable, because they are based on lay perceptions not tainted by insider preferences. Indeed, notwithstanding the fact that folk notions of personality have long been infiltrated by show-business standards, such materials are held to be reliable traces of the “natural” essence of the self that never goes away (op. cit., p. 28). By researching and collating and triangulating these sources, the actor would be able to determine their bull’s-eye—the identification of a personal brand that sells. The most important feature of the bulls-eye, compared to Donnellan’s target, is that it incorporates, in the full sense of the term, a producer’s viewpoint. The actor is thereby providing a self-image that enables those handling the casting process to readily decide whether they are suitable for the part to be cast. This step towards subservience is common-sense: In most instances, the directors and producers you work with are going to have a broader view of what the overall finished product is supposed to look like, and while you may be certain that “it’d be better if I got to say this word on this beat instead of that one,” you’re only privy to a portion of the overall project, and you’ll need to trust that a director is going to pull out your best performance in a context that you might not have access to just yet. (op. cit., p. 22)

For some, advice providers such as Gillespie might be condemned as for-profit manipulators. But she can equally be seen as a realist, offering good advice on how to survive in a dismal business. The sum total of her

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

179

wisdom recommends that actors develop a thick skin in order to cope with the high rates of failure. Given she is a Hollywood insider, her advice constitutes a pragmatic response to a work environment that is not only rivalrous, but predatory—not just in the case of producers, agents, managers and other for-fee purveyors of “inside” dope on getting work, but also of other actors, who may operate as “Energy Vampires “or “Negative Nellies” (ibid., p. 23). Against the views of a Hollywood insider, it is useful to consider trainers who are not Hollywood-based. In this case—which also applies to American actors not located in Los Angeles—coaching becomes at once more abstract and concrete: focused on care of the self in general, considering wellness and the overcoming of personal inhibitions. Advice offered loses its immediate pragmatic focus.41 As a result, the aspiring actor must be more self-reliant, and the service offered moves even closer to personal coaching. Taking the UK as the example, British actors—like their American counterparts—need to have strong egos to cope with limited and precarious employment opportunities.42 Long-running television soap operas such as Coronation Street or the Australian show Neighbours—when they are chosen as the fulfilment of an actor’s career—can provide a stepping stone to movie stardom. But in lieu of these scarce opportunities, theatre work—whether amateur, paid or unpaid—with its ensemble ethos is the proving ground where one waits for “helicopter” casting opportunities in film and television. The affordances of digital media for circulating show reels and producing cheap video shorts have enhanced the opportunity for promoting the self to an agent, or being called into an audition by a casting director. But because the nature of performance work depends on the reliability and level of trust that only face-to-face contact can provide, the theatre or workshop remains the “natural” and economical setting for professional development.43 The tyranny of distance, and remoteness from Hollywood as the centre of Anglophone global production, exacerbates the tendency already present in Hollywood actor training towards the pursuit of individual outcomes.44 In this situation, a more para-therapeutic approach to theatrical training emerges which, if following the Hollywood model, sees a further extension, if not a dilution, of craft-based training towards a person-­ centred model derived from life coaching. This shift, if arising from the absence of a direct pragmatic connection, is also encouraged by the

180 

B. KING

popularity of life-coaching in general. Life coaching is, as the expression has it, a broad church, encompassing approaches based on psychologically attested methods and in its most popular form, heavily marketed a-­theoretical “six steps to your perfect life” practices (Grant & O’Hara, 2006, p. 21).45 It is towards the popular end of the spectrum that actor training finds a “natural” connection. This affinity, if not encouraged by a bandwagon effect, reflects the fact that some of the most popular acting gurus, like many Life coaches, are not formally qualified coaching professionals. Their reputation rests on the experience of being in the business.46 This practical experience is not without its value, but it does not necessarily qualify them to act as a “trusted role model, adviser, wise person, friend, mensch, steward, or guide” (Hudson, 1999 quoted in Jarosz, 2016).47 In the case of the UK, the most explicit example of the application of life-coaching to acting is Daniel Dresner’s A Life-coaching Approach to Screen Acting (Dresner, 2019). His website unequivocally announces that his commitment is to improving “you”: If you are already successful but ready for more, or know you have something special to share but have difficulty identifying, moving or putting it across to others, life coaching could be for you. Take control of yourself, your career, your relationships and every other part of your life. Get unstuck, find clarity and move forwards. Decide where you want to go, how to get there and by when. Live a fulfilled life, be more dynamic, effective, efficient and content. Make more money, get to the real you and identify what you want from life. (http://www.DanielDresner.com)

As this quote clearly emphasizes, Dresner offers a one-stop, full-service package of coaching which is based on his experience in the world of theatre and business.48 Yet despite its being full of useful tips, his approach shares some of the basic limitations of life coaching. The first is its firm focus on the individual. This is most apparent by the prolific use of the second person, addressing the reader as an equal, albeit aspiring, actor. The second is the emphasis on conscious decision-making and knowing the self, a usage that emphasizes once again a folk psychology of character.49 This is most apparent in the importance given to developing a “right” attitude towards the self as a committed professional:

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

181

Once you get to the top of the mountain, you can stand there and enjoy the view and soak up the wonderful feeling of achievement. Then … look at the next range in front of you and decide if you want the process to continue.50 The same is true with your career as an actor. You must continue going to classes, learn skills, learn scripts, practice vocal and camera technique, maintain a healthy body, audition, learn a role, finish the job and celebrate the wrap party. Then look for more work and start over again. (loc. cit., p. 31)

Adopting a Sisyphean work ethic is a pre-requisite in all self-employed work, but if you set achievable milestones and have fun along the way then you will be fulfilled and perhaps earn the ultimate prize: “And if you get an Oscar along the way, all the better for you. Notice I say along the way, not in the end” (loc. cit. p. 31, italics in the original). These pronouncements reveal a life-coaching approach that prioritizes the development of a positive self-image in the midst of endemic failure, with the importance of skills and talent dependent on motivation: My aim in writing this book was to encourage you to get out of your own way and into the life of another, removing the pressure by eliminating unnecessary burdens to allow you the freedom to create truthful and unique characters and performances. (loc. cit., p. 142)

This aim, in its most positive construal, reflects a sincerely held belief that all individuals can be creative, so that the key “therapeutic” problem of coaching is to free up personal creativity. In fairness, such an objective is valuable in itself; and unlike Chubbuck, whose declared purpose is to teach actors to “win”, Dresner places more emphasis on the journey. This emphasis, if genuine, can be read as reflecting the realities of a leaner and thinner UK market. To his credit, Dresner does not exclusively recommend adopting a producer-centred view of the self—though admittedly, this is a matter of occupational realism. Rather, his approach attempts to integrate the process of being work-ready with the goals of self-­ development. But given that the opportunities for work are fewer outside of Hollywood, the actor’s search for satisfaction is understandably centred on the development of a positive self-image—a move that parallels emphasis on the general lifestyle benefits of physical training for work-poor actors. The emphasis on life coaching permits Dresner to develop his own actor’s dramaturgy. To do this, he marshals existing authorities; for

182 

B. KING

example, he mentions: Grotowski’s Via Negativa, to define acting less as the exercise of craft skills than as a licence to concentrate on removing blocks (loc. cit., p. 8); Strasberg’s affective memory as reliable substitute for inspiration (loc. cit., p. 68); Stanislavski’s “the magic as if” as the means to consummate the fusion of the actor and the character; and Meisner on the reality of doing (loc. cit., p.  102). With these credentials in place, Dresner presents his own dramaturgy of the actor. The targets of Dresner’s dramaturgy are the inner actor—the analytical participant that does the research and psychophysical preparation in try-­ outs and rehearsal—and the inner character. The inner actor, accounting for approximately 80% of the realization of the performance of character, is concerned with the conceptualization of the work to be done. The inner character is the figure created in the moment of execution—the live affective mediator of a performance as given. The inner actor undertakes the preparatory work of conceptualizing the relationship between their self-­ conception and a role by creating an inner character—the embodiment of the external character defined by the script or screenplay. In creating the inner character, the objective is to select and release aspects of the actor’s own sense of identity, to serve the identity implied by the part and the circumstances of the plot. If the balance between preparation and execution is maintained, the actor’s inner character merges with the external character. In order to ensure the sought-after fusion between the inner and external character, the inner actor needs to recall emotional memories that are similar (though not identical) that fit the circumstances given in the plot. However, this obvious allusion to Method and affective memory is given a different emphasis because of the coaching emphasis on the integrity of the performer/client. The dynamics of the performer’s own psychology can block the realization of the inner character as an embodied analogue of the external character. But there are existential threats to the capacity of the inner actor to frame and release the inner character. If the performer is not free psychologically then the inner character cannot be free, and any performance will lack creativity and spontaneity. It follows that the dramatis personae proposed by Dresner are not figures of drama, but of the travails of the ego.51 In other words, the real dramaturgy that is stressed by Dresner is enacted in the inner theatre of the actor or would-be performer’s mind. In order for the inner character to embody the affective state implied by a scripted character, the inner actor must come to the threshold of

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

183

performance trusting enough in their background work to relinquish control over the process of performance itself: “If you trust yourself and your preparation and get out of the character’s way. This inner character takes over and becomes you. Or you become them, whichever way round you want to see it” (loc. cit., p. 101). So, the critical interchange is not between the performer and the audience or other performers, but with the “others” within the “theatre of the actor’s mind”. As a consequence, the determinant of the affective quality of a specific performance is the prior outcome of a “battle for souls” or psychomachia, which determines the creative impact of a specific performance. In this battle for souls, the key dramatis personae of the inner theatre are not literary or dramatic characters. Rather they are the creatures of the actor’s own imaging. They are: • The Protagonist—the actor’s conscious awareness of the self which acts as curator, sometimes critical but always supportive of the actor’s efforts to free themselves of inhibitions. This psychopomp is the Captain, a benign but professional super-ego mobilized by the actor in performance and by Dresner as he assumes the role of the actor’s coach. • The Antagonist is Doubt, which takes three interrelated forms: the inner saboteur, who whispers thoughts of failure; the perfectionist, who refuses to be satisfied with what is done; and the imposter, who feels that the self is essentially a fraud, not deserving of success even when, on whatever level, this is achieved.52 The benefit of coaching is that it neutralizes the Antagonist and permits the Captain to impose creative control over the construction of an external character within the actor’s production of an internal simulation. Overall, a good performance remains a matter of self-confidence and belief: “The truth of a scene or event starts with you if you really believe it is not fake” (loc. cit., p. 107). There is undeniably useful advice in Dresner’s book.53 But the total thrust of a life-coaching approach presumes or sets aside matters of technique and technology in order to execute a psychological reductionism. To give one last example, for a text that is focussed on cinema there is very little said about how to cope with the well-known limitations of screen acting: for example, its fragmentary and repetitive nature, with specific performances rarely realized in one or a few takes, or even that they are

184 

B. KING

often realized externally by camerawork, editing or in post-production. So, coping with the management of the deadening effects of repetitive takes is only passingly mentioned (loc. cit., p.  61). This is because the emphasis, once again, is not on skills and the wider aspects of craft, but on the cure of psychological blocks and inhibitions. Taking an overview of the acting advice materials I have discussed, it is apparent they all rest on a therapeutic narrative, in the sense that their narrative rationale and goal is to sustain the actor as a professional in search of work. In common with the pervasive culture of self-help, these approaches position success or failure not on sociological conditions, but on the personality of the actor seeking employment (Baines et al., 2012).54 What is cultivated is a professional optimism—which may indeed be cruel, but at the same time is a pre-requisite if the actor or performer is to stay in the game (Berlant, 2011). Staying in the game does not merely include sustaining aspirations for the great role, for wealth and fame. It can encompass forms of “dramatic” employment—in commercials, as brand ambassadors, as social influencers, as participants in acting classes and self-funded performances, live, video or online—that are modest hold-outs for the “big break”. All these activities constitute a dramaturgical variant of the literature of self-help, which is situated in an environment of great uncertainty and in which “there are no rules but watch out if you break them” (Gruber, quoted in Gillespie, op. cit.). In relation to the injunction to engage in self-promotion, the loosely structured nature of a project-driven “gig” economy makes the maintenance of a consistent professional identity a solitary and serial pursuit varying from job to job. This is because there is not one clearly identified organizational framework against which to orient one’s efforts at self-­ presentation. The actor and other performers typify this demand, which while not confined to performance work alone, is epitomized by it. The material qualities of the performer, as developed through both physical and psychological training, have a more engrossing impact on the image of self, which exceeds even the requirements of self-fashioning in the retail trades (Harvey et al., 2014). What the actor/performer as an employee is required to achieve is a synaesthetic embodiment of the “personality” implied by the job specification. This requirement in turn enacts a transformation of the relationship between different aspects of performance labour—a transformation that will be laid out in the concluding chapters.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

185

Notes 1. For a European example, see Bille et al. (2010). 2. Established stars rarely audition, receiving scripts to consider—though this privileged position is usually only reached after years of auditioning. 3. Key structural factors in the United States and the UK can be indicated: (1) the relative collapse of the repertory system and apprenticeships; (2) the tendency in conservatoire education not to offer courses that address the demands of professional life as these relate to employment and labour market conditions; (3) the increase in aspirants seeking to be actors and performers, encouraged by Reality Television and the rise of social influencers (Barker, 1995). 4. Specific films, for example, Working Girl, 9 to 5, and TV shows such as 30 Rock and Madmen dramatize workplace comportment. On the general fascination with the dynamics of performance see (Kershaw, 2001) 5. This refined expression of what is nominally off-stage or off-screen behaviour sets the norm of respectable behaviour and comportment for celebrities. 6. Singular is being used in the sense of having unique qualities that resist standardization. There is an extensive debate about the extent of aesthetic singularity in popular culture. The aestheticization of the self will be explored subsequently.  7. Ideally, since it is a commonplace that personal preferences may influence casting. See Shurtleff (1978). 8. An obvious exception is pornography. 9. For non-actors or amateur performers, this will be as their public self as an expression of a type; compared to which the actor’s realization of a type will have a prototypical quality. For a discussion of the differences between a ludic and narrative engagement with storytelling, see Frasca (2003). 10. As already observed, whether on stage or screen, the director/producer is the final arbiter. On stage the actor has more room to improvise but in film, small touches may not survive editing and post-production. 11. As observed by Howard Hawks, a veteran from an earlier time, the camera just loves some people. 12. The need to believe in the self and remain assertive in the stark fact of a precarious labour market is often rendered as a personal vanity. For example, the joke, How many actors does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer: Thirteen—one to climb up the ladder and twelve to stand around shouting, “It should be me up there!” 13. The point of physical training as perceived by Stanislavski (2003, p. 40 ff). 14. “To write about a historical movie star’s subjectivity, then, will mean always, if not only, to seek and to consider the discursive signs that at once

186 

B. KING

indicate and produce struggles between being and doing, between working at making films and working at having a private life, between defining oneself and being defined by others” (MacLean, 2004, p. 3). 15. A qualification is that filmed performances continue to exist; but even these, whilst appearing concrete, are abstractions. 16. Even a complete, particularized rendition of character is incomplete in relation to its culturally relevant ideal. 17. Usually ensemble work rests on being part of a company; though certain trainers, following the practices of Peter Brook and Michael Chekhov, see it as a guiding rationale of any performance. 18. As Foucault puts it: “He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes responsibility for the constraints of power; he makes them play spontaneously upon himself, he inscribes in himself the power relation in which he simultaneously plays both roles; he becomes the principle of his own subjection” (1979, pp.  202–203). Subjection becomes self-fashioning as subjectification. In acting, the persona is the principle of subjectification. 19. Without extensively drawing on cognitive science, Donnellan asserts as a settled fact that knowing and feeling are the products—not the preconditions—of action. Donnellan’s approach resembles the existential approach of Michael Goldman: “Whatever his stylization, whatever his distance from the part, the actor passes into a mode of being that draws strength from the confrontation with the fearful, from the assumption of qualities that cut against the ‘natural’” (Goldman, 1975, p. 1). 20. What conventional dramaturgy is remains unspecified—Barba with his contrast between everyday behaviour and theatre; Schechner, Chekhov or even Stanislavski provide some of the usual suspects. Cohen cites Goffman’s The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life as a warrant to conflate everyday life and theatre. But he neglects to note Goffman’s warning that the dramaturgical approach is a metaphor, a scaffolding to be taken down. The everyday-­life struggle to define the situation against others has higher stakes, and more substantial consequences, than the admittedly contrived illusion of the stage (Goffman, 1978, pp. 184 and 246). As Goffman also notes, what is real and consequential for actors is the winning of audience approval, and this is finally what Cohen’s concept of actor power is actually about. 21. In this quote, the expression “the goals she seeks” shows how difficult it is to keep the actor’s goals separate from the character’s goals in a commercial setting. Cf p. 12. 22. Cohen rejects Brechtian approaches to acting (pp. 211–214). 23. For a general discussion see Schmidtz (1997).

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

187

24. Cohen also advocates re-focussing the “magic as if” on other characters asking not what would I feel as character X, but what would another actor playing character Y feel (p. 117). 25. Cohen claims that Relacom is not about rivalry and manipulation. For example: “Winning in life is not necessarily a competition against individual rivals or rival teams … it more normally means fulfilling one or more self-­designated roles. These stem from the basic human instincts: survival, love, happiness, health, validation, respect” (pp. 22 and 69). But given that he makes self-interest the ontological centre of powerful acting, this is hardly convincing. 26. The emphasis on the individual comports with the marketing of these texts as self-help advice. 27. The texts I now consider partake of a boot-strap approach offering inspiration rather than detailed technical advice. For example, in the cases I use, a coaching approach is linked, in the case of Katselas, with the removal of negative emotions or engrams and, in the case of Chubbuck, with a melding of Method and a popularized version of abreaction therapy. 28. One concrete (and commercially hard-faced) demonstration of commitment was Katselas’s refusal to allow the pre-enrolment auditing of his classes. Full payment was required upfront. Perhaps as a sign of increasing competition, the Beverley Hills Playhouse currently allows auditing if the person wishing to sample is a friend of someone fully enrolled (see https:// www.bhplayhouse.com/). 29. On the pervasiveness of a culture of winning in the United States see Best (2011). 30. On Katselas’s involvement and conflicts with Scientology see Wright (2013) and Kent (2017). 31. As demonstrated by Katselas’s success with his best-selling self-help book, Dreams into Action (1996) which was promoted on Oprah and endorsed by Stephen Covey, Deepak Chopra, Jack Lemmon and Billy Wilder. 32. For a useful general discussion, see Marx et al. (2017). For a discussion of the talk show see J.M. Shattuc (2014, p. 115). 33. Hope audited a class with Chubbuck in 2010. I did the same in 2011 and confirm his report of what happened. The only point I would add is that the session I attended had a palpable climate of fear, inspired by Chubbuck’s abrasive leadership style and critiques. One noteworthy constraint over her students’ chances of delivering a great performance—and this is common in Los Angeles and elsewhere– is the coercive comparison provided by use of clips from screen performances as a standard to be realized. The scene shown was from Analyze This with Robert De Niro and Billy Crystal. This is obviously a convenient (though not necessary) way to establish a common point of reference, but since such clips are finished performances

188 

B. KING

assembled from retakes and collectively burnished, their use imposes an artificially high standard for the live performance of scenes. 34. Given the endemic facts of unemployment, most actors are likely to be confined to the lower level of being and sufficiency needs, while attempting to satisfy higher needs through taking classes and working for free. 35. For an account that against the practices of Method that an actor’s control of emotional expression is based on the control of posture, breathing and facial expression see Bloch (1993). 36. After the selected actors have watched a filmed scene, they perform the scene live. After this first performance, one or the other is taken back stage to receive Chubbuck’s critique in private, following which they do the scene again. This procedure is a group version of the exclusive one-on-one coaching that celebrities receive in private. 37. Foucault, M. (1986). The use of pleasure (R. Hurley, Trans). New York: Vintage. Foucault defines the care of the self in terms of “those intentional and voluntary actions by which men not only set themselves rules of conduct, but also seek to transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular being, and to make their life into an oeuvre” (1986, p. 10). 38. The demands placed on the actor such as the likelihood of rejection mean that the predominant emotion is fear (Guskin, 2003). 39. The term “virtual” is being used here as realm of potentiality that, becoming actual, will still fall short of the animating ideals (Shields, 2006). 40. In the peri-theatrical realm, the definition of talent in acting as the ability to embody a fictional character has only a hypothetical status and reverts to the notion of a persona. 41. Which is not to claim that insider advice is necessarily more objective, though it may be existentially valid. 42. And not just British actors of course. German actors, for example, face similar circumstances; see Haunschild and Eikhof (2009). 43. “Empire building. We know people who do it, we read articles about it, we see it on TV—but what exactly is it? Does success as a performer translate to same as success in other fields? Should a performer employ the same methods? How do we do it as actors? Do you have to generate your own content? Is it required that you have a “brand”? Do you have to be an expert at social media? Must you be a “hyphenate” in this day and age?” (SAG-­AFTRA Conservatory, The Focus, Summer 2014). 44. Life coaching has its collective and individualistic variants even in Hollywood. For example, Ivanna Chubbuck, consistent with the practice of other gurus, applies life-coaching methods in a collective form in classes and as a personal service for established actors (Ives, (2008). 45. “Ultimately, expert service workers’ success will depend on their abilities to differentiate themselves from other practitioners, a difficult task when external signifiers of credibility or ‘professionalism’ become arbitrary. And this lack of institutional support for expert service workers places the onus

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

189

on their individual abilities to convince others that they are legitimate by staying on the cutting edge of their industries, learning ever-expanding information, and ensuring continual customer satisfaction” (George, 2013, pp. 204–205). This quote, without necessarily intending to, epitomizes the situation of actors and performers. 46. In this connection some stars, for example, Dustin Hoffman, offer master classes. 47. “The concept of ‘guru’ is a marketing ploy—it draws on the historical image of the relationship of theatrical apprenticeships. Not all ‘gurus’ are autocrats. Students need a ‘guru’ who gives permission to allow forbidden thoughts into their consciousness. A ‘guru’ doesn’t necessarily teach at all. Some remain speechless for years. Other communicate very cryptically. All reassure by example” (Johnstone, 2019, p. 76). 48. His web page continues: “I have been in the entertainment industry for over 20 years, starting off as a stand-up comedian, actor and theatre director in Tokyo, Japan. I then studied at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in New  York and worked as an actor there for six years, returning to London in 2001 to act, coach and teach. I coach actors, directors, writers, producers, singers, and production companies as well as the odd publisher and yoga instructor. I teach privately as well as in venerable institutions around the globe and here in London at the Actors Centre, the Guildhall, London Actors Workshop and Drama Studio London. I also run presentation skills, assertiveness and personal impact training workshops for corporates.” 49. Freud is also cited as identifying the subconscious as being a storage area of dreams and memories or senses memories which can be accessed (Freud, 2002, p. 71). For Freud the storage area was the unconscious, which was not consciously accessible and indeed, challenged rational theories of consciousness. Beyond pedantry, this use of Freud as a theoretical warrant only illustrates Dresner’s facile conception of psychoanalysis. “There is an outdated idea, based on superficial appearances, that the patient’s sufferings result from a kind of ignorance and if only this ignorance could be overcome by effective communication (about the causal links between the illness and the patient’s life, about his childhood etc.) a recovery must follow” (op. cit., p.  7). Freud’s view of this wild model—that it is like aiming to cure famine by handing out menus—identifies the limits of the coaching approach. 50. Just as a climber needs a Sherpa to climb Mount Everest, an actor needs a coach (p. 31). 51. Loosely, because what Dresner proposes is a mash-up of drama therapy and psychodrama. The former seeks a transcendent engagement with the realm of symbols, rather than exploring the realm of (inner or outer) reality, and the latter explores personal identity issues. Overall, the emphasis on the

190 

B. KING

macrocosmic symbolic dimensions of performance gets short shrift, because dramatic characters are reduced to personal experiences (see Chapter 22). In sum, Dresner’s approach has more elements of psychodrama than drama therapy. But even the former is presented in a bromide version. On the contrast between these therapies, see Kedem-Tahar and Felix-Kellermann (1996). 52. The imposter syndrome may have its roots in the fact that although drama is a collaborative art, the quality of a performance is often attributed to a singular contribution, for example, the star’s. One can judge that the performance of a specific actor compared to another actor in the same part is definitive. But this does not mean that the source of definitiveness arises from the actor alone. 53. In principle, hints or tips of a practical kind can be helpful—see for example Forcetti (2020). What is problematic is mixing practical advice on preparing for auditions with the objectives of self-help therapy. 54. If this process is pervasive in the “caring” professions, how much more pervasive is it within the dual labour market for acting services, where those who succeed are lauded as especially talented?

