We Need Movie Stars Not Thespians
No one understands the principle of hard work in this town anymore. Do you think I became who I am solely by my good looks and enigmatic charm? No. It was an insatiable desire to win by any means. That’s how we caught Bin Laden. The ends always justify the means sweetheart. Wait, put my drink in a glass. I'm thinking about killing myself and don’t want to consume anymore microplastics. Are you familiar with Abbas Kiarostami’s Taste of Cherry? That’s the kind of fucking day I’ve had. You can’t even kill yourself with dignity anymore. Whatever happened to seppuku? Now we’re “unaliving.”
If you want something you look it in the eye and grab it by the throat. If you see something in someone you utilize it. Would you look destiny in the eye and blink twice? Exactly. You don’t even know how to make eye contact. You probably went to a charter school. You probably dropped out of Bennington. There’s a difference between people like you and people like me. You’re making my croissant and I'm spitting it out after two bites.
We need a collective recollection. We need dignity. We need movie stars, not thespians. Remember? Beauty can take you farther than words. But who will have the last laugh? If you see me jumping from the thirteenth floor of CAA you’ll know it’s because I saw something in you.
—Jasmine Johnson
A NOTE FROM THE PRODUCERS OF NEW THEATER HOLLYWOOD ON THE OCCASION OF JASMINE JOHNSON’S SHOW, THE DEATH OF A STAR, AT ISABELLA BORTOLOZZI:
Jasmine Johnson’s work slices at the spiritual void in the desire for attention. We first met her at a packed bungalow on New Year’s Eve in Laurel Canyon. In retrospect, this is the right setting to meet Jasmine. Her material is people and chaos. It was explained by friends that she had been throwing parties in trap houses and readings in parking lots, and it quickly became clear that Jasmine has the ability to control a room while letting things and people explode, which is also the chemical equation for theater. We asked her to direct a play.
There is a constant hum in Los Angeles, a terrifying desire, a flicker in every exchange that this, whatever this is, will make you famous. Jasmine knows all about the hum. She exploits it. She grew up in West Adams and has a legion of girls who do as she says. It is her power. Like Charles Manson clutching a Balenciaga bag. Jasmine selected five girls and one gay from her army to star in her reality show THE DEATH OF A STAR, which she shot at New Theater Hollywood over the course of five weeks. We watched as the theater filled with her cast; desperate, young and beautiful, their makeup and empty Ziploc bags strewn across the greenroom’s vanity. What is the format? The girls scream, trapped in the theater, their vape clouds clawing to the ceiling. One by one, in the confessional, Jasmine asks them: What makes a star?
The four episodes take place mostly in and around the theater in Hollywood. In one scene, someone stands barefoot on the walk of fame under the blaze of a street light. They crowd in cars. They buy beer at a gas station. A fake Lana Del Rey sings at a hotel party. They are all hyper aware of the camera, and when their phones aren’t recording, they’re often held up to light their faces. Eventually they try to break into the Hollywood sign with bolt cutters. The line between faking it till you make it, and simply taking it, seems to blur.
Harkening back to The Bling Ring, in which early aughts teenagers broke into celebrity homes stealing clothes and jewelry, THE DEATH OF A STAR reminds us that the membrane in Los Angeles is thin. Fame and fulfillment lay just on the other side of the sliding glass door. The question becomes: what are you willing to do to get inside? The girls who perform in THE DEATH OF A STAR open their own homes to Jasmine and her camera, where their fragile lives are measured in makeup cases and bags, their egos swerving as they compete for something which is never clear. What is this reality show? Who wins? Who dies? The only real truth is that it's a feedback loop, in which the girls are all mimicking what they've seen on television: Los Angeles performing itself.
Created by
Jasmine Johnson
Produced by
New Hollywood Theater
Starring
Victoria Davidoff, Deevious, Peggy Noonan, Ashley Hood, Jake August, and Lauren 2Dope
Director of photography
Sydney Morrell
Editors
Episode One:
Sydney Morrell & Jasmine Johnson
Episode Two:
Jacqueline Kramer
Episode Three:
Jasmine Johnson
Episode Four:
Gbenga Komolafe
Contact
T +49—30—26 39 76 20
F +49—30—26 39 76 229
E info(at)bortolozzi.com
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