Better brace yourself for some bad news. Ryan Phillippe has announced plans to end his acting career because he's tired of the paparazzi lifestyle in L.A. Sorry, what's that? Ryan Phillippe? You know, Ryan PHILLIPPE. Phil-leap-pay. He's been in all kinds of things - Crash, The Way Of The Gun, Amanda Seyfried.
Anyway, he's sick of the pressures of fame of has decided to put his house on the market, so he can move to New York and live off the radar. He told journalists from the New York Post "I'm ready to be behind the scenes. I'm 36, but I've been doing this for 20 years", presumably whilst holding up a black and white headshot, just so they didn't think they were scoring a scoop on Justin Timberlake.
Back in the late nineties, he and his then-wife Reese Witherspoon were Hollywood's hot new 'It' couple. They'd met on the set of 'Cruel Intentions' and their onscreen chemistry soon turned into the real thing. But whereas Reese made some smart choices and ended up bagging herself $15 million for the sequel to Legally Blonde, Ryan ended up taking smaller roles in ensemble pieces.
As much as he might have tried to convince himself he was doing it for the art, movie-goers were less convinced. In 2002, the pair turned up at the Oscars to present an award together, prompting Phillippe to hand the envelope to his wife and say "After you. You make more money than I do." Of course, the audiences laughed, but then they'd just sat through a couple of hours of Whoopi Goldberg playing host. After that, you'd laugh at an angry voicemail from Mel Gibson.
By the time they divorced in 2007, Reese was an Oscar winner and Ryan was attempting to hold his own in 'Five Fingers'. In more ways than one, I'm sure. Who knows, maybe he'll be better suited to a life out of the limelight. At least then he can look back on his starring role in 'I Know What You Did Last Summer', and fondly recall a time when at least somebody did.
If you switched on the news last week you'd have been forgiven for thinking that the end of the world was nigh. On Wednesday, a bunch of students threw down their rolling papers in disgust and stormed the Conservative headquarters to protest the government's decision to increase tuition fees. Fire extinguishers were thrown, placards were waved and hair went unwashed.
Those arguing in favour of tuition fees are quick to point out the abuses and indulgences of academia as reason enough for people to fund their own studies. And based on an 'exclusive' feature in today's Mail On Sunday, I have to concede that they have a point.
Plugging her new book Starstruck, Elizabeth Currid-Halkett has written about her "major research project at the University of Southern California" to "understand the mechanics behind celebrity".
Sounds promising - even more intellectually robust than a degree in Lady Gaga studies. So what alarming insights has Currid-Halkett uncovered in the process of unravelling the mystery of modern celebrity?
Erm... well, apparently famous people have their pictures taken in London, Los Angeles and New York. She knows this because she and her colleague Gilad Ravid waded through 600,000 shots on Getty Images. As Elizabeth explains: "stars need to show up in key locations". I can smell the Pulitzer from here.
But there's more. Celebs also go to places like Sundance Film Festival, even if, like Paris Hilton, they don't actually have a film in competition.
Paris gets special mention, since she represents the kind of person who is "all celebrity - their fame driven by the ink spilled about them in gossip columns". But Paris and her ilk also understand the importance of keeping the company of A-listers, which helps to keep their profile high, because "celebrity networks produce a very different outcome" than meeting a few friends for dinner.
Liz's final silver bullet is the previously undiscovered gem that "celebrities cultivate a collective obsession with their personas which requires making themselves available." Astounding stuff, I'm sure you'll agree.
So, what have we learned here? Celebrities have their pictures taken, mix with other famous people and live their lives in the public eye. That was a year well-spent.
This bewilderingly pointless article ends with the following paragraph: "One thing has become abundantly clear: with the billions of pounds backing it, the millions of jobs created and society's seemingly unyielding desire for more, celebrity is a social and economic phenomenon worth taking seriously." Sadly, the same can't be said for the burgeoning phenomenon of celebrity studies. Please see me after class.
In the last couple of days there have been a couple of interesting articles about modern celebrity in two very different papers. Although the tone, style and approach are as dissimilar as Jodie Marsh's breasts, the underlying message is hard to miss - the world of celebrity is in crisis.
Writing for the Guardian, Aditya Chakrabortty argues that the influx of "low-grade stars has thrown the celebrity world into a sub-prime crisis" - drawing a clever, but not entirely convincing, parallel with the financial meltdown that occurred in the US because the regulators were asleep on the job.
Meanwhile, the Daily Mail published its own attack on modern fame, courtesy of Lisa Norris, a 'celebrity booker' who seems to have worked on every lousy TV show that was ever commissioned. In amongst the breathtaking revelations of imperiousness (Anne Diamond) or egotism (Paul McCartney), Norris manages to contradict herself several times.
One minute she's lamenting the sleazy nonentities who have "hijacked the status of star" - the next she's bitching about the fact that genuine A-listers are filled with their own self-importance. Missing the irony, she even finishes her rant with a plug for her forthcoming book, "The title? What else but I'm A Celebrity Booker . . . Get Me Out of Here!" She's not so much biting the hand that feeds her as chewing her way up to the elbow.