References Baines, D., Charlesworth, S., Cunningham, I., & Dassinger, J. (2012). Self-­ monitoring, Self-blaming, Self-sacrificing Workers: Gendered Managerialism in the Non-profit Sector. Women’s Studies International Forum, 35(5), 362–371. Barker, C. (1995). What Training–For What Theatre? New Theatre Quarterly, 11(42), 99–108. Berlant, L. (2011). Cruel Optimism. Duke University Press. Best, J. ( 2011). Everyone’s a Winner: Life in Our Congratulatory Culture. University of California Press, Los Angeles. Bille, T., Agersnap, F., Jensen, S., & Vestergaard, T. (2010). Performing Artists’ Income Conditions and Careers in Denmark. In The 16th International Conference on Cultural Economics. ACEI 2010. Blair, H. (2001). ‘You’re only as good as your last job’: the labour process and labour market in the British film industry. Work, employment and society, 15(1), 149–169. Bloch, S. (1993). Alba Emoting: A Psychophysiological Technique to Help Actors Create and Control Real Emotions. Theatre Topics, 3(2), 121–13. Brestoff, R. (1995). The Great Acting Teachers and Their Methods. Smith and Kraus, Inc., One Main Street, PO Box 1270, Lyme, NH 03768. Chubbuck, I. (2005). The Power of the Actor: The Chubbuck Technique. Penguin. Cohen, R. (2013). Acting Power: The 21st Century Edition. Routledge. De Keere, K. (2014). From a self-made to an already-made man: A historical content analysis of professional advice literature. Acta Sociologica, 57(4), 311–324.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

191

Delorme, N. (2016). Working for Free in the UK Theatre Industry: An Actor’s Perspective. In Cultural Management Education in Risk Societies-Towards a Paradigm and Policy Shift (pp. 103–116). ENCATC. Donnellan, D. (2002). The Actor and the Target. Nick Hern Books. Dresner, D. (2019). A Life-coaching Approach to Screen Acting. A Life-coaching Approach to Screen Acting, 1–176. Ehrenreich, B. (2009). Bright-sided: How positive thinking is undermining America. Metropolitan Books. Elias, A. S., Gill, R., Scharff, C., & (eds). (2017). Aesthetic Labour: Rethinking Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism (pp. 3–49). Palgrave Macmillan. Fluck, W. (1990). The Humanities in the Age of Expressive Individualism and Cultural Radicalism. Cultural Critique, 40, 49–71. Forchetti, M. (2020). The Top 5 Things Casting Directors Look for in a Self-­Tape. https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/the-­top-­5-­things-­casting-­ directors-­look-­for-­in-­a-­self-­tape-­71097 Forchetti, M. (2021). The Top 5 Things Casting Directors Look for in a Self-Tape https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/the-top-5-things-castingdirectors-look-for-in-a-self-tape-71097/. Accessed 1/04/2023. Fortmueller, K. (2014). Full Time Dreams: Extras, Actors and Hollywood’s On-Screen Labor. PhD diss., University of Southern California. Fortmueller, K. (2019). Time’s Up. Media Industries Journal, 6(2), 1–6. Foucault, M. (1979). Discipline and Punish. Penguin. Foucault, M. (1986). The use of pleasure (R. Hurley, Trans). Vintage. Frasca, G. (2003). Ludologists Love Stories Too; Notes from a Debate That Never Took Place. In Marinka Copier and Joost Raessens (Eds.), Level Up: Digital Games Research Conference Proceedings (pp. 92–99). Utrecht: DiGRA. Freud, S. (2002). Wild Analysis. Penguin. George, M. (2013). Seeking Legitimacy: The Professionalization of Life Coaching. Sociological Inquiry, 83(2), 179–208. Gershuny, J. (2005). Busyness as a Badge of Honour for the New Superordinate Working Class. Social Research, 72(2), 287–314. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Stanford University Press. Gillespie, B. (2003). Self-Management for Actors: Getting Down to (Show) Business Cricket Feet Publishing. Goffman, E. (1978). The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life. Penguin. Goldman, M. (1975). The Actor’s Freedom: Toward a Theory of Drama. Viking Adult. Grant, A.  M., & O’Hara, B. (2006). The Self-presentation of Commercial Australian Life Coaching Schools: Cause for Concern. International Coaching Psychology Review, 1(2), 20–32. Guskin, H. (2003). How to Stop Acting. Macmillan.

192 

B. KING

Harvey, G., Vachhani, S.  J., & Williams, K. (2014). Working Out: Aesthetic Labour, Affect and the Fitness Industry Personal Trainer. Leisure Studies, 33(5), 454–470. Haunschild, A., & Eikhof, D. R. (2009). Bringing Creativity to Market: Actors Asself-Employed Employees. In Creative Labour: Working in the Creative Industries (pp. 156–173). Palgrave Macmillan. Hennekam, S., & Bennett, D. (2017). Creative Industries Work Across Multiple Contexts: Common Themes and Challenges. Personnel Review, 46(1), 68–85. Hope, N. (2011). Happiness as a Quality of Dramatic Performance-the Chubbuck Technique: Struggle, Conflict, and Stasis. Performance Paradigm, 7, 1–23 Hubbard, L. R., & Chase, H. (2008). The Problems of Work. Bridge Publications. Hutto, D.  D. (2004). The Limits of Spectatorial Folk Psychology. Mind & Language, 19(5), 548–573. Ives, Y. (2008). What Is ‘Coaching’? An Exploration of Conflicting Paradigms. International Journal of Evidence Based Coaching & Mentoring, 6(2), 100–113. Jarosz, J. (2016). What Is Life Coaching?: An Integrative Review of the Evidence-­ Based Literature. International Journal of Evidence Based Coaching and Mentoring, 41(1), 34–56. Johnstone, K. (2019). Impro: Improvisation and Theatre. Bloomsbury Academic. Karlsson, J.  C. (2012). Looking Good and Sounding Right: Aesthetic Labour. Economic and Industrial Democracy, 33(1), 51–64. Katselas, M. (1996). Dreams Into Action: Getting what You Want! Harper Collins. Katselas, M. (2008). Acting Class: Take a Seat. Phoenix Books, Inc. Kindle edition Kedem-Tahar, E., & Felix-Kellermann, P. (1996). Psychodrama and Drama Therapy: A Comparison. The Arts in Psychotherapy, 23(1), 27–36. Kent, S., et al. (2017). Scientology in Popular Culture: Influences and Struggles for Legitimacy., ABC-CLIO, LLC. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ualberta/detail.action?docID=4891452 Kershaw, B. (2001). Dramas of the Performative Society: Theatre at the End of Its Tether. New Theatre Quarterly, 17(3), 203–211. Lasch, C. (1985). The minimal self: Psychic survival in troubled times. WW Norton & Company. Mamet, D. (2011). True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor. Vintage. Maslow, A. H. (1943). A theory of human motivation. Psychological Review, 50, 370–396. McClanaghan, K. (2014). Auditioning by the Numbers. https://www.dailyactor. com/acting-advice-columns/auditioning-by-the-numbers/. Retrieved 2020. McDonald, P. (2013). Hollywood Stardom. John Wiley & Sons. MacLean, A.  L. (2004). Being Rita Hayworth: Labor, Identity, and Hollywood Stardom. Rutgers University Press. Marx, C., Benecke, C., & Gumz, A. (2017). Talking Cure Models: A Framework of Analysis. Frontiers in Psychology Article, 8, 1–13.

6  WORK—RARELY A FEAST, MOSTLY A FAMINE 

193

Oppenheimer, M. (2007). The Actualizer. https://www.nytimes.com/2007/ 07/15/magazine/15Katselas-t.html 6/6. Renaud, L. T. (2011). Training Artists or Consumers? Commentary on American Actor Training. In E. Margolis & L. T. Renaud (Eds.), The Politics of American Actor Training (pp. 76–93). Routledge. Rose, N. (1996). Identity, Genealogy History. In S.  Hall & P.  DuGay (Eds.), Questions of Cultural Identity (pp. 128–150). Sage. SAG-AFTRA Conservatory, The Focus, Summer 2014 https://www.sagaftra.org/ Schechner, R. (2010). In Between Theater and Anthropology (pp.  35–116). University of Pennsylvania Press. Schmidtz, D. (1997). Self-Interest: What’s in It for Me? Social Philosophy and Policy, 14(1), 107–121. Schneider, F. (2012). The Shadow Economy and Work in the Shadow: What Do We(Not) Know? Institute of Labor Economics (IZA). Seligman, M. E. (2006). Learned optimism: How to change your mind and your life. Vintage. Shattuc, J. (2014). The Talking Cure TV Talk Shows and Women. Routledge. Shields, R. (2006). Virtualities. Theory, Culture & Society, 23(2–3), 284–286. Shurtleff, M. (1978). Audition: Everything an Actor Needs to Know to Get the Part. Bloomsbury Publishing USA. Spatz, B. (2015). What a Body Can Do. Routledge. Stanislavski, C. (2003). Building a Character. Routledge. Tervio, M. (2009). Superstars and Mediocrities: Market Failure in the Discovery of Talent. The Review of Economic Studies, 76(2), 829–850. Tillyard, E. (2017). The Elizabezthan World Picture. Routledge. Wilkie, I. (2015). “Too Many Actors and Too Few Jobs”: A Case for Curriculum Extension in UK Vocational Actor Training. London Review of Education, 13(1), 31–42. Wilshire, B. (1990). The Concept of the Paratheatrical. TDR, 344(4), 169–178. Zamir, T. (2010). Watching Actors. Theatre Journal, 62(May), 227–243. Zazzali, P. (2016). Acting in the Academy: The History of Professional Actor Training in US Higher Education. Routledge. Zucker, C. (2016). In the Company of Actors: Reflections on the Craft of Acting. Routledge.

CHAPTER 7

The Vicissitudes of Persona

The processes and effects considered so far have focused on the realm of production and its extension into consumption. What needs to be considered now is the prevenient power of casting.1 Despite the contemporary emphasis on plasticity, casting is driven by the venerable logic of physiognomy, which equates an individual’s appearance with his or her personality.2 By adding an emphasis on the granular details of appearance, casting transforms and extends the global perception of a type by, for example, deepening the emphasis on the beauty qualification in contemporary celebrity culture. Actors need not be naturally beautiful (though some are) because the application of theatre or cinematic techniques and technologies produces a heightened rendition of physical appearance and adds the glamour of cynosure.3 This personal monopoly is based on the standardization of the star’s performance as a personal brand or persona. The elements of the persona are appearance, gestures, expressions and voice. It might seem that the voice is as important as the actor’s on-screen appearance as defining index of an actor’s presence. But barring moments of improvisation, the words spoken by an actor are provided by the playwright or screenwriter, as are the vocal dynamics—a sad character speaks in a husky or subdued tone. The personalizing feature of the actor’s vocal performance is accent. In the United States, the American version of the prestige-conferring English Received Pronunciation is General American (GA), which covers a range of accents that do not exhibit any Eastern or

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_7

195

196 

B. KING

Southern local colouring. GA is the pronunciation used by the majority of the population of the United States, and by most US radio and TV announcers (Dimitrova, 2010). Actors from particular ethnic groups are expected to adopt a standardised version of their normal accents. The most distinctive feature of GA is its rhoticity: the presence or absence of a stress placed on pronouncing R. A study of the speech of 202 leading actors and actresses playing 260 roles in 109 American films, from 1932 to 1980, revealed a shift from a non-rhotic norm to a rhotic norm, matching a shift in the prestige of GA in the culture at large. Rhotic pronunciation was practiced by good people, with bad people deploying non-­ rhotic accents. The distinction between rhotic and non-rhotic accents is also aligned with gender, class and racial forms of prejudice (Elliot, 2000, pp. 110 and 126; Knight 2000). The vocal analogue of a standardized screen image is a standardized voice performance, which to exploit the benefits of its established marketability requires a General American accent. Just as stars and celebrities are not actually identical with their screen or stage image, so the way an actor speaks is adjusted to the specific media requirements of vocal performance. Depending on circumstances, these adjustments may involve Automatic Dialogue Replacement in post-production, or the replacement of the actor’s actual voice by dubbing. Outside of these not entirely infrequent adjustments, a star is likely to have a standard accent as the sonic framing of their persona. There are examples of stars who do a range of accents, such as Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow or Meryl Streep. But these are remarkable because rare. There are “fake” American stars such as Cate Blanchett, Tony Collette, Naomi Watts, Idris Alba and Christian Bale, Damien Lewis, Tom Holland and Florence Pugh, who in their professional film work often speak in American accents. These examples indicate that the General American accent is a normative ingredient of stardom, as evidenced by mono-accented stars such as the late James Gandolfini, Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Tom Cruise, Ethan Hawke, Julia Roberts and Hallie Berry. Attempts at non-American accents which are not convincing, such as Robert Downey Jnr, provide another reason to stick with one’s established professional accent. A further consideration is that even sticking within the safe zone of their own accent an actor will have to manage vocal dynamics, stutters, hesitations, involuntary ‘coughs, sharp expostulations, huskiness and so on (Wojcik, 2003). The complexity of managing vocal dynamics in an adopted accent suggest a practical reason why stars

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

197

rarely depart from their normal accent. Especially since the continuity of accent across different characters works towards stabilizing the persona. The preponderant emphasis on a General American accent reduces the actual richness of American speech to the norms of a still dominant Anglo-­ Saxon culture. This fact shows that even in supposedly more tolerant times, a General American accent is an important prestige ingredient of a marketable persona. The vocal stratification reported two decades ago has not substantially changed for those who aspire to stardom, as against those content to be character actors in an ethnically marked niche. What is often overlooked is how much the speech patterns of the stereotyped character contribute to the viewer’s conception of his or her worth; the ways in which dialect, mispronunciation, and inarticulateness have been used to ridicule and stigmatize characters has often been neglected. Who gets to speak about what? Who is silenced? Who is interrupted? Dialogue is often the first place we should go to understand how film reflects social prejudices. (Kozloff, 2000, pp. 26–27)

What is decisive from my point of view is that the star’s vocal performance, compared to that of an ethnically accented supporting player, will be accented in a manner compatible with an acceptable variation of GA Received Pronunciation. This “licensed” use of accent connects the “grain of the voice” as a psychosomatic manifestation to a prestigious way of speaking, adding to appearance as the mark of personal identity (Barthes). Just as the adoption of a standard repertoire of expressions is commercially desirable, so is the limitation of the variation of accent. In the case of gestural, facial and vocal mannerisms stars have little motivation to vary what are personalized lines of business; neither do those employing them want to risk vitiating market-proven resource. One implication of accentual and visual standardization is that the process of casting rests on an anticipatory rendering of even ethnically marked roles to the norms of a General American accent—not least because “genuine” ethnic accents would limit comprehensibility for much of the general audience. Turning to casting, it is a system for the parsimonious signalling of personality. Casting structures the employment of actors in general—from the casting of extras, where appearance and comportment are treated as common designators of personality, through to the more exalted level of stars and leading players, where there is an expectation of a rigid conformity

198 

B. KING

between appearance, name and presence when appearing in different fictionally possible worlds.4 The exchange value of an actor is codified (and pre-coded) by casting practices which classify actors on the basis of the match between their physical attributes and the existing cultural stock of types, as found in existing texts and as concretely manifested in actual individuals. In these circumstances, the opportunity to find work rests on an actor’s capacity to mould the appearance of the self in general conformity to the prevailing codes of personality.5 Work on self-presentation before casting moulds the self in order to access the superior resources of cynosure and concretization that become available when cast, whether in theatre or cinema. This means that seeking to be cast is a type confirmation process. Central to casting is the fact that the actor is positioned—prior to any actual engagement with a specific character—by the perceived “natural” fit between his or her personal qualities and a repertoire of established dramatic social types (Klapp & Berger, 2017, Chapter One). In a naturalist theatre and cinema, a routine physiognomic equation operates that aims to ensure that any potential performance has a prima facie grounding in folk psychology; the knowledge that we use in everyday life to make sense of one another and ourselves, and to co-ordinate our actions with those of others (Kusch, 1997, p. 1).6 This common-sense mimetic strategy is ultimately designed to produce a suspension of disbelief in the actual performance. Yet it also plays a consequential role in the peri-theatrical realm of finding an agent and being cast on the basis of the potential to seem to be a ready-made type. Here the competition, so to speak, with the facts of one’s personal natural endowment is intensified by the competition with other actors, who potentially conform to the same personality specification of a type. This preparatory shadow work is the foundation of a viable professional identity or persona. The competitive fashioning of a persona is not an entirely plastic process. According to the nature of the character, some individuals will require a less costly effort of artifice to fit the part, not least because they have already drawn on their own resources to fit it. Yet overall, any actor is limited by his or her physical type and psychological resources.7 Within a specific type there is a large range of actors, with variable levels of skill and ability, who can render a similar typal service.8 In this respect character acting, especially in the form of extreme acting which involves extensive bodily transformations (such as significant to extreme weight gain or loss), can be seen as an attempt to establish a monopoly over a specific type.9

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

199

Underlying casting in the Hollywood model is a bi-modal practice of typage. In its original formulation, typage was associated with the Soviet cinema.10 It entailed selecting non-actors to play parts, because they were judged to embody the core features of a social type. Under this practice, the non-actor becomes a self-sufficient visual object.11 Typage in the casting of non-actors and extras promotes a folk psychology reading of identity as attached to a particular social status and occupational role, further differentiated by class, gender, race and ethnicity, and sexual orientation. Yet despite the impulse to create the representation of an average social individual, typage-based casting, even with non-actors, finds certain individuals that embody more effectively the “ideal” social type, visualized by the casting director and, ultimately, accepted or rejected by the director. To this extent, there is a mundane system of physiognomic distinction that underlies stardom as a developed practice. By contrast, at the level of the star, typage posits an active and exemplary, rather than passive and routinized, capacity to be a character. In Soviet practice, the individual is an undifferentiated member of social category. With Hollywood stardom, the individual engrosses, or at least is claimed to engross, the relevant category. The practice of rendering social types into passive/distant, active/ close, semantically rich or thin specimens, is driven by the desire to maintain (or reboot) an existing relationship with audiences and fans as an exchange of meaning.12 But this desire is not the sole driver—it is also a process that mediates the competition for parts, forming a tournament with other actors who can fit (without too costly an effort of craft and technological manipulation) the physiognomic specification of a social type or character.13 This competition is conducted on the basis of the perception of the affective power of the actor, which supercharges the actor’s physical type: “When you think of a star you will not just think of them in physical terms like ‘blonde’, ‘muscular’, ‘fit’ or ‘tall,’ but you will also think of them as ‘quirky’, ‘sensuous’, ‘sinister’ or ‘dangerous’” (Catliff & Granville, 2013, p. 19). Obviously—given the genetic constraints on appearance and the level of acquired technique—not every actor is fit to deliver a particular typal service.14 But for any specific social type, there will be many actors whose embodied qualities will suit the task of serving as a highly defined replica.15 Competition alone and the emphasis on marketability means that the plasticity of the character actor (however revered as a craft ideal) may not guarantee regular work and the level of earnings necessary to fund periods of

200 

B. KING

inactivity. Especially if the objective is to maximize earnings, it is imperative to develop a serviceable persona. When this happens, the image of the actor rendered in performance becomes the virtual presence, the manifestation that incarnates an intrinsically elusive ideal. The persona of an actor—his or her ostensible self—is use-value to audiences and fans. The latter in turn, through their engagement with or against the star, navigate the constellation of social types provided by the media in order to construct a personal narrative of the self. From the actor’s perspective, the persona is a self-image as an exchangeable commodity service, constructed by a market-attuned selection of professionally conditioned attributes. From the perspective of the fan, the star is an expression of human possibility, considered untouched or only minimally affected by the contribution of technology. Persona has emerged as an intensively marketable commodity, sold by the stars themselves and—to their eternal complaint—by paparazzi, to the celebrity gossip media. In this process, the relationship between the character and the one who acts (who need not be a professional actor) is reversed. Rather than an expression of character, persona becomes the medium for the expression of generalized affect initialized by the name of the one who acts. Stars appear as themselves, in the sense that each character is reported in entertainment journalism and interviews as a revelation of their personal hopes and desires or, more modestly, as a talented collaborator of a particular director or producer’s hopes and desires. In this manner, the contemporary star encourages (or is compelled to encourage) the development of a persona as a universal equivalent or, in more accessible parlance, a brand—a generic name for the embodiment of a suite of commodity goods and services (Lury, 2004, pp. 32–34). As one talent adviser puts it: Your brand is what separates you from every other actor in your type and category. Every actor has a brand, regardless of whether they’re starting out, established working actors, or major stars. It’s the reason everyone says, “He/she is always playing the same thing in every movie or TV show.” Exactly; that’s what they’re being paid to do. They’re being paid to be their brand. The moment they step outside of that which makes them special and/or unique is when the movie tanks or the TV show flops. (Burke, 2019)

The various indexical substitutes, traces, and surrogates of stardom— the autograph, the pin-up, the magazine article, and the interview—are a kind of “paper” money resting on the “gold” standard of the star’s persona. Such promissory notes of affectively tangible presence are only credible and “magical” if touched by market success.16 Paradoxically, while

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

201

casting directors advise actors to let their “natural” personality shine through in auditions, this shining-through can only be accomplished by extensive physical and psychological preparation, including training in the effective use of different media, and the adoption of marketing techniques. In other words, becoming and being a star is to seek fame for a virtual self that captures an ideal. But this ideal is set by the employer, with considerations of craft and personal values adjusted accordingly. So, if exhorted to be well-prepared, positive and flexible, the actor needs to seem natural as a cover for artifice. One casting director, speaking for her colleagues in general, articulates the fundamental contradiction in professional advice: “Let go of being perfect. Just be raw and real. That can be molded into whatever it needs to be. They want to see the soul come through the performance” (Wicksteed, quoted in Roth, 2021). While her colleagues offer different advice, no contradiction is perceived in arguing that training and artifice are the way to be natural. If the double bind between training and being natural is not enough, another casting director observes: Never pander to what you think the filmmakers are looking for. Never walk into a waiting room and see people there and presume that they’re going to get the role and not you because they look more like the character you envision than you do. The one thing every actor can deliver in an audition that no one else can is their true self. Bring whoever you are to the role. It could be very different from what the filmmakers are looking for, but if it’s authentic and it works, it can actually reframe what people think they’re looking for. (Rubin, quoted in Roth, 2021)

A similar point is made in another career advice book for actors: Why do they hire you instead of all of the other talented, beautiful, amazing “yous” in the audition waiting room? It is because of the unique value that you bring to this industry and, more important, to the project for which you are auditioning. They choose you because they are able to clearly see “it” in you, because you clearly possess something different from everyone else who has come before. or after you”. (Augustin, 2017, p. 3)

In summary, the practices of casting rank the various categories of human difference—by race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation and standards of beauty and body size—according to their closeness to or distance from casting stereotypes. These stereotypes are pre-ordered on the basis of

202 

B. KING

their degree of conformity to white heterosexual norms, norms which are assumed to be acceptable to mainstream audiences. Non-white actors, in order to have a chance to be cast, must present a white-washed version of the cultural values of their community of origin. Casting practices are expected (and in the US case legally required) to be “blind” to the personal identity of those seeking work. Yet persons of colour, gay men, lesbians and non-white ethnicities remain systematically under-represented in the parts written and cast. The patterns of discrimination observed are not consciously articulated, or even held by those deciding who to cast. Rather, judgements are filtered through a terministic screen (Burke, 1989). Such a screen evaluates actors in terms of the sufficient condition of presentational skills and the necessary condition of judged marketability. This produces paradoxical results whereby colour-blind casting can lead to white actors being cast in black roles because they have marketability and are highly skilled performers (as was the case with the casting of Robert Downey Jnr in Tropic Thunder). Further, non-white actors are expected to present ethnic values adjusted to conform to white understandings of the relevant ethnicity, a condition of compromised authenticity. Non-white actors whose appearance is closer to the ideals of ‘white’ good looks are more likely to find work—actors with lighter skin tones and facial consonance with Caucasian beauty concepts are favoured (Warner, 2015). The concept found in casting that good acting entails an exceptional effort at playing a character distinct from the actor’s private identity means that a straight white actor playing a gay character is viewed as more skilled than a gay actor playing a gay character or a white actor playing a black character, as in the case of Robert Downey Jnr in Tropic Thunder (Feinberg, 2009). The systemic operation of the norms of white heteronormativity prevents the recognition of the absurd conclusion that a white actor playing a white character is not a good actor and moreover ignores the impact of persona (Martin, 2018). Cross-cutting the intersection of race and sexuality is gender, where factors such as good looks and youthfulness bear down more consequentially on females than males: Women are forced to meet a physical canon and we are not … I could be plain, ugly or handsome … and they’ll call me for roles, they might even adapt roles to the physical traits of an actor they like. For women they look for a certain standard […] there are certain beauty standards and it’s terrible. Physical standards are really marked in the feminine sector and that’s terrible. (Kardelis, 2023)

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

203

The Western beauty ideals promulgated by casting mean that females are expected to achieve the highest standards in looks and body shape, even within already whitewashed ethnic categories. So, although the rhetoric of casting emphasizes the factor of talent and skill in selection, the reality of the practice underscores the primacy of natural values and their cultivation to maintain marketability. It is in this litany of casting advice that the familiar paradox found in the literature of creativity re-emerges. Actors are coached to conform to the producers’ expectations, while insisting that conforming is an expression of their own creative vision. Only by manifesting the vital spark—the on-­ rush of creativity which, by definition, is exceptional and beyond calculation—can the actor hope to succeed. Any amount of professional advice on honing skills, on developing a cool business plan and staying motivated despite rejection, is of use only if the actor’s reading of the character in auditions is inspirational, even though—or perhaps because—the entire logic of casting is based on predictability.17 In these circumstances, even an extensive portfolio of roles will not prevent a less experienced actor winning a part because of his or her perceived charisma. The ideology of the casting director claims to uncover what is unique in the actor through a process of typal standardization. In sum, in a tournament-driven labour market, skill-based training tends to be supplemented and then progressively displaced by motivational coaching. In contrast to the acquisition of performance skills, coaching focuses on assisting actors to remain committed in the face of endemic rejection. As a displacement activity, the creation and nurturance of a professional persona is advocated in order to fill up the gaps between work and to assist in building a career. Like the subjects of self-promotional literature, actors are urged to strive for uniqueness, to be “all they can be”. This means not just grooming and working out for their own sake; non-­ actors do that. It means giving close attention and time to improving the quality of one’s self-promotional materials, ensuring that the “real you” shines through in every headshot, show reel and live reading. When successfully cast, the actor must readily and seamlessly take the producer’s or director’s objectives as their own. Which is to say, the current project must be represented as the most important thing in one’s life—until (or when) the next project comes along. The requirement to self-promote is a generic imperative of the contemporary workplace in advanced economies:

