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I've sipped espresso in a street café in Paris. I've climbed to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan. I've strolled through the Prado in Madrid and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. I've seen castle ruins along the east coast of Ireland and Verona Italy. I've attended theater from Boston, to LA, to San Francisco, to Baltimore to Broadway. There are so many works of art and architecture to witness, more than can be seen in a lifetime. And now, a Xena Warrior Princess Convention, is entertainment really art? It's a fair question. People regard it in the same manner and worship its producers, writers, directors and actors with no less esteem than Monet or Emerson.
I suppose the first exaltation of television, started with Star Trek. A corny science fiction show crudely produced with silly effects by today's standards, but broad and ambitious in its portrayal of social progress. It was easy to poke fun at Trekkies, introverted social misfits. However, today the mainstream America has caught a hold of television veneration. It flows through our veins as modern day poetry infiltrating our lives as a cultured art form. Is this social Darwinism?
The actors scheduled to make public appearances lure the masses to congregate and worship together. The guest stars are attractive, intelligent, and answer insipid questions with witticism and charm. We cling to their charismatic images as idealistic projections of the human spirit. Aren't they merely actors looking for work, taking available jobs that they have qualified for, much as an engineer, physician or any other professional? Or is there something more to it?
I scan the crowd for clues as to the motivation behind their behavior. Is this no more than attending a football game, sport for entertainment? Or is it art of the day akin to the performance of Shakespeare's plays? Star Trek has already endured for thirty years, so perhaps there will be others. A few select shows that transcend the box into which they are projected.
The crowd is enthusiastic and friendly. They come together from all walks of life to commune with a common purpose, a love for a television show. They love Xena Warrior Princess, the actors, the comedy and drama, as well as the underlying messages being delivered. But as I observed, there's a lot more to it than that.
Sure there are plenty of out skirters devout in their cult. They frighten me to be as dangerous as any other religious extremist. Blind faith rules their life with no sense of balance or moderation. But they makeup just a minority, next to those who acknowledge the levity in their admiration.
I met a few Xena drag guys. They came from Seattle and one mentioned that he had flown to something like six conventions this year. "Expensive hobby" I remarked. "Oh yea" was the answer. They were friendly and kind hearted. Where or when else would I be able to talk to such extravagant people.
It was an absolutely glorious day for people watching. Such opportunities rarely arise to meet folks outside of my mundane professional frame of reference.
Ted Raimi was thoroughly charming and kind when it came to signing autographs. I must say, personally I don't care about autographs. It's just ink on paper and collecting memorabilia of any kind has held no interest for me. So I was completely fascinated by the money that folks were willing to spend on all sort of things and how eagerly they wanted them signed. As I passed the other two actresses signing (Claire Stansfield and Alexandra Tydings), I was asked if I had anything for them to sign. They were a little off guard when I said "No, but my friend (standing behind me) would like to take your picture. You're very pretty." When I finally got to Ted, I handed him the notebook that I had been writing this essay in for signature. It was blank except for the three pages that I had written on. I truly just wanted to see him up close. He was quite baffled and inquired "What's this?" as he took my pen from me looking at the hand written pages before him.
"Just some notes about today" I answered.
"Umm umm, I feel like I'm signing your journal from the last three months."
"Just sign on a blank page" I pointed the blank page next to where I had begun writing.
He was extremely nervous and looked around and to the 'handler' beside him.
"You're really spooked aren't you." I commented.
Then he added something to the effect of having to be careful what he signed and joked about it being an affidavit of something.
I was about to offer that he could just draw a smiley face or doodle or something instead, when he opened the book to the middle and offered, "How about I sign here."
"OK" and now I have my first and possibly only autograph of my lifetime. I smiled to him thankfully and quipped, "but that's _my_ pen."
"You can have it back," he smiled and that was the end of our exchange.
It was so interesting how taken aback he was by the deviation from the protocol (he says "hi", fan professes allegiance, he says "thank you" with sincerity, signs photo, snap picture, end of encounter). It makes sense that he needs to be careful, but it seemed a little excessive and of course logically no sense what so ever. I just as easily could have written something before the page that he had signed after the fact.
All in all, I must say that I do find him adorable. His hand must have been exhausted after all that signing. I had the strangest feeling of guilt and embarrassment for even asking him for the autograph. It was like I had violated some sort of human code. I didn't enjoy the feeling and sincerely doubt, I'll ever ask for another autograph again. I have met and been around famous people before and had never asked. This explains why, for me anyway.
Ted in one of his answers spoke of escape from the mundane, the traffic and the bills. Escapism, refuge for the weary. The actors and the fans alike seek a hiding place from the boring repetitious world.
I too shall escape. I count the days until I am free and begin my restoration. In Santa Barbara, I'll tend to my wounds and heal my misguided soul. A subtle difference, that I take control of my own life and create it, not through the fantasy of others, but my own. However, I would be a fool to think that I am different from those who look to others to create a refuge. I have more in common than I dare admit and I should not feel contempt.
Perhaps, it is not art at all. Perhaps, refuge and quiet escape is the essence underneath the veneration. Food for thought.
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