They are everywhere. They serve as mirrors for the good and bad dreams of ordinary people. They are wealthy. The entire person radiates glamour. I’m talking about the stars of public life. Should we admire them? And if so, for which reason would we do so? Should we be envious for the glamour of their existence? Let me try to sketch a typical star’s life.

But before I do so, let me take you to old India. In the second bc millennium, India was a very sparsely populated place. The entire subcontinent had possibly less inhabitants than Queens Borough today.  The mighty Ganges and Indus rivers plowed their paths through impenetrable forests, not different from the Amazon in S’America or the Congo in Africa.  Humans gradually settled along the river, but couldn’t penetrate the forests with their soft copper and bronze axes.

Within some of these dark forests lived strange beings: During daytime they looked like humans or perhaps elves, only far more radiant, perfect and beautiful. But during the nighttime, these beings transformed into ghostly monsters, that suffered excruciating pains until the light of dawn would finally bring relief and renewed radiance.

What do these strange mythological creatures have in common with a 21^st century star? A lot!

• Every rising star has to offer a fair share of one’s private and sexual identity. This sacrifice seems to be the entry chip to a world of glamour and horror. 
  
  
• The next step is the creation of a public image. It is said that Marilyn Monroe talked about Marilyn Monroe in the 3^rd person. Though a public image is rooted in the individual star’s character and personality, it also contains impersonal elements reflecting the wishes of the audience, fashion and zeitgeist. Some got even lost in the maze of private and public character (John Wayne).
  
  
• Maintaining public image’s profile devours enormous energy. A public image needs to be maintained at whatever the cost may be. Public image is like a huge air balloon. It suffers from a notorious leakage of fame. A star is rising, when more attention is pumped into the public image balloon than interest leaks out.
  
  
• J’Lo with Affleck, than without, Britney’s fake marriage, divorce, whatever. Any news is good enough to feed a monster called public interest, and it blows life into the image balloon. Someone who doesn’t lubricate the media with a continuous stream of events can die a quick death. It’s the death of being forgotten.
  
  
• The tactics to attract public interest may differ. Some try it the hard, old-school way: by delivering continuously top performances (Mike Jagger, Dustin Hoffman, Robin Williams). Others take shortcuts. Madonna, a poor singer, lousy actress and moderate dancer built her career almost entirely by breaking taboos. Luckily there is still a long way to go for her. We haven’t seen incest and cannibalism shown on stage yet.
  
  
• The conversion from a normal person to a star also means one’s life is converted into money. Only strong personalities manage to negotiate a compromise.
  
  
• Seclusion. As the public image vampire sucks the real person, the stars flee public exposure and retreat to their Dens – a dark limousine, a luxury compound in California, Camp David, hidden valleys in Pakistan or perhaps even Saddam’s earth hole. Exhausted they recover from the onslaught of public life, recharge their emotional batteries and hide their eyes behind dark sun glasses.
  
  
• Almost every star eclipses some day. There is an element of tragedy in this. The lucky ones manage to die at the right moment (Jim Morrison, Elvis). Many couldn’t cope with the fact of loosing a public image, and committed suicide (M.M). Others withdrew into quasi-permanent seclusion (Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly).
  

What could be the bottom line of this rather sinister essay? It means the star’s light is too often bought with darkness and sorrow. It’s like a contract with the devil: I give you what you want, but first bow down to me. Star shade is a world normal people are not supposed to see. And only a few manage to walk on the razor blade of fame.

© 2004 by Franz L. Kessler