204 

B. KING

Regardless of your age and time in the workplace, in your pursuit to be better, you will have to separate yourself from contenders in a competitive environment. That goes whether you are working face-to-face or on your laptop, desktop, tablet or mobile device. You have to put yourself out there, elevate your game and stand out even when others can’t see you physically. (Benton, 2012, p. 1)

The author of The Virtual Executive could be describing the imperatives facing any actor or performer facing an audition, except that the actor’s chances of finding a stable position are far fewer, and the positions sought less exulted than CEO or star. Counselled to be undeterred by the odds against success, the actor is expected to develop an omnibus disposition that acts as an affective and behavioural brand that will infuse the playing of fictional characters. This omnibus disposition creates a transcendent character as a constitutionally grounded moral force. Thus emerges the persona—a professionally crafted version of the private self or person that is conditioned by fictional character choices, but is sustained by an enduring moral orientation. In accepting practical advice on how to “ace” auditions, or when failing to be cast, actors are expected to show stoic professionalism.18

The Agon of Persona Full-time employment in the “knowledge” economy is increasingly subjected to neo-liberal forms of management that require employees to show commitment as team players; which in effect, means that engaging in the social relations of work become a kind of identity work in itself (Thrift, 2006). In the “gig” economy of performance, the demand to be a team player takes on the existential weight of a life struggle carried on in order to become the indispensable actual manifestation of a virtual identity. If in real life, a person’s character is morally judged as authentic or inauthentic, the actor’s persona is required to be authentic in real time to the fictional character that is accomplished in performance. The commercially successful on-screen character must not be betrayed by character-­discrepant offscreen behaviour, by the consequences of mis-casting, or—for reasons possibly beyond the actor’s control—by delivering a poor performance. Aside from the day-to-day compromises encountered during production, the most evident indication of an actor’s acceptance of commercial imperatives is their participation in the post-production blitz of interviews

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

205

and media appearances promoting a current release. Participation in promotional efforts may be willingly undertaken, not the least because stars may have a financial interest in the product’s success or a contractual obligation to participate. In this sense, they may be perceived as sharing the kinds of compromises that ordinary employees encounter in the workplace and in their social relationships. But for the actor, social relationships are a second-order phenomenon involving the explicit transposition of fictional characters into real time in order to align a character performance with their persona, which in an embryonic state won them the role in the first place. Success brings into being a chiastic relationship—Benedict Cumberbatch becomes Dr Strange and Dr Strange becomes Benedict Cumberbatch, a coupling which, like all such couplings, has its rewards and penalties. In reality, these dramas of identity in public (and covertly in private) rest on the creation of an omnibus character designed to capture and subordinate present and future roles. In this mediated process, the concept of “dividual” self serves to substantiate property claims based on the micro-­ features of the performer’s body.13 So, to take a pertinent example, the occupational stereotype of “actress” implies freely exercised sexuality which, as recurrent allegations of sexual harassment and exploitation have demonstrated, may not be freely exercised at all. Such extreme cases, more numerous than the aura of glamour would lead the general public to expect, demonstrate the average performance is a form of hope work, defined as behaviour that meets current demands to be compliant in the pursuit of future opportunities (Duffy, 2016). Success seems to follow the logic of a lottery. The odds against success are high, and a current success does not make the odds any better. Accordingly, both the winners and the losers are subject to livelihood anxiety. Competing for parts in performance work represents an intensified version of emotional labour in the service industries, which “requires one to induce or suppress feeling in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others” (Hochschild, 1983, p.  7). Workers in service occupations are required to reconcile their personal feelings with the feeling rules required by the job. This reconciliation has been shown to lead to alienation and stress (Hochschild, op.  cit., pp. 135–136). But for actors, self-alienation is a fundamental feature of working life. When the micro-details of appearance and comportment become the intimate brand of the actor, the effort to retain ownership of

206 

B. KING

these “signature” qualities depends on the conscious alienation leading to the schizoid condition of a divided self. As Laing puts it: The term schizoid refers to an individual the totality of whose experience is split in two main ways: in the first place, there is a rent in his relation with his world and, in the second, there is a disruption of his relation with himself. (Laing, 2010, p. 17)

Though an actor is not necessarily schizoid, there is a symmetry involved in acting as, for example Minnie Driver observes: “It feels so good to be a blank slate, I told myself. The block of marble with statue inside, waiting to be revealed … I politely ignored the statue already in existence” (Driver, 2022, p. 150; italics in original). For the actor, the self is neither a blank slate nor an identity that already exists, but rather a process of negotiation or identity bargaining undertaken in the cycle from audition to performance. The persistent elusiveness of finding “wholeness” as an actor can be seen as a cost of trade, which is sharply exacerbated by the volatility of the labour market. The ensuing identity angst in performance compounds the anxieties of not finding work, which explains the attraction of the remedies offered by influential gurus. Encouraging (and rendering even more problematic) the attempt to ground character in private emotional resources is the fact that the fragmentation of identity is a pervasive feature of performance on stage; but, more emphatically, in cinema (Daly, 2010; Pizzo, 2016). This fragmentation has been generalized and deepened by the transmedial spread of digital technologies: After slightly more than a century of cinematic technology, actors have today become databases of performance components separable into a series of individual elements each of which can be manipulated and recombined in postproduction. (Wolf, 2003, p. 55)

In this development, the actor’s body becomes dissociated from a holistic concept of identity, of forging an existential link with a character which is the hallmark of traditional dramaturgies. Rather than immediately controlling their performance, the actor is required to delegate the final quality of performance to those controlling the relevant technology. An important result of this development is that the actor’s performance

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

207

becomes based on the self, which as a “dividual or partible store of affordances is most pronounced in the impact of digital technology on craft practices” (Cram, 2012).19 The morselization of identity militates against the objectives of traditional drama education, which even today aims to provide students with a holistic skill set based on versatility in character acting, before letting them loose to sink or swim in the rough and tumble of the market (Meyer-­ Dinkgräfe, 2005, p. 161). Yet increasingly, the actor’s experience in work is of being placed in a performance environment in which the body is required to be a “being in pieces”, sampled in the service of different technological set-ups. The paradox emerges that the contemporary actor is required to project a “rounded” self-image in seeking work and building professional relations. Yet when working, the actor is often required to function as an inert visual object or surface. This requirement places the actor in the position of the model, whose physical features are the expected indices of identity—which is why modelling can be an entrée to an acting career (Mears, 2008). The conjunction of coaching and digital technology creates a new process by which the actor’s self is rendered as a commodity.20 The venerable contrast between acting from the inside out or the outside in is replaced by the deployment of the body as dispersible physiognomic capital. The increased importance of the actor’s look, as a means of market capacitation, brings success for individual actors who are able to exploit derivative markets in products and services as brand ambassadors (Abidin, 2018). These gains come at a cost of ratifying the dependence on digital technology in the creation and nurturance of social relationships. In turn, a shift in the socio-technical relations of performance reflects (and reciprocally re- enforces) changes in the once-dominant concept of social identity, promoting a multi-phrenic view of the self as being most valuable when it accepts the need to be fluid and adaptable, as a resource to be captured in the process of performance.21 This view of a dispersed but negotiable identity is found in the culture of the workplace at large as aesthetic labour (Witz et al., 2003). What it means is that “show business” becomes the normative exemplar, demonstrated through the specificities of performance as the path to success (Pine & Gilmore, 2011). Such a celebration of plasticity has the potential to challenge the fixity of gender, class and racial stereotypes; but only in a form incarnated by stars and celebrities as agents who transcend the enduring constraints on less successful, less attractive individuals—thereby confirming the reproduction of

208 

B. KING

inequality by race, gender, sexual orientation they otherwise transcend.22 Under these developments, actors are enjoined to view their self as an exploitable cache of affordances. If effectively done, this process can endow a morally dubious character such as Tony Soprano with a powerful agency, enabling audiences to identify with him despite the moral status of his actions (cf. Smith, 2011). Such effects may seem to undercut the abstract rigidity of stereotypes, but this is through a refinement of the qualifying details of typal membership, rather than a complete rejection. The protean shuffling of identities—circulating between virtual embodiments and the ideal realm of stereotypes—still honours the traditional expectation that character is a centred coherence which, even in the breach, remains the recommended means of creating audience engagement.23 Consistent with the historic shift from the holistic concept of the individual towards the self as a dividual store of affordances, the training of actors becomes driven by the breaking-down and isolation of physical and psychological components in order to achieve specific effects in mediated performances. Hence the maxim: what performance fragments, celebrity journalism makes whole— though not always with a benign effect. The persona thus enters the domain of the everyday judgements of folk psychology, where people are judged as characters in the moral sense—as being good or bad, clever or dumb, pretty or ugly and so on. This moral cadence is useful as a means of creating sensational disclosures, such as the lack of “authenticity” in what is already a matter of pretence.

Persona as Property In the era of the Hollywood studio system, stars were tokens with an iconic status—personalities that shared certain attributes with the social type in which they were placed by the “accidents” of physiognomy.24 At the immediate level, a star existed as an impression of a person created by the kind of character he or she habitually played. So inflected, a star’s likeness was reproduced as a persona on screen and in anchoring textual products such as the pin-up and the fan magazine article. To the public at large, stars were represented as belonging to the site of collective creativity known as Hollywood or, more sweepingly, Show Business. In these circumstances, stars are held to embody, under conditions of excellence, a social type, stretching and therefore not exceeding or rupturing the limited qualities of a social type. In the post-Hollywood context, stars are

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

209

posited as singular individuals, rather than the best iterations of a type. Neither marked as products of a definite cultural locale (Hollywood) nor confined to particular genres that supply them with an ascribed persona, they appear as self-sufficient brands providing a signature presence through a plurality of platforms. Rather than being confined to a specific genre, today’s stars represent the capacity to give an efficient performance in any genre. Conventionally, character acting is regarded as the basis of a definitive performance of a character—for example, one speaks of Laurence Olivier’s or Anthony Sher’s Richard the Third. But this usage, in its most stringent form, rests on the endogenic performance process most prevalent in theatre. In cinema, a character is more literally based on the actor’s visible attributes—body morphology, looks, gestures—that are technologically embellished in order to fit with a specific character type or description. The character on stage is expected to de-individuate the self. In cinema the process is in reverse: the actor individuates the character by an idiosyncratic deployment of the qualities of the body-person in order to create to the visually most powerful signifiers of personality. These signifiers may come from the actor’s personal qualities, but cinema adds others that are lacking, creating a screen image that is a professionally enhanced identity, or a persona. In general terms, the producing entity or employer owns the persona as an image, providing certain guarantees against unauthorized commercial exploitation by third parties, and retaining the right to license out the star’s persona in derivative marketing activities (Gaines, 2000). The star may negotiate payment for the extra-cinematic exploitation of their persona by the copyright holder. But this is by no means a given, and depends on the specific features of the contract negotiated. The high level of compensation received, whether based on net or gross shares in the box office and other niche sources of revenue, may be regarded as fair compensation for the loss of residual earnings from the commercial exploitation of a star’s image. Or, in more favourable circumstances, the star may retain the right to market the persona (Appleton & Yankelevits, 2010, Chapter 8). During filming or recording, key production personnel have a rational economic interest in helping the star to look as attractive as possible, since this increases the marketability of the product and enhances their own professional standing and chances for future work. Equally, in co-­ ordinating the promotion of the motion picture or television show, publicity staff have a vested interest in preserving the personality grammar of

210 

B. KING

the star’s on-screen image, sharing the star’s own interest in maintaining an existential connection with their established persona. The most systematic threat to the persona is likely to arise in non-­ professional settings and uncontrolled public encounters. This is where the star may lose effective control of the use of their persona and its positive value, even if legal protection is in place (Hoenig, 2020, Post & Rothman, 2020). Nor is it a given that threats will be external, because the star’s own behaviour in public, especially when under surveillance and harassment by celebrity journalists and paparazzi, may constitute a self-­ imposed spoliation of their persona. Britney Spears may be the most striking example of a victim of this process. Self-inflicted persona spoliation has substantial professional consequences, affecting the star’s function as a brand ambassador for corporate clients or for their own branded goods and services.25 Generally speaking, if live off-screen appearances, photographs and posts are flattering, they work towards confirming that the on-screen image, even if understood to be manipulated, has a basis in actuality. But if the star’s image is obviously manipulated and shows too great a disparity from their persona, then they will be impugned as lacking in charisma or talent, and undeserving of fame and good fortune. This latter possibility, if not probability, re-enforces the norm of beauty governing casting. In the counterfactual situation, when the production of off-screen images and public appearances reveals signs of age and weight gain, accounts of weight loss and muscle re-toning—coupled with public appearances in chic attire and accessories—are deployed to demonstrate the star’s or celebrity’s commitment to the ethos of self-transformation and confidence chic (Favaro in Elias et al., 2017). The media and social media provide many examples of how a particular effect was achieved, as opposed to assessing the value of what was achieved. This emphasis is especially associated with the production of spectacles based on an operational aesthetic exploited by P.T.  Barnum (Harris, 1973/1981, p. 61ff). Much like the stars of Barnum’s freakshows, the star or celebrity is a human agent of the spectacle, whereby the application of the operational aesthetic serves to underscore the star or celebrity’s commitment to achieving glamour, even in circumstances where what is seen is not sufficiently glamorous.26 Professional photography and celebrity gossip are part of a tabloid documentary genre that explores the vicissitudes of fame and fortune with themes such as: where are they now; what happened to so-and-so; how have the stars aged; how do they look after

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

211

letting themselves (i.e. their persona) go, and so on (Glynn, 2000). Such a fascination can be motivated by schadenfreude, envy, curiosity, nostalgia or some combination of these. What is clear is that regulating the interface between on-screen and off-screen appearance is an important test of the star’s claim to charisma and creative powers. One measure of the serviceability of persona is its attainment of the news rule, routinely applied to Royalty, that ordinary activities such as shopping, exercising, walking the dog or public displays of affection are treated as very important newsworthy events (Harcup & O’Neill [2017]). At the same time this means that trivial behaviour aiming to support the idea that stars and celebrities are just like us means that adverse judgements may arise from small slips of comportment. Efforts to protect and materially inscribe the persona across a panoply of outlets are undertaken in order to confirm that the star is the living pre-­ condition, the Ur-author of their established on-screen look and marketability. But such efforts at “image” ownership by the star as a private person are challenged on a variety of fronts: for example, being subjected to commercial exploitation by the media corporation that owns their image, or through copyright infringement by other parties interested in exploiting the star’s image. Even if the star’s image is legally secured, the integrity of a persona is liable to exploitation by the media as a source of scandal—sensational storylines based on the disclosure of private behaviour. Again, the star’s persona may be internally compromised by their own production company or agency, through commercial exploitation in product endorsement deals. Such forms of exploitation also carry the threat of over-exposure. But the biggest threat is that they work to deplete a star’s or celebrity’s commercially efficacious charisma, leading to the loss of short-term or worse, long-term revenue. None of the foregoing factors would be as consequential without the universal visibility created by the social media. Absent the shelter once provided by the Studio system, the need to sustain a de facto claim to be the origin of the image becomes a matter of professional reputation and the sine qua non for earning a stellar livelihood. In these circumstances, the management of corporeal and attitudinal consistency across off- and on-screen behaviour becomes a high cost of operation leading to further efforts at control. Owing to apps such as Meta, Tik-Tok and Instagram, the star and/or their personal assistants struggle to preserve the persona against the efforts of the media and the general public (as voyeurs and “citizen” journalists) to produce scandals.27

212 

B. KING

Such invasions of privacy challenge the ownership of the persona and may lead to the search for legal remedies. These may fail or succeed. But even in the case of success, it may be too late to repair the damage done to a star’s persona. A more immediate and by comparison, a more pragmatic solution is to protect the commercial viability of a persona through the careful cultivation of public appearances. At core, such activities posit the actor’s body-person as the actual or, at least, most feasible source of his or her established on-screen persona. It could be suggested that having a well-known name accomplishes this, but a name is only a promissory note to be confirmed by the monstrance, visual and verbal, of its bearer—an exigency that explains in part why even actors with a deserved reputation for character portrayal are drawn to lose weight and undertake various forms of appearance enhancement such as cosmetic surgery and body styling. Yet even with professional resources to hand, the effort to maintain and create (or re-create) a marketable persona remains limited by the facts of age and genetic endowment; in which case efforts to become slim or youthful-looking, even if unsuccessful, are claims to virtue.12 The stories of personal struggles to lose weight, achieve wellness and so on mirror the length actors will go to in order to maintain their persona. In a felicitous development for the beauty industry, the level of appearance policing by celebrity journalism, and the stars’ reported response to it, act as a normative mirror, magnifying the demand on ordinary people (in private life or as employees) to undertake their own efforts at self-applied aesthetic labour. At base, these practices are conditioned and activated by the concept of the body as an owner of properties that can be sold under a contract of service regulated by free (i.e. capitalist) labour markets. Treating the body as a store of qualities that can be commodified necessarily raises questions of identity. Even assuming self-ownership or free labour, can the body be legitimately treated as a property composed of a store of services or substances that can be sold without jeopardizing the integrity of the individual? If self-marketing as a dividual subject is to be justified, it requires the application of an ethical view of the person. “If the human body is to be conceptualised as property, it would have to be as a kind of property that reflects the intensity of the relationship between the human body and the person” (Wendling, 2012, p. 68). The cultural ambiguity of the body rests on the fact that it possesses physical and psychological qualities whose combination means it is neither a body nor a person but a composite entity or body-person (Wendling, op.  cit., pp.  81–82). This duality is recognized in many secular and

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

213

religious traditions, which regard bodies as a sacra or “dignity-properties” to be protected from being parcelled out for purposes of exchange.28 The insistence of the body as neither a body nor a person but a composite entity is part of a struggle to maintain control over the deployment and direction imparted to the use of the individual as a source of value. Ironically, the emphasis on the strategic and tactical analytical breakdown of the body found, for example, in physical theatre, reproduces this commodity logic. The rupture of this culturally defined integrity is particularly threatened by the spread of capitalism as a system of commodity exchange.29 If traditional labourers were defined as fully de-personalized “hands”, the “parts” of the star”—lips, eyes, breasts, six-pack and so on—are synechdochic elements that guarantee, despite fragmentation and dis-integrity, the fullness and immediacy of the star’s presence. Depending on the degree of mediation in the formation of the image— greatest in digital, but nonetheless substantial in analogic media—the persona can be considered as more or less real, more or less authentic or artificial, and, in the figure of the cyborg, more or less human or machinic. In terms of determining the provenance and thus ownership of the image, the notion of the real is most salient and yet most problematic (Gunkel, 2010). This is because to consider the persona is to have already entered the space of ownership and the space of claims, if not contestation, to origination. In such a space, the issue is not what possibilities for imagination and play are provided by the interface between the human performer and technological agents such as cyborgs or avatars, though these are politically and aesthetically important (Donnarumma, 2017). Rather, it is whether the legal issue of ownership is an impairment to or an expansion of signifying possibilities (Lamarre, 2012). From the point of view of the actor as a star—or one seeking stardom— the ownership of the persona is a not just a matter of poetics, but a matter of significant rewards and the securing of a livelihood. Given the constitutive role of technology and techniques in the formation of the persona, the establishment of ownership is based on partitioning the body-person into fragments of appearance such as the face, the bust, the torso, the hair, eyes, the body shape, and adornment choices (cosmetic and fashion). These choices are competitive in two senses. First, they are asserted against the claims of other actors to act as pars proto toto. To give a studio period example: Jayne Mansfield was counterposed against Marilyn Monroe as the prototypical blonde. In contemporary terms, operating in the extended social media environment, Vin Diesel is counterposed against Jason

214 

B. KING

Statham as a martial arts star. Second, the qualities selectively revealed are fugitive resources, whose attachment to the actor must be affirmed and asserted against the actual limitations of the actor as a person, as well as the harsh realities of the impact of ageing, as well as physiological and psychological change. The capacity of the persona as an agent depends on the balance struck in breaking down the self into its public and private components, and then making the latter increasingly stand for the signification of character in the a-theatrical and a-filmic sense of personal moral qualities (Lapsley & Lasky, 2001). This process of personation rests on a commercially driven, iconic selection of indexes. Through personation, a “dividual” concept of the self comes into being, which anchors property in the context of a partible rather than a total concept of identity.13 This shift helps to further structure what it is already structured by the general relations of capitalist production, wherein the body-person is a quasi-property, positioned between culture as identity and nature manifested in the body as a physical object. As a quasi-property, the individual has a right, within certain legal limits, to sell its substances and capacities. Outside of extreme practices such as organ harvesting and sex work, the most extensive and intensive entanglement of the body-person in commodity exchanges occurs in the sale of the capacity to labour, or labour power. For the employer, who wishes to purchase a specific quantity of labour power for a specific time, the personality of the worker can pose problems of co-ordination and management. This feature means that even in forms of employment strictly based on a cash nexus, the body-person has the potential to act as a material constraint that can increase or decrease the efficiency of the labour process. If labour in general entails the suppression of personality, for the actor, personality is the product to be created as work. The process of creating a pars pro toto effect occurs through the representation of a character which, if (and effectively, only if) commercially successful becomes the persona, an occupationally functioning but reductive body-person in which a specific trait (typically physical attractiveness) comes to stand as the prototypical centre of the individual. The development of the persona follows a standard pattern. First, the actor appears in a lead or supporting role as a character in a dramatic work or motion picture that is a market success.30 He or she is then cast as a similar (or not too dissimilar) character in succeeding productions, retaining as far as possible the same look but thinly disguised by a change of a character name.31

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

215

Depending on box-office success, a successful character-related persona will be substantiated though publicity, casting and the efforts of the actor to groom the self to fit the body-person implied by persona. When this happens, the actor has attained an identity that functions as a durable trans-filmic and even transmedia persona. Promotional activities on social media abstract the persona even more by associating the actor’s name with a universal profile.32 In selling their acting labour power, stars treat the fictive personality of the character as a chattel to be sold for individual economic advantage. What is distinctive about stars, celebrities and social influencers is that the persona becomes a personal property extracted for personal profit from the fictive stock of types or archetypes. If the hero has a thousand faces, the star must own at least one as a chattel. To become a star, then, is to become the virtual incidence of an ideal; to become, through the alembic of the box office, the substance of success.33

The Semiotics of Persona The star is a special kind of paid impostor, assuming a persona for the purpose of delivering a live or recorded performance. Displaying a façade is not something done by actors alone, of course. Ordinary people, with a greater or lesser degree of confidence and skill, endeavour to sustain a situationally appropriate persona in public or formal settings—at work, in the context of award ceremonies, rites de passage and rituals. The work of persona management is a common feature of social interaction (Marshall, 2020). Ordinary people, with less skill and conscious contrivance, do what actors do and, perhaps for this reason, are prepared to entertain a suspension of disbelief against the more or less apparent artificiality of performances. For non-actors it is usual, when such formal or quasi-formal encounters are completed, that the work of identity maintenance retreats back into the realm of private life. The recession into private life is also a feature of an actor’s existence and, as such, provides a source of existential connection with common experience which on some accounts is protean (Lifton, 1999).34 Despite the existential overlap between everyday behaviour and theatrical behaviour, there are important differences. In assessing everyday performance, it is the outcome of the interaction, its pragmatic import and effectiveness, rather than its authenticity that is primary (Tseëlon, 1992). For the actor, by contrast, the capacity to seem authentic in a fictional or

216 

B. KING

quasi-fictional role is crucial. Again, whereas the display of the self in everyday life is likely to be a spontaneous activity (barring cases of con artists), the self-display of an actor or performer is a highly focused, scripted and rehearsed activity that is functional (i.e. interactively effective) within a specific and singular performance environment. While private or intimate self-presentation does not necessarily entail the formation of exchange value, acting as waged labour involving the production of a public identity involves, to a variable degree, the conversion of some of the private use-values of the self into commercial exchange values. The value status of personality, the psychological and affective content of a person, varies with the context of the exchange of services—for example, as informal care for loved ones, or as paid employment for comparative strangers in service work, including sex work.35 The actor in search of or in gainful employment is a vicar of metaphor in a double sense: standing for an immaterial fictional or quasi-fictional character, and doing so through an assumed professional identity or persona (Lakoff & Johnson, 2008, p.  5). Theoretically, the persona could vary with each discrete role. But given the market situation of actors, it is more likely that the protean opportunities of make-believe become stabilized and operationalized in a persona as an omnibus character across a career of character portrayals. When variable character playing is the dominant strategy—in the case of, say, Meryl Streep or Rhys Ifans—the ideal of character acting is evoked. But when one speaks of an omnibus character, a fixed persona has been formed. In sum, there are important pragmatic features of acting as a profession that depart from the general mundane processes of occupational persona formation, which is positioned on a continuum encompassing stars, at one end, and the mundane practices of impression management at the other. The continuum has three overlapping thresholds: 1. The threshold between workers in mundane service occupations who engage in impression management and cultural industry employees such as extras or atmosphere players. This latter category of employees, even though employed to perform are functionaries, are expected to manifest a consistent personality in support of star performers. 2. The threshold between stars and character actors, between those who project a fixed persona and those who project variable personal qualities in order to meet the requirements of a specific role.