Back in the broadsheets, Chakrabortty argues that the concept of fame-seeking is nothing new, and holds Byron up as the quintessential example of a 19th century 'popular idol'. Rather than being a minority pursuit "taken up only by those with grotesque character deformations", celebrity is now a feasible goal for countless millions of people.
So what's changed, and why should we care? Chakrabortty believes that it's not celebrity that has evolved, more our perspective on it: "If you define fame as being known by strangers, then newspapers, cinema and especially TV have always driven the spread of celebrity... the public used to look up to their stars; now they are minded to look down."
Name-checking such talent-adjacent column-fillers as Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and Kelly Osbourne, Chakrabortty reminds us that they make for "frankly ropey" celebrities and gravely warns that the entire fame industry is set for a massive implosion. But he never actually addresses our fascination with people we look down upon.
So why do people like this maintain such premium real-estate in our minds? The classic Hollywood stars of yesteryear depended on talent, determination and a work ethic that would make Bob Cratchit feel like a layabout to make the grade. But having worked so hard to attain their success, they became distant, remote and untouchable.
The instant-win nature of modern celebrity is very different. There are no eligibility requirements, no rules of admission, and no basic codes of conduct. In essence, fame is an all-too-accessible members' club. It's tantalisingly within our grasp - we're just waiting for our keys to the changing room.
Any resentment or innate superiority we feel towards this new generation of 'celebrity' has nothing to do with the diminishing status of the word itself. Instead, it's linked to the fact that we feel a sense of entitlement - we deserve what they've got, since they did nothing to earn it in the first place. As Morrissey once sang, "We hate it when our friends become successful."
Take a good look around. La Roux is at the top of the charts with an album that sounds like it was scraped together from a bunch of Yazoo out-takes. The A-Team, the Smurfs and T.J. Hooker are all being lined up for big-screen reinventions. And Patrick Dempsey is still one of the hottest actors around. It's safe to say that the 80s is no longer the forgotten decade.
The latest relic from the era of head-bands, leg-warmers and Wincey Willis to be hauled back into public consciousness is the ground zero of jazz hands, Fame. Starting out as a surprisingly gritty drama by Alan Parker, the original film followed the endeavours of some of New York's most compelling young talents. And a dull girl with a cello. But thanks to some toe-tapping tunes, energetic performances and a pair of very short shorts (thanks Leroy), the movie was a massive success and even won two Oscars.
Smelling a franchise, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was quick to recruit as many of the movie's unknown cast as possible, and lined up a weekly TV show. Despite being a staggeringly formulaic and amateurish production, it was another smash hit. For a while at least. New song and dance numbers were incorporated into every episode, and the cast regularly took to the road for extensive tours as "The Kids From Fame". Finally, in 1987, the show was cancelled and the cast shuffled off into relative obscurity, before being temporarily dragged out of it for one of Justin Lee Collins' nostalgia-fests on Channel 4.
So now, here we are anticipating Fame for a new generation. The trailer (embedded below for your viewing convenience) seems to tick all the right boxes. An R&B update of the iconic theme song, young people giving it their all with steely determination, and lots and lots of stretching. Unfortunately, what has changed is the context.
Back in 1980, Debbie Allen's voiceover declared "You've got big dreams? You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying ... in sweat." So how is the movie going to work in an era when fame costs nothing? These days, fame is a simple commodity that can be acquired by being born, being hysterical, or sticking a wine bottle up your Jacob's Creek. There's no longer any need to pay in sweat, since any bodily fluids will suffice. Talent has become entirely incidental, and at times seems diametrically opposed to the very concept of celebrity.
Equally, breakthrough success is equated with selling-out. Instead, integrity and genuine creative expression live underground, on self-financed record labels and in independent arthouse movies.
Sadly, the sweetspot where talent and fame do actually converge is a troublesome nexus for many. The entertainment world has lost countless talents decades before their time because the conflicting pressures were just too great. As Irene Cara once sang, "I'm gonna live forever..." but only figuratively speaking.
Great news everybody. Geri Halliwell, currently representing the 'W' in 'singer-actress-whatever', has announced that she has no plans to return to pop music in the near future.
As the world removes its collective earplugs the way a Gitmo prisoner might throw off his shackles, we can celebrate instead the fact that she's going to be writing more Ugenia Lavender books.
And what's the reason for this remarkable declaration? It can't possibly be the fact that her last album only sold around 11 copies. No, speaking to Red Magazine, Geri says "Everybody has their moment and their time. Let somebody else have a crack at it. There are younger people around now." Quite right – indeed, Dame Vera Lynn is no doubt practicing her scales now the competition's stood down.
Geri's also fully aware of the harsh nature of fame, having spent 12 years on the sharp end of it. "I didn't want to have to stay young in order to sell records. And I didn't want to have to rely on my looks." Probably just as well...
Still, she can feel good about the fact that she has found her niche and is making the most of it. After all, she understands that she's a "natural communicator, a storyteller." I can't disagree, given that she spent the last decade actually answering to the job description: 'singer-songwriter'.
