Two icons
Toolbox
Published: June 27, 2009
They were two iconic figures from the '70s and '80s, and they both died on Thursday. One was a worldwide celebrity, while the other, if less well known, was nevertheless ubiquitous in the United States.
Michael Jackson understood the machinery of celebrity and used it to make himself into a star of unprecedented magnitude. The evolution of his music helped usher in an age where stardom has seemed further removed from reality than ever before. Jackson himself morphed into something other than a star, though at the time of his death he was preparing a world tour that was intended to reclaim his image.
Farrah Fawcett was present everywhere for a time in that famous poster where she appeared in a swimsuit, curly tresses tumbling over her shoulders, arm propped on a raised knee, décolletage demurely flashed. She had that beaming toothy grin that was so wide it seemed broader than any emotion that might lie behind it. She emerged as a sex symbol that by today's standards would be considered wholesome. Unlike Jackson, she did not allow her celebrity to consume her, and she grew into a serious actress with three Emmy nominations to her credit.
Jackson was a phenomenon whose later decline cast a shadow over achievements in pop artistry that critics and fans still appreciate. His albums were crossover mega-hits, appealing to both black and white, pursuing pioneering rhythms that were used for his stunning dance steps. His use of glittery and bizarre costumes gave dazzle to his act and made him a singular figure in pop music.
But the bizarre eventually began to outpace the glitter. There was his ever-whitening skin and the plastic surgery that made him into something elfin and weird. His life become tabloid material, giving rise to speculation about the person behind the imagery. His playground ranch eventually became the site of alleged crimes of sexual molestation, and though he was acquitted his public image was forever tainted.
Meanwhile, he inspired the kind of loyalty among a core of fans that upon his death they turned up in droves around Los Angeles and New York. His music meant a lot of things to a lot of people. He actually lived longer than Elvis, though as he aged he seemed to grow more childlike and vulnerable. Both he and Elvis had wandered into the strange territory of glitz where it was hard to know what was real.
Farrah Fawcett, of course, has left a far less complicated or pervasive legacy. Her career as sex kitten began when she appeared in that celebrated poster, which led to her casting in "Charlie's Angels," the 1970s crime romp. It was a time after the early success of the feminist movement, when the culture was foraging through a variety of images of female sexuality. Hers was one of the more benign.
Her acting career had its ups and downs, forgettable films or TV appearances followed by serious dramatic performances. In recent years her fame ensured that her battles against cancer would be played out in public.
Both Jackson and Fawcett existed in that realm of popular culture where they had become something like fictional characters, each chapter of their fictional lives chronicled in what used to be called the penny press. Their early successes had implanted them forever in the dubious firmament of stardom.
The pathos of the lives of characters such as these resides in our knowledge that, despite their stardom, they are real people with the ordinary needs and desires that characterize us all. How they manage to pursue their personal lives within the realm of fantasy they have helped create becomes their story. We never truly know that story, which is why major stars inspire biographies designed to help us understand.
Jackson's life was harder to understand. The adulation he inspired led to the scorn and mockery that he later endured.
Fawcett inspired a simpler form of affection. Her passing will not be as widely noted. But that affection is remembered.
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