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

217

3. The threshold between performers proper in any capacity and the “creative” workers who provide craft support. The latter are closer to background players, in that they are required to manifest a consistent persona in the fulfilment of technical or craft objectives. A horizontal division runs through these categories, distinguishing permanent employees in service occupations required to present a stable persona from those in “gig” employment, whose persona work must vary in response to changes in the social-psychological “climate” as they move from project to project. Given this variability, creating a persona is especially an attractive option because it is durable and exchangeable across a succession of parts as a personal brand, which contains sufficient elements of individuality to establish ownership and authenticity. The star’s persona is a façade which is more intensively developed than that encountered in everyday role-­ playing, and may in turn come to epitomize how to present the self on- or off- stage and screen. As a mediating identity figure derived in response to the intense competition for parts, persona fashioning subsists outside of any specific role in a peri-theatrical space as a resource acting as a guarantee of quality in current and future employment.36 So, whatever its aesthetic consequences, the formation of the persona does not arise out of aesthetic concerns alone. Such concerns cannot be separated out from the struggle to adjust the self to the competition for work. As a result, the persona, if following the demands of naturalism, is paradoxically a very studied performative selection of the actor’s personal qualities. One consequence is that in relation to marketing and agency work, the persona needs to be reproduced as far as possible in the images and texts in circulation off-stage or off-screen through public and media appearances. With the rise of social media, the potential for increasing the circulation of the persona has vastly expanded, but so has the need for risk management and image depletion triage (Rein et al., 1987). Another consequence is that the persona becomes an autonomous image, detached from its original field of achievement, intermingling with other decontextualized personae rendered comparable on the basis of the level of circulation of their image in various media and social media outlets. The ecology of theatre persona development in the context of commercial cinema should not be seen as a matter of freely exercised commercial opportunism. Building a persona in a naturalistic system of representation is influenced by the cognitive frameworks active in a particular cultural

218 

B. KING

setting. In the West, and where Hollywood models of stardom are prevalent, individualism is the dominant framework. But this emphasis does not mean that promotion is not constrained by collective frameworks that relate to the process of social typing. In this circumstance it is necessary to define more closely the relation between the key modes of identification which, as levels of standing for, function to align individuals with the operative principles of collective order. Stereotypes are the most abstract and most weakly differentiated level of categorization—postulating, depending on which category of difference is emphasized, that all individuals of a particular class, gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation have common physical and psychological characteristics. Such characteristics are positively or negatively valued depending on the power relationships in train—the group being targeted and the group doing the valuation. Stereotypes are poor epistemic correlates, albeit ideologically satisfying, of the actual differences between groups of individuals. But because they are vivid, they facilitate a blanket, caste-like, moral judgement. Social types are the particular manifestations of selected qualities in individuals and groups derived from the broad map of the relevant stereotype. Which qualities get selected and emphasized depends on the purpose of the group or organization making judgements about the moral qualities of individuals covered by the stereotype. Although social types are conceptually subsumed under stereotypes, at the same time, they provide an empirical demonstration that confirms or disconfirms the validity of the criteria of discrimination and its associated affectivity (Lakoff & Johnson, op. cit. 162–164). As noted, the focus in mainstream cinema and stage is on individual motivation. The formation of an individual is structured and constrained on two fronts. On one, there is a pressure towards deindividuation, whereby the individual formed by group membership and familial associations is encouraged to present the self as a transindividual collective symbol. On the other, through marketing the self, there are pressures towards the fragmentation of the individual into exchangeable aspects of the body and psyche that are then recomposed as a virtual totality or persona.37 In performance, deindividuation—what Rozik refers to as deflection—is the process whereby the actor submits their body-person to the performance of character, aiming as far as is plausible to become the endogenous human support of a narrative agent. Against this strategy, the persona is a restricted self-image composed of a selection of physical details as the hallmark of an actor’s presence.

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

219

If in the world of routine work, Taylorism represents the analytical breakdown of units of effort so as to standardize the labour process, stardom represents the extension of direct control over the body of the performer in order to exploit the affective potential its physiognomic capacities. Ordinary people, outside of their primary relationships, are interpreted as types; stars and celebrities are industrially finished and commercially attested prototypes. Consequently, what is elided in the treatment of casting as a typing process are the specificities of the actor’s process in moving from their everyday comportment of self to the equation of the actual self with a professionally developed persona. Such is the position of stars. But for the vast majority of actors, it is only by conformance to casting expectations and norms that the chance for work, and ultimately stardom, can be realized. This means that the actor’s preparation is, first and foremost, work on the presentation of the self in its physical and emotional dimensions as a means to be singular; after all, the experience of affect—if sharing a common name as an emotion—is existentially private. Only with the development of a personal interpretation of the flow of affect through the framework of the character can the actor make convincing claims to have captured the essence of a fictional or quasi-fictional character.38 This imperative is strongest in scripted drama. But even in the case of devised theatre or improvisation, the actor’s body must own what is said.39 In conclusion, persona is an agency that acquires its greatest power when validated by box office performance, and by associated indices of popularity such as social media presence. Stardom as an occupational specialization depends on playing a commercially successful role that is replicated in succeeding performances of ostensibly different characters, both in the performance as seen and the manner in which the performance is read. In rendering ostensibly different characters as iterations of an idiosyncratic marketable presence, the star is configured as a prototype—a fetishized token that is posited as the exhaustively incarnation of the culturally established central properties of a type. From the actor’s perspective, the persona is a market-attuned selection of their professionally conditioned attributes. These exogenically derived qualities, as indexically fixed icons, serve the purpose of creating a level of presence—seemingly personal, but in fact performative—which when successful, sustains a transhistorical and globalized scale of accumulation. So Marilyn Monroe, as the avatar of Norma Jeane Baker, was not a stereotypical blonde but a discursively fashioned, definitive incarnation. In short, she worked and was worked on to become a prototype. So to take an example from the

220 

B. KING

studio period, Marilyn Monroe—once the avatar of Norma Jeane Mortensen—is no longer a stereotypical blonde, but a discursively fashioned prototype with a transcendental afterlife reproduced in recent films and as a brand ilives on as a digitally resurrected persona or icon.

Notes 1. Talent agencies are an important intermediary in the casting process which would require a separate study. Compared to an extensive literature on contract law, the sociological study of Hollywood talent agents is a fairly recent development—good accounts are given by Roussel (2017), Kemper (2009), David (2007) and, in relation to the UK television industry, Boyle (2018). For an account that connects talent agentry with the reproduction of gender and racial inequality, see Simon (2019). 2. For an overview of the historical evolution of the role of the casting director and casting practices in theatre and cinema, see Jaher (2014). 3. Actors need not be exceptionally beautiful, though exceptions such as Paul Newman or Brad Pitt or, as a more frequent encountered case of females, such as Michele Pfeiffer or Jessica Chastain, have a genetic advantage. 4. In Kripke’s (1980) terms, there is an expectation of a rigid conformity between appearance, name and presence when appearing in different fictionally possible worlds. 5. The argument that theatre mirrors life does not require naturalism: it can be argued that life is essentially theatrical. “What after all is human life in not a continuous performance in which all go about wearing different masks, in which everyone acts a part assigned to him until a stage director removes him from the boards…Of course. on the stage certain things are coloured too brightly and over-emphasized, but both on stage and in real life there is the same make-up, the same disguise, the everlasting lies” (Evreinov, 1970, p. 46). 6. Kusch (1997, pp. 5–6) points out that there is a debate with philosophical psychology about the basis of folk reasoning. On the one side, it is seen as a theory we hold about others’ minds—the reasons and motives behind their behaviour as we observe it. On the other, it is argued that we do not have a theory about others’ inner states but treat their external behaviour as a simulation, which we observe and copy. This debate resounds in discussions about acting and empathy—one obvious point is that character is a simulation. So, attempts to ground character on cognitive commonalities make a false equation between the first-person and third-person perception of others. Amy Cook, one of the proponents of a cognitive approach to performance, effects this very reduction by equating the process of performing character with the general process of cognition, a move signaled by the title of her book Building Character—not a la Stanislavski, Building a Character. A shift which runs the risk of conflating performativity with performance.

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

221

7. As Paul Newman observed: “There are only so many different facets of your own personality that you can get to. You find yourself repeating yourself. I mean, there are actors like Olivier and Guinness who are extraordinary and who seem to have a limitless [depth] … I don’t seem to have that.” See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-­ZCccdHHyQ&list=R DNmmrnIigRvo&index=18. 8. For a list of lookalikes, see Acuna (2023). In the studio period, the threat of hiring lookalikes was used to discipline recalcitrant stars. 9. A different strategy is extreme acting, which makes the transformation of the body the unique selling point of a particularly versatile performance— consider Christian Bale in The Mechanic or Charlize Theron in Monster. But even here, the star’s persona treats their body as, in Heidegger’s phrase, “standing - reserve” (Heidegger, 1977). By flaunting the capacity of transformation, the star’s persona is spared encasement in a particular character, instantiating a vertical claim to self-possession against the horizontally driven onscreen effects. 10. The concept of typage is commonly associated with the Soviet cinema (Huber, 2015). But Kracauer also noted that typage was in fact bi-modal— see Kracauer (1997, p. 231). For a discussion of the tendency for types to become exemplars, see Geil (2016). 11. Trained actors are cast through typage, but their appearance is regarded as baseline physiognomic capital for an active engagement with character. Historically in Hollywood, actors—even stars—were identified with social types. As the star system evolved, stars were increasingly individualized. An obvious distinction needs to be made between acting as a type and being “read” as a type. Casting practices and the para-texts of publicity seek to “suture” this “gap”. Reality-TV casting is more tightly restricted to stereotypes that will appeal to demographically salient audience segments. Contestants cast must fit the stereotype but have something extra that makes them “pop” out. See Mayer (2011, pp. 120–121). 12. The exchange of meaning depends on the logic of identification with the star. On the varying modes of identification and the logics of fandom see Gray et al. (2017). For the implied contract between fans and celebrities or stars, see Tukachinksy (2015). 13. The ideology of stardom claims casting is a lottery—given luck anyone can win. In reality it is a rank order tournament in which the chances of an actor being cast rests on the basis of their membership of particular social type—a rank shared with similar contestants. (Connelly et al., 2014) Random events can certainly impact casting, for example the unavailability of other actors within a certain rank. But it is not the kind of luck associated with winning a lottery in which all entrants have an equal chance of winning. The impact of luck enters on casting derives from the genetic, financial and social network resources the individual inherits through their family of

222 

B. KING

birth. These resources need to be maintained and developed by individual, of course, but they confer “natural advantage” compared to other less favoured in terms of looks, intelligence and social connection—the latter leading to nepotism as in the current tag “nepo-stars” (Wandschneider, 2003). The importance of appearance and physical endowment to an audio-­ visual medium translates and augments personal charisma. Ordinary-looking actors if winning a part enjoy the charisma bestowing benefits of the medium. 14. Digital cinema promises to overcome this limitation, but it is not in the professional interest of the star for digital “make-up” to erode all traces of his or her persona. 15. The economic risk of obliterating the star’s presence and the relatively low cost of digital effects as repeatable captured images can play a part in the decision to substitute digital effects for “real” or profilmic effects. 16. As Rojek noted, although ostensibly more than ever is known about the intimate existence of the celebrity or star, this is not concrete knowledge of the person, but knowledge of the persona as a market-tested exchange value and an object of abstract desire. 17. Bryan Cranston (2016, p. 179) reports that in the days when he was struggling to get work, he never speculated on what a casting director wanted, but delivered his interpretation as best he could and did not agonize over rejection. 18. Coaching exploits the immanent contradiction between the formally declared “Spinozian” objective of self-realization and empowerment and the overarching objective of ensuring productivity and profitability. 19. For a useful summary of the substitutions of VFX for locations and extras in crowd scenes, see Cram (2012). On this account, the biggest labour-­ shedding impact of digital media is on extras and below-the-line craft workers. For an ethnographic account of the impact on craft workers, see Caldwell (2008, especially p. 154ff). At the same time, it seems likely that with the generalization of digital technology, the newly created position of visual effects supervisor will be phased out. See Hamus-Vallée and Renouard (2019). 20. In this circumstance, Diderot’s claim about the role of the passions in performance seems to rest on a context in which the competition between actors to out-emote one another other is set aside. For a treatment that dismisses every determinant except the moment of performance, see Pomerance (2016). 21. One detects amid the hurly-burly of contemporary life a new constellation of feelings or sensibilities, a new pattern of self-consciousness. This syndrome may be termed multiphrenia, generally referring to the splitting of the individual into a multiplicity if self-investments. This condition is partly an outcome of self-population, but partly a result of the populated self’s efforts to exploit the potentials of the technologies of the relationship (Gergen, 1991).

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

223

22. From the perspective of theorizing identity, the valorization of plasticity would seem to mark the supersession of mind-body dualism. But although this is potentially a positive development, the opportunity to develop alternate collectivity-based identity distinctions is undermined by the continuing emphasis on internal oppositions, as such as mind-brain or affect-cognition, which are held to be the constants of human perception, as universals beyond culture. 23. As the enthusiasm for mirror neurons makes clear. 24. The term iconic denotes this rigid designation of qualities. For a further discussion, see King (2018). To give one example in donning the gown Marilyn Monroe wore when singing happy birthday to President Kennedy Kim Kardashian attempts to appropriate through the magic of contagion a pre-marketed commodity icon as though it were a skin. For a discussion of commodity aesthetics as a skin, see Haug (1986). A comparable confiscation of the “charisma” of an icon was the careful costuming of Austin Butler in Baz Luhrman’s Elvis 2022. https://screenrant.com/elvis-­ behind-­the-­scenes-­facts-­about-­costumes/#:~:text=Austin%20Butler%20 Kept%20One%20Costume,for%20the%20'68%20Comeback%20Special. 25. For extensive details of income loss involving the likes of Kevin Spacey and Harvey Weinstein, see https://www.gobankingrates.com/net-­worth/ celebrities/celebrities-­ousted-­after-­huge-­scandals. 26. As Baudrillard (2016) observed, it is not necessary to be beautiful, but it is necessary to publicize the effort to become so p. 139. 27. The many watching the few (synoptic surveillance) also magnifies the scale and detail of scrutiny—the absence or presence of a wedding ring becoming the occasion for speculation about break-ups or infidelity. 28. If traditional labourers were defined as mere hands, the stars “parts” are defined as items in an overall service. 29. For a general account, see Zarate and Smith (1992). One theorization of stereotypes equates them with Jungian archetypes, which are even more abstract, universalistic and unconstrained by the specificities of social context than the typal modes mentioned here. For a useful discussion, see Dyer (1999). 30. The development of sequels makes explicit that the star is the same character with the same name, for example, Bruce Willis as John McClane. 31. The star system evolved out of the theatre tradition of lines of business. Through a steady descent, the crux of casting has shifted from external signifiers of type—clothing and make-up—towards physical appearance (Wojcik, 2003, especially p.  244). In the current moment this physiognomic declension has intensified, creating the space for celebrity and the beauty qualification. For a more recent account see Jaher (2014). She concludes with a plea that the casting director’s agency should be recognized

224 

B. KING

an exercise of “artistry”, matching an actor and a character (p. 190). On the importance and ambiguity of reputation as an organizational asset in talent management, see Zafirau (2008). 32. This is an ideal case; a given actor may turn out to be a one-hit wonder. For a useful discussion of the cycle of celebrity, see Ruth Deller (2016). 33. In the sense of an incident of ownership, see Honoré (2013). 34. For Lifton the plasticity of the self is an expression of freedom but on the other hand, as argued earlier, it may be an outcome of the pervasive dislocation of the self. 35. The actor’s displaying the body before an audience of strangers is the origin of the suspicion that acting is populated by “sexual suspects” (Straub, 1991). 36. This guarantee, in other words, acts as a universal contract for personal services, covering appearance, body shape, possession of relevant performance skills and a co-operative disposition. 37. In the case of the hire of labour power, the concrete individual always exceeds the functional services sought by the buyer. Acting exemplifies a bargaining process in which the gap between the service given and the embodied resources is, more or less, included in the exchange. In character acting, the server and the service are presented in a situational state of identity which can change with the next role; in star performances, the gap between the character as performed and the body of the star as a spectacle is fixed, in order to maintain (as far as plausible) the charisma of persona. 38. This imperative is strongest in scripted drama and verbatim theatre. But even in the case of devised theatre or improvisation, the actor’s body must own what is said. As used here, I define emotion as the conscious framing of affect, proactively by the performer and retroactively by spectators. See Wetherell (2015). Arguing in this way is to follow an inferential model of communication (Sperber and Wilson, 2008). 39. In current terms, stars and celebrities are defined as icons, a term that imputes to them, on the basis of market performance the status of collective symbols (King, 2018).

References Abidin, C. (2018). Internet Celebrity: Understanding Fame Online. Emerald Publishing Limited. Acuna, K. (2023). Celebrities who look alike https://www.insider.com/celebrities-who-look-alike-2017-1. Accessed 26/03/2023. Appleton, D., & Yankelevits, D. (2010). Hollywood Dealmaking: Negotiating Talent Agreements for Film, TV and New Media. Skyhorse Publishing Inc.

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

225

Augustin, J. (2017). The Professional Actor’s Handbook: From Casting Call to Curtain Call. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Baudrillard, J. (2016). The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures (p. 139). Sage. Benton, D. A. (2012). The Virtual Executive: How to Act Like a CEO Online and Offline. McGraw Hill Professional Books. Boyle, R. (2018). The Talent Industry. Palgrave Macmillan. Burke, K. (1989). On Symbols and Society. (J.  Gusfield, Ed.). University of Chicago Press. Burke, T. (2019). Branding: The Cornerstone of Your Career. https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/branding-­cornerstone-­career-­3621/ Caldwell, J. T. (2008). Production Culture. Duke University Press. Catliff, S., & Granville, J. (2013). The Casting Handbook for Film and Theatre Makers. Routledge. Connelly, B. L., Tihanyi, L., Crook, T. R., & Gangloff, K. A. (2014). Tournament Theory: Thirty Years of Contests and Competitions. Journal of Management, 40(1), 16–47. Cram, C. (2012). Digital Cinema: The Role of the Visual Effects Supervisor. Film History: An International Journal, 24(2), 169–186. Cranston, B. (2016). A Life in Parts. Simon and Schuster. Daly, K. (2010). Cinema 3.0: The Interactive-Image. Cinema Journal, 50(1), 81–98. David, S. (2007). Self for Sale: Notes on the Work of Hollywood Talent Managers. Anthropology of Work Review, 28(3), 6–16. Deller, R. A. (2016). Star Image, Celebrity Reality Television and the Fame Cycle. Celebrity Studies, 7(3), 373–389. Dimitrova, S. (2010). British and American Pronunciation. Retrieved March 25, from http://www.personal.rdg.ac.uk/llsroach/phon2/sd10.pdf, p. 26. Donnarumma, M. (2017). Beyond the Cyborg: Performance, Attunement and Autonomous Computation. International Journal of Performance Arts and Digital Media, 13(2), 105–119. Driver, M. (2022). Managing Expectations. Manilla Press. Duffy, B. E. (2016). The Romance of Work: Gender and Aspirational Labour in the Digital Culture Industries. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 19(4), 441–457. Dyer, R. (1999). The Role of Stereotypes. In Media Studies: A Reader (Vol. 2, pp. 1–6). University of Edinburgh Press. Elias, A., Gill, R., & Scharff, C. (2017). Aesthetic Labour: Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism (pp. 3–49). Palgrave Macmillan UK. Elliot, N. (2000). A Study in the Rhoticity of American Film Actors. The Voice and Speech Review. Evreinov, N. (1970). The Theatre in Life (A. I. Nazaroff, Trans.). B.Blom. (Original work published 1927).

226 

B. KING

Feinberg, S. (January 16, 2009). Celebrating Robert Downey Jr.’s blackface at the Oscars? (The week we inaugurate Obama?). Los Angeles Times. Archived December 6, 2022. Gaines, J.  M. (2000). Contested Culture: The Image, the Voice, and the Law. University of North Carolina Press. Geil, A. (2016). Dynamic Typicality. In N. K. A. A. Somaini & S. M. Eisenstein (Eds.), Notes for a General History of Cinema (pp.  333–346). Amsterdam University Press. Gergen, K. J. (1991). The Saturated Self. Basic Books. Glynn, K. (2000). Tabloid Culture. Duke University Press. Gray, J., Sandvoss, C., & Harrington, C.  L. (Eds.). (2017). Fandom: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World. NYU Press. Gunkel, D. J. (2010). The Real Problem: Avatars, Metaphysics and Online Social Interaction. New Media & Society, 12(1), 127–141. Hamus-Vallée, R., & Renouard, C. (2019). The Many Faces of Digital Technology, Birth Life (and Death?) of the Profession of Visual Effects Supervisor in France. Mise au point. Cahiers de l’association française des enseignants etchercheurs en cinéma et audio visuel, 2(12). Harcup, T., & O’neill, D. (2017). What is News? News Values Revisited (again). Journalism Studies, 18(12), 1470–1488. Harris, N. (1981). Humbug: The Art of PT Barnum. University of Chicago Press. Haug, W. F. (1986). Critique of Commodity Aesthetics (R. Bock, Trans.) Cambridge. Polity. Hochschild, A. R. (1983). The Managed Heart. University of California press. Hoenig, E. (2020). Why Can’t We All Just Cher?: Drag Celebrity Impersonators versus an Ever-Expanding Right of Publicity. Cardozo Arts and Entertainment Law Journal, 38, 537. Honoré, A. M. (2013). Ownership. Routledge. Huber, S. L. (2015). Physiognomic Typage and the Construction of the Archetypal Weimar-Era Hausfrau in Georg Wilhelm Pabst’s Abwege/The Devious Path. The Moving Image Review & Art Journal (MIRAJ), 4(1–2), 102–117. Jaher, D.  B. (2014). The Casting Director in American Theatre, Cinema, and Television. Ph.D. diss., University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Kemper, T. (2009). Hidden Talent. University of California Press. King, B. (2018). Becoming Iconic. International Journal of Communication, 12, 3390–3408. Klapp, O.  E., & Berger, A.  A. (2017). Heroes, Villains, & Fools: The Changing American Character. Routledge. Knight, D. (2000). Reprint Standard Speech: The Ongoing Debate. Voice and Speech Review, 1(1), 31–54. https://doi.org/10.1080/23268263.2000.10761385 Kozloff, S. (2000). Overhearing Film Dialogue. University of California Press. Kracauer, S. (1997). Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality. Princeton University Press.

7  THE VICISSITUDES OF PERSONA 

227

Kripke, S. (1980). Naming and Necessity. Harvard University Press. Kuric Kardelis, S. (2023). The Body of a Performer as a Form of Capital: Age, Gender and Aesthetics in Theatre Work. Cultural Sociology, 17(2), 159–178. Kusch, M. (1997). The Socio-Philosophy of Folk Psychology. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, 28(1), 1–25. Laing, R. (2010). The Divided Self: An Existential Study in Sanity and Madness. Penguin. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (2008). Metaphors We Live By. University of Chicago Press. Lamarre, T. (2012). Humans and Machines. Inflexions, 5, 29–67. Lapsley, D. K., & Lasky, B. (2001). Prototypic Moral Character. Identity: An International Journal of Theory and Research, 1(4), 345–363. Lifton, R. J. (1999). The Protean Self: Human Resilience in an Age of Fragmentation. University of Chicago Press. Lury, C. (2004). Brands: The Logos of the Global Economy. Routledge. Marshall, P.  D. (2020). Celebrity, Politics, and New Media: An Essay on the Implications of Pandemic Fame and Persona. International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, 33(1), 84–104. Martin, A. (2018). The Queer Business of Casting Gay Characters on US Television. Communication Culture & Critique, 11(2), 282–297. Mayer, V. (2011). Below the Line: Producers and Production Studies in the New Television Economy. Duke University Press. Mears, A. (2008). Discipline of the Catwalk: Gender, Power and Uncertainty in Fashion Modeling. Ethnography, 9(4), 429–456. Meyer-Dinkgräfe, D. (2005). Approaches to Acting: Past and Present. Bloomsbury Publishing. Pine, B.  J., & Gilmore, J.  H. (2011). The Experience Economy. Harvard Business Press. Pizzo, A. (2016). Actors and Acting in Motion Picture Capture. L’attore e la Recitazione Nella Motion Capture. Acting Archives Review, 11, 38–69. Pomerance, M. (2016). Moment of Action: Riddles of Cinematic Performance. Rutgers University Press. Post, R. C., & Rothman, J. E. (2020). The First Amendment and the Right (s) of Publicity. Yale Law Journal, 130, 86.ff. Rein, I. J., Kotler, P., & Stoller, M. R. (1987). High Visibility. Dodd, Mead. Roth, E. (2021).Rounding Up the Best Advice from Casting Directors of 2020. https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/best-­audition-­advice-­casting-­ directors-­2020-­72360/ Roussel, V. (2017). Representing Talent: Hollywood Agents and the Making of Movies. University of Chicago Press. Simon, S. J. (2019). Hollywood Power Brokers: Gender and Racial Inequality in Talent Agencies. Gender, Work & Organization, 26(9), 1340–1356.

228 

B. KING

Smith, M. (2011). Just What Is It That Makes Tony Soprano Such an Appealing, Attractive Murderer? In Ethics at the Cinema (pp.  66–90). Oxford University Press. Sperber, D., & Wilson, D. (2008). A Deflationary Account of Metaphors. The Cambridge Handbook of Metaphor and Thought, 84, 105. Straub, K. (1991). Sexual Suspects: Eighteenth-Century Players and Sexual Ideology. Princeton University Press. Thrift, N. (2006). Re-inventing invention: new tendencies in capitalist commodification. Economy and society, 35(02), 279–306. Tseëlon, E. (1992). Is the Presented Self Sincere? Goffman, Impression Management and the Postmodern Self. Theory, Culture & Society, 9(2), 115–128. Tukachinksy, R. (2015). When Actors Don’t Walk the Talk: Parasocial Relationships Moderate the Effect of Actor-Character Incongruence. International Journal of Communication, 9(7), 3394–3410. Wandschneider, P. R. (2003). Lottery Economics: The Role of Luck, Skills and Endowments in Determining Who Gets the Toys. In Western Economics Forum (Vol. 2, No. 1837–2016–151750, pp. 27–32). Warner, K. J. (2015). The Cultural Politics of Colorblind TV Casting. Routledge. Wendling, A.  E. (2012). The Ruling Ideas: Bourgeois Political Concepts. Lexington Books. Wetherell, M. (2015). Trends in the Turn to Affect: A Social Psychological Critique. Body & Society, 21(2), 139–166. Witz, A., Warhurst, C., & Nickson, D. (2003). The Labour of Aesthetics and the Aesthetics of Organization. Organization, 10(1), 33–54. Wojcik, P. R. (2003). Typecasting. Criticism, 45(2), 223–249. Wolf, M. J. (2003). The Technological Construction of Performance. Convergence, 9(4), 48–59. Zafirau, S. (2008). Reputation Work in Selling Film and Television: Life in the Hollywood Talent Industry. Qualitative Sociology, 31(2), 99–127. Zarate, M. A., & Smith, E. R. (1992). Person Categorization and Stereotyping. Social Cognition, 8(2), 161–185.

CHAPTER 8

Stardom as a Force of Nature

In the post-studio era, productive resources, once contained within the studio system, are now sourced externally. Once centred in major studio-­ owned facilities, production is now located in independent production companies operating as hubs in a flexible, evolving network of providers (Scott, 2005, pp. 47–49). Production, if financially supported by major producers and distributors, is subcontracted out to key personnel with a demonstrated track record—producers, directors, writers and stars. Once bound by a studio-fixed term contract, the star now operates as a freelance service provider on a project-by-project basis. This development, coupled with the development of a global market and the increase in the number of outlets, has vastly increased the scale of stellar earnings. Although precise figures are not available for reasons of confidentiality, particular stars can command very high levels of compensation, often through combining the role of producer-director and star. Mel Gibson is reported to have a net wealth of $430 million and despite being dogged by scandals can receive up to $25 million per film and $15 million for voice work in animated features. Scarlett Johansson has a reported wealth of $180 million and can receive $24 million per picture. This scale of remuneration, limited to “blockbusters” and franchise films, means that these stars, and others like them, have the financial independence to participate in low-cost independent “vanity” productions, creating a squeeze on employment opportunities available to up-and-coming actors.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_8

229

230 

B. KING

For my purposes, the most significant point is that the extreme earnings differential between “superstar” earnings and average earnings is that its impact can be compared metaphorically to a “black hole”, sucking in opportunities and resources and leaving little or nothing to their competitors. The hyper level of earnings achieved by some stars is not based on significant differences in talent between them and similarly talented rivals, but on the star’s monopoly position in relation to the market (Borghans & Groot, 1998). This personal monopoly is based on the rendering of the star’s performance as a personal brand or persona. Near the start of the new millennium, the increasing adoption of digital technologies and AI applications raised concerns that “synthespians” would replace stars and leading players (Bestor, 2016; Kurtz, 2004).1 Two decades on, the greatest impact of digital technologies has been on the employment of below-the-line performers such as extras, background players in crowd scenes, stunt performers and craft workers (Daigle, 2015). This is because virtual environments can replace location shooting and eliminate the need for direct craft inputs such as make-up and costuming, which can be added in post-production compositing. Despite the development of new technologies of screen image production, stars remain important—and increasingly so—because of their pivotal role in marketing and publicity, and as the “living” nodes of package deals and independent production. But the function of the star has changed. To grasp this, it is necessary to descend below the macro-level of institutional continuity to consider micro-level changes occurring in the work order with the introduction of digital cinema. Even in “photochemical” analogue cinematography, the capture of the actor as a screen image was a technologically enabled process of alienation. This is most apparent in the practice of re-takes—assuming reliance on other profilmic craft practices such as make-up, costuming, sound and lighting. When a performance is constructed out of a large number of takes, the actor relinquishes control over their screen image as it appears before audiences. This may be a beneficial outcome, like a makeover, but it is an outcome that increases the actor’s dependency on the technology of image production. In digital cinema, a more comprehensive control over the total scenic environment, including the actor’s appearance, is a given. Digital cameras permit a high level of re-takes at low cost, increasing the capacity to capture subtle nuances in gestures, facial expressions, movements and dialogue. So, for example, Gary Oldman is reported, along with other actors, to have performed up to a hundred takes in scenes

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

231

for his role in Mank—a film which, for all its embrace of digital technology, plays homage to classical black-and-white cinema (Fincher, 2020). Kubrick, holding the Guinness Book of Records of most takes (148) for a scene in The Shining, observed that multiple takes were not just a consequence of his admitted perfectionism. Rather it was because of the tendency for actors to under-prepare their lines in order to maintain freshness. In this circumstance, Kubrick found that multiple takes were necessary for the actor to become fully engaged (Cahill, 2011). In digital cinema, such an immediate contest over effort is displaced into post-production. As one practitioner notes, the over-riding emphasis in virtual cinema is on capturing the actor’s performance for post-­ compositing, with real-time performance functioning primarily as feedback for artists and crew. In this, the crew becomes—more intensively than was the case in analogue cinema—the immediate and only audience for live behaviour (Sawicki & Moody, 2020). Generally speaking, re-takes can be seen as an intensified variant of the camera’s capacity to reveal micro-details that the actor cannot consistently control in any case—the unintentional tic or mannerism, shifts in body language, speech patterns, spatial displacements and the effects of a drop in energy level on the overall performance. In one take, the actor can be said to have the maximal opportunity to control what is seen—as is the case in a live performance. But as the re-takes multiply, the actor steadily relinquishes firm control over what is seen, and in this sense ceases to be fully accountable for the image.2 The severance of the “indexical” connection in digital cinema extends directorial control deeper into the moment of performance itself (Daly, 2010). This is because digital cameras remove the cost and time constraints found in photochemical film production: multiple takes are easy, without the necessity for new set-ups and camera loading, and have the added benefit that the director can step into the frame to directly coach the actors in real time. The opportunities provided by digital cameras for increasing directorial control over filming is likely to be restrained by the need to reproduce the visual grammar of classical film-­making. With established directors, such as Steven Spielberg, the preference for classical narratives will be part of their brand, and an estimate of what mainstream spectators are accustomed to accepting as realistic. With this orientation, the simulation of features of photochemical camera work, such as lens flare, may be added to digital sequences for authenticity and “realism” (Mateer, 2017). But with digital cinematography, such decisions become a matter of aesthetic preference, which other directors may not share.3

232 

B. KING

Digital cinema, while still claiming photographic realism, increasingly reduces the need to rely on profilmic locations and events to construct a story world. Virtual production dramatically intensifies the capacity—already established in analogue cinema—to seamlessly combine strips of action captured at different times and in different spaces into apparently continuous and extended sequences (Livingstone, 2020).4 But additionaly it adds the capacity to create scenes that have no existence outside of the image apparatus, governed by a complex regime of looks or gazes (Casetti, 2008). For inexperienced actors, digital manipulation may be a mixed blessing, enhancing their performance while at the same time, making their persona more dependent on performance technologies. For established stars such as Gary Oldman, the manipulation of their performance is unlikely to weaken their claim to be the creators of what is seen on screen. His extensive portfolio of performances means that his reputation as a craft practitioner is unlikely to be affected. Yet the more intensive use of digital technologies can lead to an undervaluation of the actor’s contribution—as for example, Andy Serkis’s performance as Gollum; a judgement about the source of a performance in digital technology which has substantial consequences for professional reputation and earnings. From a pragmatic point of view, the threat posed by digital cinema to established stars may not stem from the increased power of the director to control the actor’s image. In any given production, the director is likely to share the actor’s desire to capture the best possible performance—though creative disagreements about what constitutes the best are always possible, if not endemic. Rather, the most present threat to leading performers posed by digital cinema may come from the possibility of being replaced by less-talented performers or “mere” celebrities. Intertwined with, and/ or redoubling the threat of substitution, is the fact that the digital dispersal of identity images posits a multi-local self that the star is challenged to “own” through the construction of a persona (Ayers, 2014).5 In contrast to what occurs in the backstage abode of production, there is an important shift in the projection of the actor’s being in digitally produced scenes and story worlds. Digital cinema practices, such as performance capture, LED walls and post-production compositing, render the body of the actor extensively as surface on which to inscribe disembodied or re-embodied digital effects. In digital cinema, unlike analogue cinema, a performance need not be staged in pro-filmic space to be captured. Rather, existing images and audio tracks can serve as disembodied stenographic outline that can be digitally reanimated to create a new

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

233

performance. In this case, a digital camera acts as a self-sufficient agency creating its own objects and spaces. In what has been termed as postBazinian cinema, the production of screen images moves closer to animation and gaming (Jones, 2013). In this action-driven space, the actor’s body is deployed as the gross register of spectacular sequences that exist outside the perceptual framework of any character and, when characterfocussed, presents the actor less as an initiator than as a reactor or witness to the action (Whissel, 2010).6 So, the “classical” continuity grammar based on the primacy of the close-up as the crux of viewer identification is relegated to a moment in the flow of events (Balázs 1970; Larsen, 1998, p. 226ff). In place of the close-up as a frozen space of identification, there is a highly mobile and acentric space that is impersonal, mechanized and effectively coming from nowhere or anywhere. In sum, the impact of digital cinema converts the screen into a more intensely differentiated and layered space in which the star’s body becomes a surface amongst other bodies, sights, settings, sounds and dialogue.7 The on-screen manipulation and sampling of the actor’s performance does not necessarily harm their image. But it poses the problem—to a greater degree than found in analogue cinema—of sustaining the perception that the star is the existential ground and agent of what the audience sees, recognizes, and hopefully identifies with: the actor’s presence. Against the view that the actor is merely a digitized puppet, it can be observed that even in action movies, where physical action and reaction is primary, the performer’s response to digital locations and characters plays a vital role in confirming that digital artefacts are “real”. In the aesthetic coupling of digital scaling and acting, the star is positioned as an avatar of the spectator, tutoring the latter in reacting to what is seen and—an increasingly important function with CGI—guaranteeing by their reactions the “reality” of the on-screen, digitally simulated action.8 Where the action entails the deployment of synthespians alongside real actors, a phenomenological process of reciprocal validation is set in play whereby the virtually manipulated behaviour of the actor is confirmed as “real” in relation to the avatar, just as the actor’s reactions are designed to confirm the reality of the avatar (Sperb, 2012). But this mutual confirmation—which after all applies to minor characters and even extras—does not fully explain the high value attributed to the star’s presence. This is because the contribution of the star in performance is over-determined by their function in the mitigation of the risk management of an unpredictable market undertaken by the major studios as investors and distributors. Risk mitigation is also a matter of vital

234 

B. KING

economic self-interest to the star, impacting their claim to be the reason for a particular film’s or television series’ popularity. Focussing on the position of the star, depending on contractual conditions, digital cinema presents the actor with the opportunity to be the beneficiary, rather than the patient, of its power.9 But this privilege comes at the cost of positioning the actor as a witness to, rather than an initiator of, the action. Such considerations demonstrate how closely aesthetic or moral concerns are intertwined with economics. In the reality of contract bargaining, the price put on the actor’s services could be undermined, even if the power of their presence is ascribed to technology—regardless of whether the star is a strong box-office performer. One might say that X is a great star because of the technology expensively deployed by the employer rather than because of their exercise of craft skills and personal charisma. But what then of the concept of a reward for an exclusive personal service? A more general consideration follows: to what extent can the actor sustain the claim that they are the exclusive source and owner of their charisma?

Stardom and Fetishism A fetish can be generally defined as “a cultural representation over which its authors have lost control, which at the same time mystifies and constitutes their social reality” (Hornborg, 2014, p. 848). The term “authors” needs qualification. As a collective noun, it obscures the distinction between individuals who, however “mystified”, have direct agency over the creation of representations and those who consume such representations through the medium of exchange. In a mature capitalist cultural industry, consumers are positioned as an audience, playing a limited role in the formation of the product as released. However, they may re-author content in the process of consumption, fan communities work within the dramatic universe provided by the source as translators rather than authors. In the cultural industries under the regime of flexible production and 360 degree marketing, the producers of content proper are, at best, only equivocally identified as authors, because they too operate within a set of structural relationships in which the star system, as the predominant official source of success, imposes limits. Fetishism has two basic modes. In pre-capitalist economies, it arises from the perception of an organic unity between persons and their products as a form of symbolic contagion. In developed capitalist societies, fetishism takes the form of commodity fetishism as the product of forging

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

235

a connection to an abstract standard of value or money form. This requirement to connect to an abstract standard of value arises because individuals tend to produce what they do not consume and consume what they do not produce (cf. Taussig, 2010, p. 37). Pre-capitalist fetishism does not disappear with the development of capitalism. Rather, both forms of fetishism coexist and interact with each other, as contrasting social relationships of exchange: one related to barter and gifting and the other to monetary exchange. In either form, the cognitive power of fetish depends on its being perceived as a force, spiritual or supernatural that can alter the material conditions of life. Whatever its object, the fetish is produced by the entraining of four cognitive processes: a. the concrete manifestation in a specific person or thing; that b. is perceived as living or animate, usually through a process of personification; that c. rests on the conflation of a signifier and a signified which, by auto-­ referentiality, treats things as persons and persons as things; thereby d. creating a power relationship in which there is ambiguity—does an object control people or do people control an object?—a relationship which in itself may be based on a social inequality of position and function10 (Ellen, 1988, p. 229ff). Stars and celebrities are implicated in all the four of these cognitive processes. But particularly critical is their role in sustaining a bilateral power relationship across the cycles of production, distribution and consumption. On the one hand, they sustain a para-social relationship with fans and audiences that will encourage engagement through the purchase of star-branded commodities. On the other, they have a direct social relationship with the creative workforce, which is governed by the imperative to sustain the star’s persona as a charismatic, affective presence. So, considering the star in the capacity of the persona, there is a parallel (if mystifying) process of compaction and conflation of states of being: as an ideal manifested, and as a concrete material object. They are abstractions: self-­ referential signs without an actual real-time extension.11 Despite the fact that no element of production can ensure success, the star’s co-operation in all phases of the development, production and marketing of a motion picture is perceived as essential (De Vany, 2003, pp. 120 and 138). The star is believed to possess the capacity to ensure the

236 

B. KING

accumulation of profits on behalf of all the corporate participants—one of whom may be the star anyway. Given this institutionally habituated perception, the star receives a form of executive compensation, which, depending on negotiation, may be based on a net (after costs) or gross percentage of box-office revenues. Other forms of compensation may be negotiated to ensure the star is fully committed to the project (Chisholm, 2004, pp. 169–20). Compared to rank-and-file actors under a standard union contract, stars sell their services as individuals. The kind of deals struck are bespoke, with conditions determining the position and size of on-screen credit, the use of likeness in promotion and publicity, bonuses, number of working days and start date, on-set dressing room, and whatever other benefits the star’s agents can extract from the producers during deal-making (Appleton & Yankelevits, 2010, Chapter 8). If stars are positioned as the centre of performance, such a positioning is based on the status of a legally protected external resource. In other words, as a gift of nature lodged in the body of the actor or performer, ceded to the employer for a limited use. Self-objectification and reification of stars is an anthropological constant, despite the fact that in old Hollywood stars were on fixed term contracts, while in the new flexible system of production they are closer to freelance producers or performers. What Hortense Powdermaker wrote about Hollywood in the 1970s still applies albeit with greater intensity today: Hollywood people seem more at home with the inanimate, with property which can be measured in dollars and which can be manipulated to increase itself, than they are with human beings. They therefore attribute the characteristics of what they know best to the unknown – which is, for them, the world of human beings and the art of storytelling. These become intelligible as they take on the characteristics of the known—property – and become functional as they contribute to the goal of wealth. The psychological process appears to be the same one by which primitive man makes his ­environment intelligible by projecting what he knows about human beings onto his canoe and ancestral spirits. (Powdermaker, 1979, p. 199)

Personification is a cultural practice found in many cultures, both historically and in the present. But it is the distinct feature of capitalism that socially effective personifications are linked to the market as machines for the harvesting of surplus value:

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

237

Capital-profit (or better still capital-interest), land-ground-rent, labour-­ wages, this economic trinity as the connection between the components of value and wealth in general and its sources, completes the mystification of the capitalist mode of production, the reification of social relations into things, and the immediate coalescence of the material relations of production with their historical and social specificity: the bewitched, distorted and upside-down world haunted by Monsieur le Capital and Madame la Terre who are at the same time social characters and mere things. (Marx, 1992, vol. 3, pp. 968–969)12

The star’s persona is the concrete embodiment of the tendency of capitalism as a whole to naturalize values through personification. Located as nodes or points of access to an ever-expanding global circulation of commodities, stars incarnate Hollywood’s power to thematize global culture. When functioning as a capitalist, the star controls the mobilization of fixed capital—for example, screenplays and other properties, leased or owned production facilities—and as an employee, places a constraint on the use of variable capital through the protection of their own “star labour power”. Sanctified by mind-boggling levels of compensation, stars appear to hold, like the money form itself, the qualities of universal exchangeability in the substance of their body-person. With these features in mind, a star can be defined as an agent of a diagram: “a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal form” (Foucault 1977, p. 205). Within the domain of Hollywood production, the star is a diagram regulating organizational action and the prevenient human crux of the semiotics of textual production.13 This regulation is played out as a power relationship between the identities of character and persona, which operates across two dynamics of subordination: (a) as mechanic enslavement, which treats human beings as constituent pieces of a machine; and (b) as social subjection, where human beings are subordinated to an exterior and higher object (Deleuze & Guattari, 1988, pp. 456–457).14 In the context of performance on stage or screen, mechanic enslavement is the condition of the human prop or extra deployed to do ergometric work as animated scenery. Social subjection is bi-modal. There is the mode of a leading actor giving a modular performance, where a temporarily specific character is the governing subject. In the mode of stardom performances tend to be fractal, as the persona is deployed as an omnibus character functioning across and through different characters and different films. Given the perception that the commercial success of a film

238 

B. KING

depends on the figure of the star, they are fetishized as a natural—resident in the body-person—“creative force” which imbues production with a distinctive aesthetic value. Which is not to say that the star does not ever add “creative” value—just not always, and not entirely independent of contributions of other above- and below-the-line personnel. Viewed from the perspective of the realm of consumption, the fetishism of stardom is mediated through the interaction of two regimes of valuation—an interaction whose reach has been vastly extended by the social media. Following Karpik (2010), these are: a. The Mega Regime, which uses global market-performance data to regulate the investment in the production and promotion of films. Such metrics establish winners in a tournament that targets all cultures, countries and social demographics and postulates that products that sell exceptionally well embody universal meanings and values. This system is organized around regularly occurring award ceremonies, such as the Oscars, Emmys and Grammys; and ongoing monitoring of market-­performance indicators such as hit parade charts, best-selling books, sales of DVD and Blu-ray disks, online streaming and downloads; and the sales of derivative products and services, including action figures, posters and fees for attendance at fan conventions and live performances. b. The common-opinion regime, which is a critical apparatus designed to assist consumers in making choices and in comprehending the cultural significance of popular hits. Practices here include reviews of best-­selling books, Top 40 hits, television shows and motion pictures. Reviews in this regime function to describe and evaluate media output in terms of a humanistic aesthetic that values products and performances from a folk-psychology perspective: as typical human dilemmas. In the case of cinema, the common-opinion regime is typified by RogerEbert.com, which evaluates media texts from a literary-­humanism perspective, offering recommendations that assist consumers in making choices about what to watch or purchase. The effectiveness of this regime logically presupposes a consumer who exercises choice, but within the menu of what has been provided. Even where fans and audience groups mount, via social media, counter-evaluations that challenge the common-opinion regime, this is—as in the case of Game of Thrones—an effort to improve rather than reject what is offered.15

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

239

When a particular actor benefits from the action of these systems of valuation, achieving a mass level of publicity and success, they cease to be an individual and become a signifier standing for the conquest (necessarily contingent and fleeting) of the central institution of capitalist society, the market.16 But in mainstream capitalist film production—especially of high-­ cost event films—the figure of star stands for the reputational power of the market as the satisfier of desires.17 If the status of fetish is realized, stars enjoy a pharaonic lifestyle that seems to flow from the deep affective power of what they do as an expression of what they are. If fetishism is the state produced by the interaction of these regimes of value, there is the matter of the form of its substance. In an earlier article, I have argued that stardom’s institutional role means that it represents in popular culture the productivity of labour power as the source of value (King, 2010). This capacity is found within insider accounts of the process of content creation, and by mini-documentaries and DVD contents that celebrate from an industry-friendly perspective, the making of a specific film or television series. (Caldwell). But there is another aspect, which focusses on the agency of the star. In Hollywood, the star is the institutionally identified agent, an Atlas holding up the world of profitability and wealth. Although not the only categorical candidate for equating “creativity” with market effectiveness—witness the use of directors as auteurs— the star is the institutionally preferred public signifier of the vital link between personality and profits. The term star is normally applied to outstanding practitioners in creative occupations—such as writing, painting, photography, fashion— though it can be extended to cover sports and even politics. Yet it is in the dramatic arts, where the term originated, that it most directly denotes an outstanding performer with an authentic vision. A political star, for example—if meeting the over-riding objective of providing social and economic benefits to followers—is not so stringently required, or expected, to be authentic. The star as a performer, however, in order to honour the affective investments of fans, must emphasize in performing a particular role that they are expressing deeply held beliefs and values. One part of this intensified emphasis derives from the fact that there are many actors who could fit the requirements of a part. Accordingly, the one who wins the part needs to downplay the somewhat arbitrary nature of their success. This is best achieved by affirming the strength of their personal commitment to the overall social message implied by a particular role. If the role has an anti-social message or is marked ambiguously as

240 

B. KING

“mere” entertainment, the affirmation of their determination to meet the technical challenges of performance serves as the measure of their commitment. Both affirmations, as a moral and/or technical commitment, suggest authenticity, and the producers expect as much from their erstwhile employees. The other part is that the star is a figure tied up in the discourse of the artist as an exemplary proponent of expressive individualism. Expressive individualism, as a distinctive American framework, affirms “that each person has a unique core of feeling and intuition that should unfold or be expressed if their individuality is to be realized” (Bellah et al., 2007, pp. 333–334). Although writers and visual media artists are likely to be judged by the standard of authenticity, the specific features of finding success in a large-­ scale industry, claiming to serve the expressive needs of a culture, makes the theatrical or cinematic star a particularly codifying example of the struggle to be self-expressive. Compared to the struggling painter or writer working alone before success, the actor seeking to be cast in mainstream productions moves, operates in a similar state of relative anonymity. But when successful in being cast, the actor enters into a scale of investment, high level of risk and public exposure that intensifies the existential density of their adopted persona as standing for collective approval. When market performance ratifies the fecundity of star labour power, the star is functioning as a universal equivalent or a money form. Viewing the star as a universal equivalent identifies the abstract function of stardom in relation to cultural production in general, evoking the concept of the artist as a unique outsider who brings value and enrichment into everyday cultural experience. The ideological roots of this identification will be explored below. For now, it is important to recognize that the agency of the star depends on a successful engagement with the market as a machine for realizing value, leading to an abstract encounter which is humanized by the star’s persona. Humanization, in turn, entails a coaching relationship with consumers, which at the same time is mirrored in the efforts of technical staff and crew who direct their efforts and skills towards sustaining the star’s persona in the micro-world of production. In this relationship, the persona operates for the star qua star, as a benign alienation based on the repression of the contribution of the collective, who actually produce the persona as an image commodity.18 On the side of the fan or consumer, self-alienation occurs because the expression of solidarity requires that individual fans position themselves in relation to a massive and fissile affective community, whose commonality

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

241

is only sustained through an engagement (or disengagement) with the persona of the star. Once again, the social media, through its saturation of para-social relationships fosters the illusion of a shared engagement; when in actuality, fans are in solitary confinement in their interactive bubbles (Turkle, 2011).

The Flattening of the Hierarchy of Work Acting is a process of teamwork that is sharply organized around individual competition. Except for the greater salience of individual competition to get work, acting follows the pattern of contemporary work in which the individual’s passionate engagement with the team is a norm (Lordon, 2014; Sewell, 2005; Kalleberg et al., 2009). For most workers—even in occupations conspicuously designated as “creative”—self-fulfilment is constrained by the necessity of meeting quantitative and qualitative targets. In such circumstances, the search for self-fulfilment in work tends to be displaced from tightly imposed external performance standards onto identity work and self-fashioning (Arvidsson et  al., 2010, p.  360). Especially in gig work, those employed and those seeking employment are encouraged to see their body as a curatorial project in progress: important in the future search for work, but also as a source of satisfaction that compensates for irregular and, at best, fleetingly enriching work (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2013, pp. 176–180). Because of their success and the attention that it receives, stars and celebrities epitomize the labour of self-presentation as an ideal route to enriching, dignifying work. But in contrast to the hyper-individuality of the star or celebrity, workers in general have no immediate access to the media of public visibility. It can be noted that reality television, in various formats and in varying degree of feasibility, might be an exception that holds out the prospect of stardom. But if reality television creates a few stars, this does not alter the fact that the general audience is projected as a swarm, a condition of undifferentiated approval to be escaped from and, as attested by the majority of those attending auditions, is far from demonstrating a reservoir of untapped talent (Skeggs & Wood, 2012). Whatever the material circumstances of success for a few, it rests on the convergence of a highly undifferentiated plurality of interests. Thanks to the social media and online streaming, resulting in very large (and therefore diverse) audiences—Kim Kardashian, for example, had at one point 28 million followers on Instagram—the factual plurality of audience

242 

B. KING

interests is reduced to a uniform expression of adoration.19 (This smoothing process is most striking in the Netflix practice of counting four minutes of viewing as a ‘like’.) When this happens, the tastes of different components of the total audience are cast into a partial relationship with the social fact of mass consumption, ever more so on a global scale. Such a massive scale of registration means that the concrete diversity of motives for following a particular star or celebrity is smoothed out, becoming an undifferentiated affirmation of sheer popularity or unpopularity (Allor, 1988; Bogard, 2000). This circumstance creates its own deficit of account, with the attractiveness of the persona becoming both the most facile and the most serviceably abstract explanation of audience involvement.20 Marx points to complex commodities such as buildings and railways that are so continuous and on so grand a scale that they appear as a single product (Marx, 2005, p. 955). In this sense, the cinema is a complex commodity, which concentrates the powers of collective labour onto the persona of the star, who becomes charismatic or excessively resonant beyond what is immediately apparent in their actual person. For my purposes, the dynamics of the market and reception are important in terms of the impact they have on the structuring of the work order. As argued previously, performance work is organized around three registers of creativity—as ergometric, modular and fractal kinds of labour, which define how employees are valued and rewarded.21 In popular culture, stars are depicted as versatile, creative employees engaged in modular work—or at least, aspiring to be so.22 The specification of stardom as modular work is implicit in the offer of a personal-service contract, which recognizes the star as the source of a unique individual contribution. As an image of the star or celebrity, the persona seeks to fill out what is essentially a formal rather than a substantive position. In creating a persona, the star moulds him- or herself in order to present an apparent real-­time self that fills out and substantiates the designation of star.23 Playing to a persona creates a fractal performance that is self-similar, despite its occurrence in different dramatic situations and across different characters.24 Such performances entail a process of self-commodification, creating the illusion of received acting, with the actor perceived as behaving rather than acting. For employers and investors, a fractal performance by a star is valued because it is perceived as the only plausible way of reducing risk—as the best way to satisfy audience expectations (Wallace et  al., 1993; Ravid, 1999; De Vany, 2003).25 For the star adopting the inflective strategy of delivering fractal performances, this is the best way to ensure future work

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

243

or, more exactly—given endemic market uncertainty—the least risky performance strategy.26 But it is not without its documented personal costs of situationally endorsed narcissism, imposter syndrome, fear of failure and burn-out (Evans & Wilson, 1999, pp. 135–151).27 Unlike modular performances in character, fractal performances given in persona do not accrue occupational prestige, but they are the situationally determined route to greater institutional power and better economic rewards.28 Constructing a persona as a minor variation of past, usually break-out performances becomes the ontic root of all performances and the primary qualification for being a star.29 In this light, the strategy of casting by physical type and the supportive use of technology creates and sustains a stellar variant of typage. Typage rests on a synecdochical inversion, by which a part of an existing totality comes to represent its prototypical expression, reversing the hierarchy of values based on skill complexity and the power of collaboration (Shaviro, 2010, p.  189). This inversion does not mean (though it could) that stars are empirically unskilled performers—highly skilled performers may curtail their powers in pursuit of higher reward, fame and greater financial security. It means that stars or would-be stars are systematically disposed to deliver performances governed by their persona. This curtailment of the dramatic possibilities offered by the character and the script has the additional effect of setting aside questions of merit, which is replaced by markers of personal entitlement: the size of the onset trailer, the furnishing of a dressing room and onset deference to star status. In turn, such issues come to equate the social relations of performance to the dynamics of personality and the production of a pecking order found in everyday existence. An important consequence of this inversion is that in mass media and social media coverage, stars and celebrities are posited as corporeal exemplars of the triumph of the individual over the collective. On a daily basis, the highs and lows of stellar existence, the waxing and waning and weighing of fame, are explored in tribute to the basic premise of romanticism: that uniquely gifted individuals transcend the fetters of mundane existence (Murray, 2001). In this celebration, the market, often viewed as the arch-­ enemy of artistic freedom, becomes insinuated as the ultimate arbiter of creativity, replacing the Kantian definition of art as freely exercised creativity (Sánchez Vásquez, 1974, pp. 186–187). When a particular star shows signs of declining market fecundity, another of the same type—in conformity with Heidegger’s view of technology as standing-reserve—is ready to take their

244 

B. KING

place (Heidegger, 1954; Bailey, 2014).30 Or, alternatively, experts in spin and publicity are readied to revive the old vigour of commercial penetration. Celebrity journalism and tabloid gossip play their part by rebooting a faltering career, creating for their own market a commerce-­centred melodrama of personal success and redemption (or, if necessary, downfall). Evocations of winning or losing nurture a view of life as a poetics of marketability, demonstrating that the passionate engagement in self-­ commodification is the key ingredient of success. At the same time, it is true that not all stars are fully committed to the abandonment of character acting as modular work. Rather, in order to create opportunities for independent cinema and theatre work, they shift between fractal performances and modular performances.31 Certainly, some leading players, for example, Willem Dafoe are termed stars; but this is an awkward usage if “real” stardom is represented by efficient and non-protean stars such as Mark Wahlberg, Dwayne Johnson or Bruce Willis. Such valuations can be contentious, for—sure. But as expressions of opinion, they underwrite popular criticism and sometimes reflect the view of the stars themselves.32 The interminable debate about the meritocratic basis of fame acknowledged, it remains an ontological fact that the star’s full capacity depends on the fractal reproduction of a marketable persona as an over-riding objective for both the star and the employer. This development is not simply a matter of self-interest on the actor’s part. It also is a response to the power of technology to appropriate the actor’s look, converting it into a spatial expression that in rebound, calls forth a defensive attempt to embody an on-screen look in the off-screen appearance. This attempt to conflate two materially different images is likely to be incomplete or insufficient, but it can be equated by the development of a name. The question then becomes, not: does X does not resemble his or her persona? But: does the name guarantee the actor is who he or she appears to be.

The Contemporary Circuit of Fame33 In the contemporary mediascape, the star is likely to be an entrepreneur with an executive status and level of compensation. But they are also a celebrity identified by a media profile. A profile is a quantitative measure of attention that enables a star in one field of performance to be equated with stars from other fields of performance with a similar media profile. The process of placing stars as A-list, B-list, C-list—dependent on media attention—creates a geography of prestige and a network of association,

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

245

based on a media profile (Currid-Halkett, 2010). The tendency for a media profile to replace actual achievement is nothing new, but the social media have vastly expanded the potential disparity between substantive achievement and the numerical circulation of a name. Excellence in a specific field of performance normally precedes celebrity. But given a certain level of media circulation, as noted by Boorstin (1963), the extent of the public visibility of a name can replace accomplishment. When this happens—and the engines of promotion and publicity strive to ensure it does—the original field of achievement becomes a pretext rather than the context for fame. Rather it is the person—strictly, the body-person as a persona—that becomes identified and discursively certified as the source of value, subsisting outside of any specific performance.34 The equation of the source of value in the person-body of a star differs in intensity depending on the field of activity. The sports star, for example, is recognized for his or her performance in the manipulation of a resistant and recalcitrant external reality, and only becomes a persona with the media attention brought by these physical achievements. By contrast, the film actor recognized for their performance is cushioned from a direct engagement with external reality, performing in a technologically constructed space that is pre-designed to enhance appearance and behaviour. With the advent of micro-celebrity, the distinction between real and simulated achievement is subject to a further shift in the processes of recognition. The appending of “micro” marks the fact that such social influencers are a further step down the line of dramaturgical reduction. Micro-celebrities have no external connection to a field of performance other than self-presentation, ratified by evidence of their accumulation of “likes” and followers (Abidin, 2018). Some manipulation and inflation of a social profile is not unknown; for example, counts of likes and followers can be boosted by bots, creating a bandwagon effect (Tatang et al., 2021).35 Aspiring actors need to engage in self-promotion because securing even a small role provides access to image-burnishing technologies, income and performance credentials until (if at all successful) a social profile of sufficient magnitude is accomplished. Even stars with an established reputation are required to employ staff to maintain and extend their social profile. In celebrity culture, differing paths of accomplishment become equated to a universalized presence outside of any specific area of performance. Success as a universal equivalent of fame will depend on the current state of the performer’s career and how media attention can be readily and convincingly substituted for specific accomplishments. This process creates

246 

B. KING

the phenomenon of absolute fame—a condition of fame not restricted by a connection to a specific field of activity but rather, to the reportable vagaries of public life such as spats, break-ups, public displays of affection, melt-downs and anything the celebrity is prepared to post, such as fashion statements and body shots. Being featured in the legacy and social media grants access to a virtual coterie, where the numerical comparison of media profiles determines inclusion or exclusion. When this occurs the star as celebrity, or celebrity per se, attains the status of a capital fetish, extolled in the media as the unique source of value creation, the pivot on which all other creative inputs find their expression and ratification as commodities.36 The impact of the social media and the World Wide Web shifts the boundary between professional and private life, once maintained by studio publicity. Public life has now become a contested process of disclosure, sometimes voluntary and sometimes involuntary, depending on whether publicity is driven by the star’s personal management or celebrity gossip outlets. In either case, the star or would-be star must have the capacity to be detached from any specific incidence of behaviour—a current role, current production company, product endorsement, extramarital affair and so on—in order to maintain the continuity of their media-authenticated “self” or, properly, their persona. As I have argued elsewhere, the grammar of stardom was transformed by the end of the studio system. Contemporary stardom, with ever-greater intensity, pursues the project of becoming a capitalist on the basis of personal-­service provision. The grammar of identity likewise adjusts to these changes with the emergence in the 1990s of an autobiographical phase of stardom, typified by stars such as Sharon Stone. The impact of social media bringing about the convergence of areas of performance around the hub of the star creates the persona as a complex and multiphrenic presence, which existing in a liminoid state between one engagement and another: a temporarily thin persona which I have dubbed the steganographic phase of stardom (King, 2014). In the post-Studio context, stars are increasingly depicted as singular individuals rather than iterations of a type. Neither marked as products of a definite cultural locale (Hollywood) nor confined to particular genres that supply them with a particular persona, they appear as self-sufficient brands providing a signature presence through a plurality of platforms. So for example, Johnny Depp earns a substantial part of his wealth ($20 million) from continuing to act as a celebrity endorser (deploying a Wild Rocker

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

247

persona) for Dior’s Sauvage Cologne alongside upcoming acting engagements (Celebrity Net Worth,  2023). This kind of celebrity endorsement means that instead of being confined to a specific genre, today’s stars claim the capacity to give an efficient performance in any genre, which is only possible because they are not tokens of a type, but are constructed as indices of a singular presence.37 In sum, there are then three conditions of fame: fame based on an occupationally indexed performance; fame relative to an occupational field, translated into a media profile; and absolute fame, relative to the person as commanding a certain level of media attention. The synergistic dynamics of fame mean that absolute fame becomes the terminus ad quem of all the efforts to pursue fame and fortune as a performer.38

The Ideology of Absolute Fame The development of absolute fame is based on tokenism: the process whereby certain individuals are selected to prove that despite social and cultural inequalities, anything is possible. Although tokenism is most apparent for individuals from subaltern groups, the media emphasis on popularity as a hard-won achievement also relieves individuals from privileged backgrounds of the “burden” of their advantage. What is enacted is the claim that the institutional barriers to success can be transcended by determination and talent. Under the guise of a celebration of the creative potentialities of labour in general, absolute fame insinuates that a particular individual possesses a catalytic kind of labour that alone can valorize the labour of others. This is a feature of capitalist enterprise expressed through the figure of the entrepreneur as a fetish. But in performance, the commodity for sale is the visualization of the labour process per se. The employed body-person takes on a signifying density compounded by the fact in project-based production, others do not get to work without a star or para-star being involved.39 Absolute fame is the underlying rationale of casting, in which the concept of a social type functions as a container waiting to be filled by a unique individual who can make actual what is only virtual. The process of the representation of social type by embodiment, though seemingly concrete and intimately lodged, is in fact a quantitative reduction by abstraction of the qualitative, character-projecting potential of the actor. Although ostensibly more than ever is known about the intimate existence of the star and the celebrity, this is not concrete knowledge of the person, but knowledge of the persona as a market-tested exchange value and object of abstract desire

248 

B. KING

(Salganik et  al., 2006).  The star in any capacity—as actor, performer or a sojourning celebrity—epitomizes a premium kind of personal-­service work in which the generation of value depends on body and person of the labourer. In one aspect, then, stardom is a celebration of the value-producing powers of labour. More broadly, as a popular cultural form, stardom epitomizes the notion that freedom is possible through the sale of labour power. Under capitalist conditions of employment, the employee entering into a labour contract is conceived as the owner of their person who can freely alienate or sell their capacity to labour. On close analysis, the appearance of freedom is contradictory because it postulates, on the one hand, an autonomous or free individual; and on the other hand, the alienation of the “natural” rights that define the person as autonomous. Moreover, the paradigm of free labour rests on the political fiction that one piece of property in the person, labour power, is alienable. But in reality, labour power is a capacity, not a thing that can be physically and morally separable from the person (Pateman, 1988, pp. 116–153). The practices of stardom and celebrity affirm, practically and legally, the inseparability of the person and their capacity to labour. Absolute fame (in whatever context or realm) is also a living and lived fantasy based on the inseparability of labour from the body-person of the worker. What has changed is that the studio system’s promotional investment in iconic resemblance has transpired into a more performative relationship in which the language of doing, of performing, replaces an older, more settled language of being.40 Nested in a performative space outside of representation, contemporary stars have become general symbols of the exigencies of being performers in an intensively ramified labour market for exclusive acting services. In this market, the most successful stars can command a monopoly rent forgone by stars such as Tom Hanks or Joaquin Phoenix and celebrities who decline commercial endorsement work (Herenda, 2022). The notion of acting and performing as eponymous labour—as productive of fame—is generally connected to the idea of recognition of the worker’s concrete use-value; a recognition taken, of course, to the ultimate degree of defining all work as a kind of self-expression. This definition has a popular appeal in itself, but it is redoubled by an association with the concept of money (the wage, the salary, the fee) as the one form of self-mastering freedom to which capitalist social relationships are structured to accord axiomatic respect (Lebowitz, 2003, pp. 94–95). Money is perceived as destabilizing the demeaning judgements of worth associated

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

249

with ethnicity, sexual orientation, class and gender. With it comes mobility, freedom to choose, the ability to control one’s fate and the capacity to alter one’s social position (Furnham & Argyle, 1998, pp. 42–44). Despite these structural dynamics, reports of the fabulous earnings of stars and celebrities suggest a magical extension of the process of recognition, claiming a spurious resemblance to random games of chance—the lottery win, the bet, the unearthing of a very valuable piece of memorabilia, the lucky break and so on.41 But the celebration of luck or pure chance rests on the suppression background structuring factors such as genetic endowment, social capital and the level of preparedness—so that to be lucky is to be prepared when random factors play out in the instance of selection. The evocation of luck is a publicity trope that ratifies the hope of ordinary individuals and naïve aspiring actors to be rescued from the predictable fate of the collective.42 But for all its utopian appeal, the sublime state of “absolute fame” is not the supersession of the cash- nexus, but its celebration as the prerogative of particular individuals who are deemed to possess a market-­chastened singularity. Stars and celebrities converging in the state of maximum marketability as para-stardom become the affective epicentres of the social and cultural potentialities of drama, adjusted for marketability. An important consequence of the star system is that the energy and skill that might go into the fullest development of a character is displaced into the reproduction of the persona. Character as a space of agency is colonized by personae, not only in casting—where it is consciously articulated—but in the development of screenplays that are targeted at specific stars. One aspect of the paratextual practices of film criticism and fan productivity is that in seeking to uncover the “authentic” self behind the “mask” of character, they confirm the star’s empirical ownership of the persona. Even where an actor, say Christian Bale, makes the effort to be protean as a matter of respect for the integrity of a character, the discourse of publicity and promotion positions this effort as an opportunity for self-­expression (Hart, 2019). But such protean departures or extreme acting are a minor theme in the discourse of acting fame. This discourse, in its texts and paratexts, prioritizes the notion that character is only a container for expressing an actor’s personal journey towards professional growth through the opportunities provided by researching different characters. In these shifts, the art of being a character becomes the art of persona projection, which subordinates the process of personification to the exclusive confines of a commercial brand.

250 

B. KING

In this development, a partible concept of identity is formed as the concrete confluence of a suite of marketable goods and services: a product ambassador; a celebrity amongst celebrities, abstracted from a specific area of performance; a branded personal-service commodity; and a concrete personality, occupying in real time the role of a lover, a generational peer, a partner. In this projection, the actor evolves as a dispersible signifier of absolute fame, embodying the social body of a consumerist society, modelling how to act, in the non-dramatic sense of an actant in the real world. In this process, performance as a bracketed occupational practice is equated to the general process of identity management and projection as performativity (Bauman, 2013, p. 45ff).

Meet the Physiocrats Stars and celebrities demonstrate that the individual qua individual can transcend the limitations of their social situation by capturing a share of the “currency” of media attention. This claim requires a focus on the body as resource, including knowledge of which aspects of to prioritize for strategic social interaction and the devotion of money, time and energy to the cultivation of a perfected self-image or persona. This image competes with others in order to render them as also-rans and wannabes. In this way, as played out on celebrity gossip websites such as UsWeekly, the persona becomes a demotic resource for fans, with rivalries between stars and celebrities feeding the invidious formation of cliques based on the display of the body as an amorous object. The cogency of personal appearance and comportment, whether in an elite or demotic form, derives its transcendental unity (despite inequalities in class, race and gender) from the fact that human labour power is fundamentally treated as a capacity or store of energy attached to an individual as his or her personal property.42 Within the ideology of absolute fame, stars and celebrities alike are equated as “forces of nature”. In one respect, this usage reflects the material fact that stars (as long as they are stars) represent the rule of human nature over the social relations of dramatic production. The film star is treated as a resource outside of the work order of production (of which s/he in fact is the beneficiary).43 With good box office and a high media profile, the star comes to seem like a resource that makes possible the realization of the powers of collective labour.44 In turn, in order to ratify the indexical ownership of the image, the star cultivates their body-person. As this occurs, the star becomes the authenticating

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

251

instance or existential warrant of their own persona. In this development, the body-person of the star becomes the repository of physiognomic values—the gifts of beauty and grace that endorse the concept that appearance is a kind of property, a corporeal capital, that the individual owns and can sell or barter (Ouellette, 2016). This corporeal practice, despite its centrality to capitalist cinema, affirms a pre-capitalist conception of value as a gift of nature. The intellectual pedigree of this view is associated with the eighteenth-century Physiocrats, who posited that nature was the exclusive source of value which labour, in agriculture or in manufacture only added form and finish to what had been materially gifted. In this economic theory, land was viewed as the fundamental source of wealth. This meant that industrial capital and labour were dependent on the surplus generated by agriculture, with wages and profits being paid out of revenue derived from rent and the sale of the products of the land (Marx, 1952; Gehrke & Kurz, 2002; Burkett, 2003). The Physiocrats, although extolling nature’s bounty, saw no contradiction in asserting that land should be legally protected as individual property rather than a resource held and developed in common. This was because the motivation to cultivate and improve the productivity of the land could only succeed if individual ownership, already assumed as a natural right, was guaranteed by law (Albaum, 1955, pp. 189 and 192). Like land as the supreme factor of production in the physiocratic theory of value, the star is posited as a source of natural values essential to production, and yet only accomplishing the objective of profitability if posited as coming from outside the relations of production. The film star, in reality a sociotechnical artefact produced by the application of cinematic and digital technologies to the body, is treated as a resource outside of, but essential to cinematic production In a parallel fashion to the landowner receiving rent from the ownership of land and its natural resources, stars receive an economic rent—a price well above the average price for an actor’s services—for use of their “natural” qualities. Such qualities, first identified in casting, are captured and broken down into their elements in production and then reassembled as a persona in post-production. Thereafter, the practices of publicity and promotion operate to consolidate the claims that the qualities of the persona as imaged are indigenous to the body-person of the star. One fundamental consequence of the ideology of absolute fame is that the distinction between professional and everyday role-playing is eroded as stardom is etherealized through the circuitry of celebrity, becoming a source of equipage for everyday interaction and for some, a source of

252 

B. KING

earning as social influencers. The construction of personae follows and consolidates, as common sense, the industrialization of self-help. Standing for and recommending by example, stars and celebrities promote a new vision of the social body in which the self is perceived as a design studio, for the production of a marketable identity (McGee, 2005, p. 22). Positioned by media and social media as a ritual pontifex creating a bridge between the individual and society, the star qua persona dramatizes and legitimates the struggles for eminence typical of high school cliques, and of genres such as reality television shows, talent contests, and dating shows (Marwick, 2013; Collins, 2000). By mimicking such forms of direct social interaction, online communities—having already transcended the constraints of local networks—operate in a trans-local globalized space in which individuals not physically present mimic the ritual practices of face-­ to-­face sociality (Illouz, 2007). Reflecting a gender bias, this dramaturgical transfiguration of performance into performativity is most apparent in the case of female stars, celebrities and social influencers who, via web pages and social media, render identity partible through the manipulation of the fine details of their appearance: applying new make-up; bleaching eyebrows; colouring hair; altering their body image in Selfies by means of appearance-altering applications, dieting and workouts; finding new partners; and mood evocations through ever-renewed fashion and body modelling choices.45 The social media have intensified and facilitated the range of overlapping practices centred around the care of the body and its beautification (Elias et  al., 2017). These practices are normalized by the use of metaphors. Some of these, such as the town square or a parliament, evoke civic and political forms of interaction and information exchange. Other metaphors evoke interpersonal popularity and status, such as the beauty pageant and masquerade ball (Le Roux & Parry, 2020). It is these arenas that are most central to stardom and celebrity—though increasingly, the practices of grooming and the values of the well-curated body are desired attributes for the practice of politics as well.46 Such situational stratification processes, produced through promotion/publicity and fandom, inscribe a commodity frontier (Hochschild, 2006). This divide separates person-­ bodies that can be advantageously parcelled out for exploitation—without loss of glamour, autonomy or self-possession—from others who, in embracing the values of physiocracy, end up as wannabees plagued with various degrees of body-image anxiety, feeding the industries that service

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

253

the universal beauty pageant (Wiseman, 2016, Chapter 3; Banet-Weiser, 2014; Gupta et al., 2021). Such practices can be deplored on the grounds that they are fake and inauthentic. But more significantly, faked or not, they still advance the image of the self as primarily a store of ingredients that can be manipulated or exploited for social and commercial advantage. If the actor is enjoined to use fragments of their identity to create a persona, the practices of celebrity more intensively decompose the persona—beyond the constraints of fictional character—to compose an image as a surface expression of personality (Redmond, 2008). Under pressure from the competition for parts, the persona populates both the character and the space of celebrity, in which the self as an image becomes a “real” or authentic person defined less by its principles and attitudes than by its physical capital. The concepts are ambiguous, the logic is circular, but so is the process. With a longer historical perspective it is worth remarking how the image of the actor has changed: With respect to the extravagance of actors, as a traditional character, it is not to be wondered at. They live from hand to mouth: they plunge from want to luxury; they have no means of making money breed, and all professions that do not live by turning money into money, or have not a certainty of accumulating it in the end by parsimony, spend it. Uncertain of the future, they make sure of the present moment. This is not unwise. Chilled with poverty, steeped in contempt, they sometimes pass into the sunshine of fortune, and are lifted to the very pinnacle of public favour; yet, even there, they cannot calculate on the continuance of success. (Hazlitt (1854) quoted in Whitley (1955, pp. 75–76))

In striking contrast, it is plausible to claim that contemporary actors may attain a comfortable middle-class living: I now have multiple revenue streams, each in areas that bring me joy and fiscal compensation. I act for the camera, on stage, and voicing cartoons and video games. I was fortunate to work on some higher profile shows and I make some of my revenue from attending fan conventions as a guest. I own a production company that creates content for film and television. I write books. I own a postsecondary school. I direct. I produce. I write for film and television. I wish I could say I was lucky to have found a path that has allowed me the opportunity to have create revenue in various roles but it

254 

B. KING

wasn’t luck at all. Nor is it a unique opportunity for me. This is available to all actors. (Coleman, 2021)

It will not do to romanticize the long-past, rough-and-ready days of the strolling player of the petty or artisanal mode of dramatic production. But neither will it do to romanticize the actor as a smoothly ensconced entrepreneur operating in an advanced capitalist economy, where such “unique” opportunities are certainly not available to all. But there remains something persisting from the historical image of the actor as the romantic outsider perched on the edge of failure, if not in abject poverty. Even for successful stars, the possibility of self-inflicted failure remains ever-present. As suggested by the example of Nicolas Cage, lavish spending—whether driven by the need to outdo rivals in conspicuous consumption, or the urge for immediate gratification—remains a potential threat. But for the average actor, the possibility of failure is not just lurking in the aftermath of success, but in the ever-present reality of not having the chance of entering the game. Herein lies the paradoxical combination of wild charisma and bureaucratically expected conformity to social types that marks the affective regulation of contemporary stardom.

Notes 1. The greatest impact may be confined to big-budget productions. In small-­ budget productions, the costs of digital cameras and equipment may outweigh the gain from reducing crew members. But even this is uncertain, since the increasing sophistication of smartphones make solo production possible. At the same time, any assessment of job losses would have to recognize that levels of employment in post-production have increased. But these jobs involve different skills and are increasingly outsourced to offshore locations, where levels of remuneration are lower. Again, the degree of dependency on digital resources will vary depending on the particular film and on the mix of live versus virtual sequences. For the impact on animators, see J. Gowanlock (2021). 2. In dealing with Stanley Kubrick—another director who favoured endless retakes—Jack Nicholson is reported as attempting to make each take identical. 3. For a useful survey, see the documentary Side by Side (Kenneally, 2012). 4. “The ultimate artistic objective of a digital composite is to take images from a variety of different sources and combine them in such a way that they appear to have been shot at the same time, under the same lighting conditions, with the same camera” (Wright, 2017, pI. 1).

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

255

5. Though as I have observed, the rejuvenating or body-sculpting potential of digital cinema may be welcomed as prolonging a career or extending an actor’s range (King, 2010). The reticence of leading actors about the limitations of digital cinema seems to arise, at least in part, from the advisability of refraining from public criticism of colleagues in a gig work environment. For the legal complexities of “owning”, see Kurtz, op. cit. 6. Deleuze, considering the epochal transformation of the movement-image into the time-image, noticed this tendency towards reaction (Deleuze, 1989, p. 19; Akervall, 2014; Rodowick, 2009). 7. In contrast to the horizontal dispersal of performance artwork across surfaces, digital cinema populates an internal abstract space with textually immanent pseudo-horizontal relationships. On performance art, see Bruno (2014). 8. Not only in cinema; see Muller (2019). 9. Tom Cruise seems to constitute a stand-out from this trend, making a brand out of doing dangerous stunt work, perhaps to ensure his indispensability (Fuster, 2018; Ferguson, 2021). 10. As marked by the buzz word “iconic”. See King (2010). 11. For a useful eyewitness account revealing the disjunction between the person of Norma Jean Baker (or even more dispersed as Norma Jean Morgenstern) and the “her” of the Monroe persona, see Clark (2000). In the case of Bruce Willis, the fact that he could continue to be employed despite the tragic onset of aphasia is a stark reminder of the gap between a star’s persona and the person who stands for it (James & Kaufman, 2022). 12. A commodity can be perceived through a variety of personifications. For an example, see Taussig (2010). 13. The abstract functioning of a diagram is an important reason why the concept of stardom is polysemic. 14. In this account, I define the relevant higher unity as the market—for as Deleuze and Guattari observe, the market is the only thing that is universal in capitalism (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994, p. 160). 15. Lucien Karpik (2010) identifies two other regimes: the authenticity regime, which defines the standard of elite culture and taste based on expert systems of evaluation found in Artworlds, and the professional coordination regime, where members of a profession—such as lawyers—regulate the norms of practice. These four regimes, if analytically distinct, overlap and interact in complex ways. So, for example, the common-opinion regime at times apes the authenticity regime. 16. Stars also exercise fascination as sexual fetishes; see Morin (1960). But this state of fixation is consequence rather than a cause of an individual fascination (Billig, 1999).

256 

B. KING

17. According to Goux (1990, pp. 1–8), the development of money as a general equivalent prefigures the concept of a universal equivalent that emerges in psychoanalysis and philosophy. The role of the star sub specie aeternitatis, that is, as a persona, is to accomplish the formation of a universal equivalent in the realm of cultural identity. 18. Tom Cruise’s undeniably justified rant against a pandemic non-­compliant the film crew on the latest Mission: Impossible production. The fact that he delivers a rant rather than a measured complaint reveals the power of the star over production; and the possibility of below-the-line workers’ resistance to it. 19. From the perspective of the cultural industries, the fact of a swarm is infinitely more consequential than the motives of those who swarm, which are only superficially explored in order to be rendered as functional. 20. The legacy media exhibited the same tendency to smooth out differences through counting. The scale of aggregation possible on the social media vastly expands the smoothing process and renders the users as a force of nature, present but not wholly amenable to explanation (Benjamin, 1997, pp. 62–63). Marx notes that there are complex commodities such as buildings and railways that are so continuous and on so grand a scale that they appear as a single product (Marx, 2005, p. 955). In this sense, the cinema is a complex commodity, which in Post-Studio era continues to distil the powers of collective labour in the figure of the star, who becomes charismatic beyond what is immediately apparent in their person. 21. The reason to consider this terminology as more than just a fancy substitute for unskilled, semi-skilled and skilled labour stems from our focus on cultural work. Nonetheless, workers in general are increasingly required to be passionate and pursue self-enrichment in work as sui generis. 22. Needless to add, there is a long history of representing stars as the opposite of modular workers, as readily confirmed by a perusal of collections of bloopers or wit and wisdom colllections (Holt, 2012). 23. The process of personalizing concretization is, of course, a key reason why the term star can encompass a wide range of individuals from diverse areas of work and employment. 24. Especially in action-based and digitally-driven, post-narrative films, stars co-opt the place of ergometric actors such as stunt performers and extras as highly paid visual scenery. 25. The uncertainty of the star’s ability to attract audiences needs to be weighed against the efficacy of stardom as an occupational control. 26. The limitation of this practice is that it installs a phenomenological break between the real person and the persona; or rather, the persona defines what the real person can be in social relationships. Celebrity gossip thrives on this ontological gap.

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

257

27. As we have seen, acting coaches emphasize these conditions as threats to success to be overcome by care of the self. 28. As should be apparent, this differentiation is based on imposing breaks in the continuum of skills found in all forms of work, freezing into categories what is in reality a cascade. 29. In some cases, there is a palpable on-screen transition or liminal transition between the persona and the character; see McDonald (2013, p. 201ff). 30. Stellar Typage is, like type-casting in general, a mechanical rendition of personality. 31. The factor of over-exposure also creates the necessity of revitalising a “tired” persona, which may be less a matter of change than of redefinition. 32. Dwayne Johnson defines consistency, rather than a bravura performance, as the key attribute of stardom. See Ward (2019). 33. Absolute fame is not without limits. One limit is the relatively short life cycle of  fame. But  short-term success can have a  significant impact on the identity work of fans, especially teenagers, and the earnings curve of the celebrity can produce a lifetime of earnings from a very short career. 34. Such certification is contested by rivals and by the delivery of less-than-­ successful market performances. 35. As the website Famoid.com puts: “Meet the New way of becoming famous! Being popular in social media is not that difficult any more. It’s time to meet Famoid”. 36. In this sense, celebrity is the culminating expression of fetishism in the mode of personification, which Marx referred to as a capital fetish (Marx, 1981 v3, p. 968). 37. There is tendency for lesser stars—for example, Steven Seagal or Chuck Norris—to be locked into a specific genre such as martial arts. But such B-listers (and below) are not acknowledged as “genuine” stars and may be stigmatized as wannabes. 38. Though there is still the possibility, having arrived at a certain level of fame and worth, of turning down brand ambassador work (Garino, 2021 and Herenda, 2022). 39. The persona projection process can become in turn a resource for entrepreneurs, as witness the work available for actors in corporate training events and videos. 40. For a thorough account of the evolution towards absolute fame, see Gamson (1992). The assembly-line approach to manufacturing fame has not disappeared, but has become occluded by an increasing focus on the individual. 41. For a useful account of how luck should be treated sociologically, see Sauder (2020).

258 

B. KING

42. As represented to consumers, luck rather than preparedness and hard work is the essential ingredient of becoming a star which means the model of a lottery can conceal the realities of a tournament. 43. Auteur theory represents a counter-claim, but the director realizes the image rather than embodying it. S/he is a presence structuring what is seen, not what is actually seen—Hitchcockian cameos notwithstanding. 44. The counterfactual situation that stars can be box office failures is a product of inertia; stars that become associated with poor box office are only nominally stars, until or unless they receive a box office re-confirmation. 45. Hines (2021). Male micro-celebrities are subject to similar pressures, but to a lesser extent. Ordinary users, male or female, are subject to the same pressures. The reality is that the beauty qualification is gendered and racialized, especially (but not exclusively) with young white females as the bellwethers of the search for bodily empowerment within the cascade of subordination (Banet-Weiser, 2014). 46. The physiognomic standards of the beauty pageant and masquerade have penetrated politics: see Congresswoman Ocasio-Cortez (2021).

References Abidin, C. (2018). Internet Celebrity: Understanding Fame Online. Emerald Group Publishing. Akervall, L. (2014). Character-Witness, Actor- Medium. In J. Sternagel, Levitt, D., & Mersch, D. (Ed.), Acting and Performance in Moving Image Culture: Bodies, Screens, Renderings (Vol. 7, pp. 259–288). New Brunswick U.S.A and London: Transaction Publishers. Albaum, M. (1955). The Moral Defenses of the Physiocrats’ Laissez-Faire. Journal of the History of Ideas, 16(2), 179–197. Allor, M. (1988). Relocating the Site of the Audience. Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 5(3), 217–233. Appleton, D., & Yankelevits, D. (2010). Hollywood Dealmaking: Negotiating Talent Agreements for Film, TV and New Media. Skyhorse Publishing Inc. Arvidsson, A., Malossi, G., & Naro, S. (2010). Passionate Work? Labour Conditions in the Milan Fashion Industry. Journal for Cultural Research, 14(3), 295–309. Ayers, D. (2014). The Multilocal Self: Performance Capture, Remote Surgery, and Persistent Materiality. Animation, 9(2), 212–227. Bailey, J.  I. (2014). Enframing the Flesh: Heidegger, Transhumanism, and the Body as “Standing Reserve”. Journal of Evolution and Technology, 24(2), 44–62. Balázs, B. (1970). Theory of the Film; Character and Growth of a New Art. Dover. Banet-Weiser, S. (2014). Am I Pretty or Ugly? Girls and the Market for Self-­ esteem. Girlhood Studies, 7(1), 83–101.

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

259

Bauman, Z. (2013). Consuming Life. Polity. Bellah, R. N., Madsen, R., Sullivan, W. M., Swidler, A., & Tipton, S. M. (2007). Habits of the Heart, with a New Preface: Individualism and Commitment in American Life. University of California Press. Benjamin, W. (1997). Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. New Left Books. Bestor, N. (2016). The Technologically Determined Decade: Robert Zemeckis, AndySerkis, and the Promotion of Performance Capture. Animation, 11(2), 169–188. Billig, M. (1999). Commodity Fetishism and Repression: Reflections on Marx, Freud and the Psychology of Consumer Capitalism. Theory & Psychology, 9, 313–329. Bogard, W. (2000). Smoothing Machines and the Constitution of Society. Culturalstudies, 14(2), 269–294. Boorstin, D. J. (1963). The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America. Pelican Books. Borghans, L., & Groot, L. (1998). Superstardom and Monopolistic Power: Why Media Stars Earn More than their Marginal Contribution to Welfare. Journal of Institutional and Theoretical Economics (JITE)/Zeitschrift für die Gesamte Staatswissenschaft, 546–571. Bruno, G. (2014). Surface: Matters of Aesthetics, Materiality, and Media. University of Chicago Press. Burkett, P. (2003). The Value Problem in Ecological Economics: Lessons from the Physiocrats and Marx. Organization & Environment, 16(2), 137–167. Cahill, T. (2011). Rolling Stone Interview with Stanley Kubrick. http://www. visual-memory.co.uk/amk/doc/0077.html Casetti, F. (2008). Eye of the Century: Film, Experience, Modernity. Columbia University Press. Casio-Cortez, A. (2020). Beauty Secrets. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= bXqZllqGWGQ Celebrity Net Worth. (2023). Johnny Depp Worth 150 Million https://www. celebritynetworth.com/richest-celebrities/actors/johnny-depp-net-worth/ Chisholm, D. C. (2004). Two-part Share Contracts, Risk, and the Life Cycle of Stars: Some Empirical Results from Motion Picture Contracts. Journal of Cultural Economics, 28, 37–56. Clark, C. (2000). My Weekend with Marilyn. Harper Collins. Coleman, M. (2021). Why Actors Need to Have Multiple Revenue Streams. https://www.dailyactor.com/acting-advice-columns/actors-need-multiplerevenue-streams Collins, R. (2000). Situational Stratification: A Micro-macro Theory of Inequality. Sociological Theory, 18(1), 17–43.

260 

B. KING

Currid-Halkett, E. (2010). Starstruck: The Business of Celebrity. Farrar, Staus and Giroux. Daigle, A. (2015). (Post) Production: Classifications and Infrastructures of DigitalVisual Effects. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 32(3), 161–176. Daly, K. (2010). Cinema 3.0: The Interactive-Image. Cinema Journal, 50(1), 81–98. De Vany, A. (2003). Hollywood Economics: How Extreme Uncertainty Shapes the Film Industry. Routledge. Deleuze, G. (1989). Cinema II: The Time-Image (H. Tomlinson Trans.). University of Minnesota Press. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1988). A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Bloomsbury Publishing. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1994). What Is Philosophy? Columbia University Press. Ellen, R. (1988). Fetishism. Man, 23(2), 213–235. Elias, A. S., Gill, R., & Scharff, C. (2017). Aesthetic Labour: Rethinking Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism (pp. 3–49). Palgrave. Evans, A., & Wilson, G. D. (1999). Fame: The Psychology of Stardom. Vision Paperbacks. Ferguson, M. (2021). Why Tom Cruise Always Insists on Doing His Own Mission: Impossible Stunts. https://screenrant.com/tom-cruise-mission-impossiblestunts-own-reason/ Fincher, D. (2020). David Fincher Interview. https://www.theguardian.com/ film/2020/dec/05/mank-review-david-fincher-citizen-kane-gary-oldmanamanda-seyfried. Retrieved September 5, 2021. Foucault, M. (1977). Discipline and Punish. Pantheon. Furnham, A., & Argyle, M. (1998). The Psychology of Money. Psychology Press. Fuster, J. (2018). The WRAP  - Mission: Impossible  – Fallout’: How Tom CruisePulled Off That Insane Skydive. Retrieved 2021 https://www.thewrap. com/can-mission-impossible-fallout-ride-critical-acclaim-box-office-success/ Gamson, J. (1992). The Assembly Line of Greatness: Celebrity in Twentieth‐ Century America. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 9(1), 1–24. Gariano, F. (2021). George Clooney Reveals He Once Turned Down a $35 Million Pay Check. Today.com. Accessed 30/7/23 Gehrke, C., & Kurz, H. D. (2002). Karl Marx on Physiocracy. In Understanding’ Classical’ Economics (pp. 195–233). Routledge. Goux, J.  J. (1990). Symbolic Economies: After Marx and Freud. Cornell University Press. Gowanlock, J. (2021). Animating Unpredictable Effects. Springer. Gupta, S., Michael, C. S., & Harrison, M. A. (2021). The Relationship Between Body Image and Dating Anxiety in Emerging Adults. The Journal of Clinical and Mental Health Counselling, 1(1), 1–14.

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

261

Hart, H. (2019). Christian Bale: Man of a Thousand Physiques. https://www. latimes.com/enter tainment/envelope/la-en-mn-christian-bale-vice20190129-story.html. Accessed 26/03/2020. Heidegger, M. (1954). The Question Concerning Technology. In Technology and Values: Essential Readings (pp. 2–18). Harper Row. Herenda, D. (2022). Many Famous People Have Said Yes To Commercials And Endorsements Deals, But Here Are 16 Public Figures Who Couldn’t Accept These Offers. https://www.buzzfeed.com/devinherenda/celebs-who-saidno-to-endorsements-or-commercials Hesmondhalgh, D., & Baker, S. (2013). Creative Labour: Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. Routledge. Hines, R. (2021). Kaitlyn Bristowe Shuts Down Remark About Her ‘Different’ Look with Honest Response. https://www.today.com/popculture/kaitlyn-­ bristowe-­s huts-down-remark-about-her-different-look-honest-t222751. Accessed 4/1/2022. Hochschild, A. R. (2006). The Commodity Frontier. In Self, Social Structure and Beliefs: Essays in Sociology (pp. 38–56). University of California Press. Holt, N. (2012). The Wit and Wisdom of Movies. Books. Hornborg, A. (2014). Technology as Fetish: Marx, Latour, and the Cultural Foundations of Capitalism. Theory, Culture & Society, 31(4), 119–140. Illouz, E. (2007). Cold Intimacies: The Making of Emotional Capitalism. Polity. James, M., & Kaufman, A. (2022). Concerns about Bruce Willis’ Declining Cognitive State Swirled Around Sets in Recent Years. https://www.latimes. com/entertainment-arts/movies/story/2022-03-30/bruce-willis-aphasiamemory-loss-cognitive-disorder Jones, N. (2013). Quantification and Substitution: The Abstract Space of Virtual Cinematography. Animation, 8(3), 253–266. Kalleberg, A. L., Nesheim, T., & Olsen, K. M. (2009). Is Participation Good or Bad for Workers? Effects of Autonomy, Consultation and Teamwork on Stress Among Workers in Norway. Acta Sociologica, 52(2), 99–116. Karpik, L. (2010). Valuing the Unique: The Economics of Singularities. Princeton University Press. Kenneally, C. (2012). Side by Side. USA.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Side_ by_Side_(2012_film). Accessed 26/3/2023 King, B. (2010). Stardom, Celebrity, and the Money Form. The Velvet Light Trap, 66, 7–19. King, B. (2014). Taking Fame to Market: On the Pre-history and Post-history of Hollywood Stardom. Springer. Kurtz, L. (2004). Digital Actors and Copyright—From the Polar Express to Simone. Santa Clara Computer & High Technology Law Journal, 21, 783–805. Larsen, R. A. (1998). The Close-Up Shot in American Film, 1911–1921: A Marker for Victorian and Modern Romantic Love. Temple University.

262 

B. KING

Lebowitz, M. A. (2003). Beyond Capital. Palgrave Macmillan. Le Roux, D.  B., & Parry, D.  A. (2020). The Town Square in Your Pocket: Exploring Four Metaphors of Social Media. In M.  Hattingh et  al. (Eds.), Responsible Design, Implementation and Use of Information and Communication Technology (pp. 187–198). International Federation for Information Processing Springer Nature Switzerland. Livingstone, T. (2020). Temporal Experience and On-Screen Violence. The Digital “Oner” in Action Cinema. The Philosophical Journal of Conflict and Violence, 4(2), 1–14. Lordon, F. (2014). Willing Slaves of Capital: Spinoza and Marx on Desire. Verso. Marwick, A. E. (2013). Status Update. Yale University Press. Marx, K. (1952). Theories of Surplus Value: Selections. International Publishers. Marx, K. (1981). Capital, Volume 3. Translated by Fernbach, D. Penguin Classics. Marx, K. (1990). Capital Volume One, p955 Translated by Ben Fowkes, Penguin Classics. Marx, K. (1992). Capital: Volume III. Penguin. Mateer, J. (2017). Directing for Cinematic Virtual Reality: How the Traditional Film Director’s Craft Applies to Immersive Environments and Notions of Presence. Journal of Media Practice, 18(1), 14–25. McDonald, P. (2013). Stardom. Wiley-Blackwell. McGee, M. (2005). Self-help, Inc.: Makeover Culture in American Life. Oxford University Press on Demand. Morin, E. (1960). The Stars, trans. Richard Howard. Grove Press. Muller, M. (2019). Bella Hadid Making Out with Lil Miquela in the New Calvin Klein Campaign Is a Little Too Real. W Magazine. https://www.wmagazine. com/story/bella-hadid-lil-miquela-calvin-klein-campaign Ocasio-Cortez, A. (2021). See Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Guide to Her signature Red Lip, Beauty, S ­ ecrets. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=bXqZllqGWGQ Ouellette, L. (2016). Lifestyle TV. Routledge. Pateman, C. (1988). The Sexual Contract. Stanford University Press. Powdermaker, H. (1979). Hollywood, the Dream Factory. Ayer Company Publisher. Ravid, A.  S. (1999). Information, Blockbusters, and Stars: A Study of the Film Industry. The Journal of Business, 72(4), 463–492. Redmond, S. (2008). Pieces of Me: Celebrity Confessional Carnality. Social Semiotics, 18(2), 149–161. Rodowick, D. N. (2009). The virtual life of Film. Harvard University Press. Salganik, M.  J., Dodds, P.  S., & Watts, D.  J. (2006). Experimental Study of Inequality and Unpredictability in an Artificial Cultural Market. Science, 311(5762), 854–856. Sánchez Vásquez, A. (1974). Art and Society; Essays in Marxist Aesthetics. (M. Riofrancos, Trans.). Monthly Review Press.

8  STARDOM AS A FORCE OF NATURE 

263

Sauder, M. (2020). Sociology of Luck. Sociological Theory, 38(I 3), 193–216. Sawicki, M., & Moody, J. (2020). Filming the Fantastic with Virtual Technology: Filmmaking on the Digital Backlot. Routledge. Scott, A. J. (2005). On Hollywood: The Place, the Industry. Princeton University Press. Sewell, G. (2005). Nice Work? Rethinking Managerial Control in an Era of Knowledge Work. Organization, 12(5), 685–704. Shaviro, S. (2010). Post Cinematic Affect. Zero Books. Skeggs, B., & Wood, H. (2012). Reacting to Reality Television: Performance, Audience and Value. Routledge. Sperb, J. (2012). I’ll (Always) Be Back: Virtual Performance and Post-Human Labor in the Age of Digital Cinema. Culture, Theory and Critique, 53(3), 383–397. Tatang, D., Kreißel, P., Sehring, M., Quinkert, F., Degeling, M., & Holz, T. (2021). Likes are not Likes, A Crowd working Platform Analysis. In ICWSM Workshops. https://workshopproceedings.icwsm.org/abstract.php?id=2021_12 Taussig, M.  T. (2010). The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America. University of North Carolina Press. Turkle, S. (2011). Life on the Screen. Simon and Schuster. Wallace, W. T., Seigerman, A., & Holbrook, M. B. (1993). The Role of Actors and Actresses in the Success of Films: How Much Is a Movie Star Worth? Journal of Cultural Economics, 17, 1–27. Ward, D. (2019). ‘Know Your Role’: Dwayne Johnson & the Performance of Contemporary Stardom. Celebrity Studies, 10(4), 479–488. Whissel, K. (2010). The Digital Multitude. Cinema Journal, 49(4), 90–110. Whitley, A. (1955). Hazlitt and Theatre, The University of Texas Studies in English, 34, 67–100. Published by: University of Texas Million Pay Check. https://www.today.com/popculture/george-clooney-reveals-he-onceturned-down-35-million-paycheck-t242094 Wiseman, R. (2016). Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boys, and the New Realities of Girl World. Harmony Books. Wright, S. (2017). Digital Compositing for Film and Vídeo: Production Workflows and Techniques. Routledge.

CHAPTER 9

Conclusion: The Condition of Para-Stardom

In the foregoing, I have tracked the impact of the market for drama as a gravitational force shaping the training of actors. This force operates fully when the actor enters the performance labour market, and less stringently in anticipatory training and preparation for such an entry. The demands of finding work in an unstable market with an over-supply of labour places an emphasis on individual competition (Menger, 1999). One result is that the kind of self-fashioning best suited for succeeding in auditions and getting cast is a display of personality based not on character, but on a performance-­attuned personality or persona. The development of a persona as a transportable public presence, in apparent independence from the existential entailments of narrative and plot—whether in films, television, theatre or commercials—might improve an actor’s chances of being employed, or at least, impart a sense of engagement which acts as a motivator to stay in the game. In the post-Studio era, the revenue streams and reputational enhancements provided by media platforms and social media accrues cultural and social capital, adding value to the actor’s personal portfolio. In making this argument, which is to some extent a commonplace, I traced the evolution of acting as a labour process by comparing the sociotechnical relations of theatrical performance to screen performance. As I see it, the stage offers a greater chance for actors to control the detail and overall configuration of their performance. This fact does not imply that screen acting is categorically inferior to stage acting—both areas of © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1_9

265

266 

B. KING

practice have their highs and lows. But the stage offers actors a sense of autonomy and control over the final meaning of their performance that work in cinema, where the commercial benefits are greatest, does not. For this reason, despite the fact that building and sustaining a career and better-­than-average livelihood depends on getting work in the audio-­ visual media, the stage remains the area of work most highly valued professionally. No doubt, this valuation reflects in part the cultural prestige of the stage. But it also arises from the fact that live performances provide actors, whether in leading or minor roles, with the opportunity to interact and learn the exercise of the craft with their peers. Nor should the feedback provided by a “live” audience be underestimated as a learning experience. For the individual actor, the experiences and competences gained in live performance can provide an affective and conceptual skill set that can sustain a sense of continuity against the stop/start processes of fragmentation associated with analogue and, even more so, digital cinema. Rather than seeking to prove which kind of performance setting—live versus recorded—has the greatest prestige, I explored instead the adoption of an approach to performance that can sustain a continuity of presence across the fragmentary organization of production. This approach I dubbed personation—the rendering of character by means of a specially developed persona. The persona is a personal brand identity that can reach across professional acting engagements as a fictional character and concomitantly support work in advertising and product endorsements. In relation to the realm of consumption, screen acting has a distinct advantage in that it creates a permanent record, which permits audiences and fans to have a deeper engagement with screen performances and, as arising, filmed stage performances. For lay audiences, what is finalized as a screen performance is aimed to encourage the endorsement of the persona as a natural expression of talent. Leading actors, when undertaking screen work, face the same problems of integrating a fragmented and discontinuous process of image capture as do stars. But through their place in the percolating hierarchy established by the star system, they have less opportunity to engrain their performance in a persona—and may have no wish to do so. From the point of view of building a career, their approach to performance is to deflect the attention away from their personal habitus by displays of versatility, making themselves a character—compared to the star strategy of making a character the expression of their persona.

9  CONCLUSION: THE CONDITION OF PARA-STARDOM 

267

The development of para-stardom, with its associated process of self-­ commodification, by no means exhausts the motivation of all stars or the aspirations of all actors. Some accept unpaid work, to extend their networks or because they value particular projects and working in the theatre, or even enjoy a bohemian lifestyle (Delorme, 2016). This is a salutary reminder that other approaches to performance articulate values not driven by the market. Yet in the last analysis, any actor concerned to build a middle-level professional career needs to be paid, not just as a matter of livelihood but as a marker of their value as a performer. The bigger the salary, the greater the prestige and the willingness of production teams to accommodate to particular needs, as the revealed by the example of an aphasic Bruce Willis, receiving USD $2 million for two days’ work (James & Kaufman, 2022). It is worth noting that I have not claimed that personation is a uniform approach to performance. It is rather a ragbag of idiosyncratic techniques, organized around the personal qualities of the actor through self-branding and impression management. Ultimately, this strategy emerges from the encounter with the obstacles to finding work within a precarious and competitive labour market. But even if the screen actor does not seek this outcome, it is re-enforced by promotion and publicity and the market in celebrity gossip. As a result, the persona is intimately associated with the contemporary popular understanding of being a movie star. Most actors and other performers have little choice but to accept this understanding as a condition of employment. In this sense, the structuring of the labour market for screen acting and performance operates as a Foucauldian “governmental process” designed to produce conformity to the imperatives of capitalist accumulation. In acceding to the demands of persona cultivation, the screen actor (or those controlling what the public sees of their persona) enacts an inflective embodiment of character in depth. Such a performance may be perceived as a character performance, in a break-out role, but in the event of commercial success becomes a paratextual, omnibus character repeated across a career of roles built on a strategy of personation. For my purposes, the key consequence of personation is that the identities of film star and celebrity, if otherwise perceived as contrasting (if not opposing) manifestations of fame, are equated through the operation of a global attention economy. This extra-territorial level of publicity, created by online platforms and websites, can be seen as creating a big-bang level of stardom (Kim & Lopez Sintas, 2020). Cinema stars seeking to expand

268 

B. KING

the market for their services are led to develop a social media profile that extends their reputation as performers to become an omnibus persona. Celebrities and stars in other fields of employment are drawn to the cinema and television to engineer the cinema star’s journey in reverse. In this move, the relationship between the actor and the celebrity becomes one of complementarity—the star can be a celebrity, and the celebrity can be a star. This development, which is quantitative before it is qualitative, creates a yoked condition, lying between stardom as fame for character performances and as fame as being a celebrity (Marshall, 2010, p. 37). For those who succeed—and even for those who fail—the drive to increasingly augment the quantitative scale of their fame equates film stars as celebrities with celebrities as film stars. As result, an elite cadre of super-popular personae is formed (Brooks et  al., 2021). I have dubbed this syncretic portmanteau identity para-stardom. This hybrid identity is formed by the reversible intersection of achievement in a specific field of practice and a hyper level of public visibility (Fig. 9.1). Key: A to B to C: a star in a specific area of performance develops a social profile, thus adding celebrity to his or original achievements, and moves to the level of para-stardom. B to A to C: a celebrity with a social profile seeks exposure in the media and moves to the level of para-stardom.

C =Para Stardom

A =Stardom

Fig. 9.1  The circuits of fame accumulation

B =Celebrity

9  CONCLUSION: THE CONDITION OF PARA-STARDOM 

269

B to C: a celebrity as a social influencer claims the status of a para-star. A to C: a star receives media attention, not necessarily seeking it, and becomes a para-star. B stasis and A stasis: a logical but, given the existence of social media, not a sociological possibility. Other authors have noted this process, although not departing from the use of the category of celebrity signalled by the yoked term, image-persona: The celebrity is an industrial formation and a point of production, generating a proprietary image-persona, which can be licensed as an aspirational endorser for other commodities or used to produce and brand a myriad of other sources of revenue for the celebrity herself, such as perfume, books, or clothing. (Hearn & Schoenhoff, 2015, p. 195)

Para-stardom can be defined as the condition where the origin of a particular performer’s fame becomes secondary to their status as a bearer of absolute fame, of fame for being “themselves” in market-validated and valorized presentations. Para-stardom as a discursive practice draws into a common frame of reference publicity-resisting actors such as Daniel Day-­ Lewis who exemplify character acting, as well as those fully committed to cultivating and reiterating their star persona across a stream of productions (such as Mark Wahlberg who began his career as an erstwhile Rap performer and model). These unwilling and willing para-stars, if pursuing contrasting approaches to characterization, through deflection and inflection respectively, can still be appreciated for the exercise of their craft as actors, when compared to social influencers seeking to parlay a social media or platform presence into motion-picture stardom. One consequence of para-stardom is that the possession of acting skills becomes conflated with skills in nurturing para-social relationships as the basis of commodity exchange. Para-stardom, therefore, rests on the coupling of two senses of performance—the Goffmanian concept of self-­ presentation, and the concept of a deep ontological regulation of identity by gender, race or class associated with the work of Michel Foucault or Judith Butler. This conflation also marks the consummation of the market as a macrocosmic realm governing culture and calling forth, on the microcosmic level, a practice of self-care that comports with and, aestheticizes, neo-liberalism (Foucault, 2008, p. 226).

270 

B. KING

Another consequence of the rise of para-stardom is the exploitation of the person-body as a “natural” resource, entailing a corporeal, rather than psychological, re-siting of the concept of merit. The physiocratic concept of merit rests an extended equation: genetic endowment, augmented by technology, plus successful entrepreneurial engagement through self-­ marketing, equals merit (Littler, 2017, pp. 69–72). Far from propounding an apparently empirically validated notion of merit as IQ plus effort, physiocratic merit rests on Euro-American white beauty standards (Elias et  al., 2017). With white beauty standards—no longer rigidly hetero-­ normative—setting the standard of beauty, each socio-genetic rank of race, class, gender and sexual orientation is valued according to their proximity to or distance from whiteness. Subject to the limits of their individual genetic endowment and the intensity of the effort taken to conform to white beauty standards, those who acquire physiocratic grace within particular social and racial category become role models for those who cannot. (Edmonds, 2009). There are two systemic threats to para-stardom. First, the spoilation of an established persona through celebrity gossip; second, the challenge of maintaining fan identification in a context of extreme wealth and the incommensurability of lifestyle. For para-stars to be “themselves” as public figures requires corporeal control over their behaviour and appearance in the capacity of persona— not simply in terms of public scrutiny, but increasingly in terms of their private behaviour. Yet maintaining this control is rendered problematic because of the drive to obtain maximum exposure in as many windows of visibility as possible. Over-exposure is one aspect of persona spoilation, because the volume and content of publicly released information may undermine the integrity and authenticity of a public image. A dilemma arises, because maintaining a public profile depends on the continuous release of personal news during extended gaps between productive engagements. Hence the utility of appearances at public events, parading on the red carpet, and personal (actually persona) updates fed through platforms such Meta, Instagram and Tik-Tok and websites such as Us Weekly and People. Yet the pursuit of exposure and a media profile has its own problems, because celebrity gossip feeds on interrogating and challenging the integrity of the persona even as it extends its circulation. Stories created by the actor’s personal management team and publicists are designed to be positive. But these are outnumbered by the volume of celebrity gossip

9  CONCLUSION: THE CONDITION OF PARA-STARDOM 

271

flooding through the nooks and crannies of the legacy and social media. The search for publicity can produce extreme examples of engineering clickbait, such as Jussi Smollet’s faked account of a racially motivated, homophobic assault, or Armie Hammer’s seeking to excuse his abuse of women by proclaiming that he, too, is a victim of abuse (Aranti, 2023; Meilhan et al., 2020). Overall, the domain of celebrity gossip is saturated with revelations about who is dating or breaking up with whom, the cycle of family events, and life passages such as marriage, birth and death, the recovery from life-­ threatening situations, and psychological conflicts such as feelings of inauthenticity and inadequacy. This comparatively positive stream of biographical events, postulating that stars and celebrities are just like us (only at a more socially significant level), can be contrasted to stories that, for example, emphasize indiscretions, aberrant sexual behaviour and overweening arrogance (Saward, 2022) Celebrity gossip also mocks the follies of the famous.: And talk about Lea Michele, whom we have to commend. She really did it. She’s Fanny Brice now, finally concluding her lifelong campaign to play Fanny Brice in Funny Girl. Another lady who campaigns, House Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, is on the cover of GQ. Is she talking about universal healthcare? Student debt cancellation? Does she order a salad during the interview but then also fries, to be believably relatable? Unfortunately, no. Also on a slippery slope, Gisele Bündchen who has been trapped in Tampa at the behest of her husband Tom Brady. They are on Official Gawker Divorce Watch and they just got hit with a brutal blow: Gisele took their kids to a water park. And it gets worse! At least Kate Middleton has hit rock bottom by befriending the creepiest little fella she could ever. Sorry, Prince Andrew! At least you’re still the sweatiest. (Conaboy, 2022)

Persona spoilation can also arise from the discrepancy between the socio-economic status of a given para-star and their function as symbols of popular experience. To take one example: Rihanna is a monumentally successful performer as a rock star, fashion icon and fashion entrepreneur whose estimated personal wealth is USD 1.7 billion. As a Black woman from an impoverished and abusive background, Rihanna epitomizes market conquest through talent. But can she, in terms of the scale of what she has achieved, maintain an existential bond with the experience of fans? The answer is: possibly, but only if an avowed fan attempts to resolve the contradiction between Rihanna’s celebration of “opulent wealth” and her

272 

B. KING

loyalty to her fan base. Reconciliation calls for speculation on Rihanna’s true motives and an almost religious exercise of faith: Ultimately, I’d love to see the downfall of the capitalist state that controls us all, and I still think a better world is possible if we work for it. (Here’s to a single-payer healthcare system in our lifetimes, baby!) That said, if the Elon Musks of the world are going to spend their time and seemingly unlimited funds acquiring Twitter and union-busting and generally being as evil as possible, I want Rihanna in that billionaire boys’ club that I assume meets once a year on a private ski slope in Gstaad to discuss the fates of us lowly under-humans. I know she’ll fight for us—or, at the very least, I know she’ll spend her billions on luscious fruit and important ensembles—and that’s good enough for me. (Spectre, 2020)

The leap of faith may be valorized as an expression of loyalty, but it also a reaction to structural bias. Compared to White stars, Black stars more likely to have their allegiance to their roots questioned, raising the connotation of a sell-out. This reproach stems from their membership of a racially disadvantaged social category, which is not generally deemed to be entitled. For their white peers, because whiteness is an axiomatic marker of entitlement, no further justification in required beyond what is due to their persona. (Dyer, 1997) Persona spoilation threatens to de-legitimate the view that para-stars are a cadre of geniuses whose talents qualify them to become the expressive vehicles of popular experience, or more grandly, as agents of a Zeitgeist. Triumphant tales of overcoming disadvantage, selectively narrativized, suggest that winning is a matter of will. Failure, by implication, is posited as resulting from a deficit in self-esteem, of the shame of permitting the self to become a victim to socially given and genetically determined circumstances (Cruikshank, 2008; Sender, 2012, pp. 80–104). In other words, the tokenistic logic of para-stardom justifies inequality through the celebration of those individuals who escape from it, ignoring or implicitly deprecating those who do not. In sum, what is staged and constantly tested by the unending stream of gossip about stars and celebrities is the struggle for survival of the fittest: a struggle normally conducted within and not against the orders of inequality based on race, gender, class and sexual orientation. This struggle is an artificial simulation of “natural selection”, because even the winners are dependent on the technological powers of image fabrication and

9  CONCLUSION: THE CONDITION OF PARA-STARDOM 

273

technologies of cosmetic self-modification. The challenge of maintaining an authentic yet marketable persona goes beyond the determination of who is deemed fit to represent popular experience. It also impacts the relative distribution of prestige amongst para-stars, presenting a Social Darwinian spectacle that determines who is the fittest to be a member of a popular expressive elite. Reality Television, an especially rich source of celebrities, takes “natural” selection as its key dramatic premise (Murray, 2001). In sum, para-stardom, and the pursuit of it, is part of the elite capture of popular culture (Táíwò, 2022). For actors and performers, personation and para-stardom are elements of a hegemonic operation, a show business governmentality of the person-­ body. This operation extolls the quest for beauty and self-esteem as the key to personal redemption from the entanglement in a disparaging and limiting placement within the relevant intersectional framework of inequality. In elite theatres and independent cinema, the practice of character acting remains, however variably interpreted and contested, the key fulcrum of efforts to address collective values and existential dilemmas through acting. In the vastly expanded realm of popular theatre, film and television, the practices of para-stardom can lead to the abandonment of the ethics of collective representation in favour of expressive individualism. The actor’s part, intentional or not, in this bio-political governmental process has been the focus of this study. Lastly, recalling Fredric Jameson’s observation that all ideological practices have a Utopian and Reified dimension, this study has been an elaboration of the incursion of reification into the training and casting of actors (Jameson, 1979). The celebration of the utopian prospects of performance, the enthusiasm of audiences and performers, and examples of a more actor-centred relations of production are not explored here. Such relations can be found in cinema, for example, in the work of John Sayles. (Carson, 2004). But they are most immediately available in the endogenic practices of theatre: In traditional theater practice, the images are “givens” chosen by the director and his design team. The actor is cast in a role and is asked to carry out the tasks the director has in mind for him…But usually  – and unfortunately – within traditional production methods, there is not much time for exploration and many choices have been made long before the rehearsal period begins. This sort of tight production schedule caused Peter Brook to reject such a system. He called theatre constrained by the pressures of time and money “deadly theatre”. (Binnerts, 2012, p. 133)

274 

B. KING

This study has considered the formation of a “commodity dramaturgy” within the hidden abode of acting training and coaching. In doing so, it has revealed the cinematic version of deadly theatre: the struggle between art and commerce in Hollywood’s mode of cinematic production.

References Aranti, L. (2023). https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/feb/04/armie­hammer-­interview-­sexual-­abuse-­allegations Binnerts, P. (2012). Acting in Real Time. University of Michigan Press. Brooks, G., Drenten, J., & Piskorski, M.  J. (2021). Influencer Celebrification: How Social Media Influencers Acquire Celebrity Capital. Journal of Advertising, 50(5), 528–547. Carson, D. (2004). Plain and Simple: Masculinity Through John Sayles’ Lens. In C. A. Baron, D. Carson, & F. P. Tomasulo (Eds.), More Than a Method: Trends and Traditions in Contemporary Film Performance. Wayne State University Press. Conaboy, K. (2022). Gawker News Letter. https://newsletterest.com/message/129865/Shes-­got-­carcasses-­in-­her-­closet Cruikshank, B. (2008). Revolutions Within: Self-government and Self-esteem. In Global Citizenship Education (pp. 283–298). Brill. Delorme, N. (2016). Working for Free in the UK Theatre Industry: An Actor’s Perspective. In 7th Annual Research Session of Cultural Management Education in Risk Societies-Towards a Paradigm and Policy Shift. Dyer, R. (1997). White. Routledge. Edmonds, A. (2009). Learning to Love Yourself: Esthetics, Health, and Therapeutics in Brazilian Plastic Surgery. Ethnos. Journal of Anthropology, 74(4), 465–489. Elias, A., Gill, R., & Scharff, C. (2017). Aesthetic Labour: Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism. In Aesthetic Labour (pp. 3–49). Palgrave Macmillan. Foucault, M. translated by Graham Burchell. (2008). The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at The College de France, 1978–1979. Palgrave Macmillan. Hearn, A., & Schoenhoff, S. (2015). From Celebrity to Influencer: Tracing the Diffusion of Celebrity Value Across the Data Stream. In P.  D. Marshall & S. Redmond (Eds.), A Companion to Celebrity (pp. 194–212). Wiley. James, M., & Kaufman, A. (2022). Concerns About Bruce Willis’ Declining Cognitive State Swirled Around Sets in Recent Years. https://www.latimes. com/entertainment-­arts/movies/story/2022-­03-­30/bruce-­willis-­aphasia-­memory-­ loss-­cognitive-­disorder Jameson, F. (1979). Reification and Utopia in Mass Culture. Social Text, 1, 130–148.

9  CONCLUSION: THE CONDITION OF PARA-STARDOM 

275

Kim, J., & Lopez Sintas, J. (2020). The Big Bang Theory of Stardom: The Social Process of Sharing Emotional Experiences Associated Online TV Actors. Creative Industries Journal, 13(1), 50–71. Littler, J. (2017). Against Meritocracy: Culture, Power and Myths of Mobility. Taylor & Francis. Marshall, P. D. (2010). The promotion and presentation of the self: Celebrity as marker of presentational media. Celebrity Studies, 1(1), 35–48. Meilhan, P., Parks, B., & Young, R. (2020). Jussie Smollett Indicted by Grand Jury on Six Counts for Making False Reports, Special Prosecutor Says. UWIRE Text, 1–1. Menger, P. (1999). Artistic labor markets and careers. Annual Review of Sociology, 25(1), 541–574. Murray, K. (2001). Surviving Survivor: Reading Mark Burnett’s Field Guide and De-naturalizing Social Darwinism as Entertainment. The Journal of American Culture, 24(3/4), 43. Saward, J. (2022). House of Hammer Is a Damning Account of a Dynasty Built on Fraud, Deceit and Fear. https://www.mic.com/culture/house-­of-­hammer-­ review Sender, K. (2012). The Makeover: Reality Television and Reflexive Audiences (Vol. 26). New York University Press. Spectre, E. (2020). Is Rihanna the Only Good Millionaire? https://www.vogue. com/article/is-­rihanna-­the-­only-­good-­billionaire Táíwò, O. O. (2022). Elite Capture: How the Powerful Took Over Identity Politics (and Everything Else). Haymarket Books.

Index1

A Acting acting and behaving, 69n24 Active Analysis, 102n22, 127, 143n22 deflective, 116, 159, 162 inflective, 116, 159, 162 Method, 84, 87–90, 96, 102–103n27, 110, 116, 124 physical theatre, 89, 90, 92, 93, 95, 97, 103n30, 213 Repertory, 89, 116 Acting as a labour process deadly theatre, 273, 274 direct control, 54, 57, 58, 140, 219 ergometric, 55, 57–60, 62, 67, 237, 242, 256n24 fractal, 55–60, 62, 64, 67, 237, 242–244

impression management, 99, 103n35, 118, 119, 158, 216, 267 modular, 55–60, 62, 64, 67, 237, 242–244, 256n22 performance and performativity, 34 presentation of self, 63, 82, 88, 155, 157, 159, 160, 198, 216, 241 responsible autonomy, 54, 58 technology, production and post-production, 230, 251 C Cinema as multiverse DCEU, 80 digital Oners, 133 MCU, 80

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 B. King, Performing Identity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15798-1

277

278 

INDEX

Collective contexts creativity, 9, 10, 26, 46–61, 65–67, 75, 130, 131, 133, 143n20, 155, 156, 158, 161, 163, 169, 176, 181, 182, 203, 208, 239, 242, 243 disenchantment, 10, 22, 23, 36 ritual and liminality, 20, 26, 102n18 self as a reflexive project, 34 social body, 12, 15–36, 63, 76, 250, 252 talent, 9, 11, 12, 26, 43–67, 84, 85, 98, 124, 125, 130, 158, 164, 168, 176–178, 181, 188n40, 200, 203, 210, 220n1, 224n31, 230, 241, 247, 252, 266, 271, 272 Waning of Allegory, 22–26 F Fame absolute, 246–251, 257n33, 257n40, 269 gossip, 210 relative, 247 as social media profile, 6, 112, 268 Fetishism alienation, 240 capital fetish, 246, 257n36 self-objectification and personation, 236 star as fetish, 255n16 star as fixed and variable capital, 237 Figurations of stardom authenticity, 84, 145n42, 202, 208, 215, 217, 231, 240, 255n15, 270 charisma and creativity, 211 disenchantment, 10, 22, 23, 36 mysterium, 77, 80 prototype and stereotypes, 220

stardom as typage, 199 tokenism, 92, 247 H Hollywood casting, 199, 220n1 coaching, 168, 179, 188n44, 274 global Hollywood, 10 hierarchy and percolation, 266 Studio and Post Studio system, 110, 124, 161, 208 talent agencies, 220n1 I Identities avatar and synthespian, 114, 135, 145n48 body-person, 10, 209, 212–215, 218, 237, 238, 245, 248, 250–252, 270, 273 celeactor, 5 celebrity, 3, 7, 267 celetoid, 5 character, 5, 75, 77, 79, 98, 99, 116, 118, 206, 237 micro-celebrities, 7, 99, 245, 258n45 para-stardom, 13, 249, 265–274 philosophy of internal relations, 12 social influencer, 3, 6, 7, 99, 184, 185n3, 215, 245, 252, 269 stardom, 3 M Modes of character avatar, 81, 114, 123, 135, 136, 138, 139, 145n43, 145n48, 146n51, 146n54, 146n57, 213, 220, 233

 INDEX 

celebrity, 7, 8, 268 hypostatic, 29 person, 3, 5, 6, 9, 38n20, 112, 118, 166, 176, 208, 248, 256n26 persona, 2–10, 12, 13, 18, 26, 38n20, 46, 48, 57, 62, 78, 79, 82–85, 87, 91, 99, 103n31, 112, 116–118, 125, 131, 133, 141, 143n25, 144n35, 145n38, 146n59, 153, 156, 159–161, 168, 176, 177, 186n18, 188n40, 195–220, 230, 232, 235, 237, 240–247, 249–253, 255n11, 256n17, 256n26, 257n29, 257n31, 257n39, 265–273 personage, 5, 6, 43 synthespian, 114, 115, 135–139, 145n44, 145n48, 230, 233 truth-bearer, 83, 84 Modes of performance actor as a socio-technical agent, 109, 110, 112, 113, 129, 140, 207 Actor-Network theory, 109 digital performance, 133–141 endogenous and exogenous performances, 75, 111, 115, 119, 123, 124, 144n35, 209, 218, 273 mirror neurons, 94–97, 159, 223n23 para-theatrical, 78, 99 peri-theatrical, 53, 79, 116, 146n59, 155, 157, 168, 175, 188n40, 198, 217 post-dramatic theatre, 81 screen performance, 96, 123–133, 140, 144n30, 144n35, 187n33, 265, 266

279

stage performance, 65, 115, 123, 266 theories of powerful performances, 11, 163, 167, 174 P Para-stardom elite capture, 273 empathy, 79, 95, 220n6 expressive individualism, 273 force of nature, 10, 13, 229–254 ideology of tokenism, 272 liminality and performance, 20, 21 presence, 269 received acting, 100, 123–126, 130, 133, 139, 143n20, 144n35, 242 Personal identity charisma, 9, 26, 44–50, 66, 67, 80, 87, 96, 98, 158, 203, 210, 211, 222n13, 223n24, 224n37, 234, 254 ethnicity, gender, sexuality, 199, 201, 218, 249 fugitive resources, 214 as hypostatic, 29 as multi-phrenic, 207, 246 persona as property, 118, 208–215 personation, 117, 214, 266, 267, 273 as protean, 208, 215, 216 sacra and dignity, 213 whiteness, 270, 272 S Self as a commodity, 207 as a design studio, 252 as a money form, 237

280 

INDEX

Self (cont.) as dividual, 205, 207, 208, 212, 214 as enterprising, 158 as partible, 207, 214 as personal-service commodity, 250 as person-body, 215 Sign forms acting and intentionality, 97, 128, 129 causality, 130 homo-material and hetero-material signs, 132 iconic signs, 118 indexical signs, 117, 118, 131, 132, 134, 200, 231, 250 ostensive signs, 131, 132 Situational stratification beauty qualification, 195 celebrity gossip, 8, 200, 210, 246, 250, 256n26, 267, 270, 271 diagram, 237, 255n13 emotional contagion, 138 fame, circuits of accumulation, 244–247, 268 folk theory, 170 mechanic subjection, 237 reification, 5, 236, 237, 273 social subjection, 237 Social body body as machine, 18, 27, 31, 81 body as temple, 27 body as tomb, 18, 27 body dys-appearance, 119 Systems of value

commodity, 213, 246 common opinion, 238, 255n15 Mega Regime, 238 meritocracy, 244 physiocracy, 13, 252 physiognomy, 9, 85, 111, 195, 198, 199, 207, 208, 219, 221n11, 223n31, 251, 258n46 T Theatre as mediator macrocosm, 10, 12, 16, 19, 22, 28, 35, 76, 80, 142n7, 190n51, 269 mesocosm, 12, 16, 35, 37n4 microcosm, 10, 12, 16, 22, 35, 142n7, 269 virtuality, actuality and Ideal, 114, 115, 176, 199, 210, 241 W Working as a sign acting as a tournament, 160–168, 199, 221n13 acting gurus, 84, 96, 161, 180 frontier of control, 29, 54, 68n8, 98, 140 labour market and precarity, 158, 159 labour process theory, 1, 54, 98 Scientology, 170, 171, 175 theodicy, 175–184