John Travolta is a great example. First he was hot. Saturday Night Fever, with it's revolutionary dance and revolting profanity, rocked the young hipster to fame. He was the 70s personified.
Then he wasn't anymore. When the style and culture of the 70s went the way of taunts and snickering, so did Travolta. He rarely surfaced unless in a movie with a talking baby.
But soon he rose again. Pulp Fiction, another revolutionary yet revolting cinematic achievement, resurrected his name. He was everywhere and starring in everything. Travolta was hot. He was the suave, nonplussed Chili Palmer in Get Short, the deceptive Maj. Vic 'Deak' Deakins in Broken Arrow, the adorable yet tragic romantic George Malley in Phenomenon, and then he was Michael, a warrior and immortal with great dance movies who also happened to smell like cookies.
Travolta's name became a cultural force, strutting to a Jazzy tune so unlike the classic yet predictable symphonies of Tom Hanks or Harrison Ford. If he got his groove on, the audiences flocked. Cheers followed. And a simple interview became a chance to see Travolta do his "cool" bit, usually accompanied by a brief yet ever-so-sly dance move.
Then, like the 70s, the 90s ended and Travolta went back into the cold shadows of teasing and irrelevance with the 2000 release of Battlefield Earth, followed by Lucky Numbers, Swordfish, Be Cool, Wild Hogs, and eventually a stint as an obnoxiously unattractive female lead in Hairspray.
With the last decade ending, Travolta only has ten more years of hokey roles before he surges again. By 2020, expect another Oscar nomination, John.
It's hit or miss with celebrity status. One movie might make you, another might surely break you. This is why countries do not gamble their futures on the outcomes of two-hours of acting. It's too risky of a venture. The star could make one simply idiotic statement, which is generally quite easy for them to do, and the entire future of their work is jeopardized - taking the directors and producers and grips down with them.
That's Obama. He's a politicized Travolta, really hot then really not. He sold the American voter with reverberating speeches that said nothing during a time of terrible discontent. He played the role of a Messiah, while the public took his acting seriously. He had his own song and dance (or just dance, like on the Ellen Degeneres Show) and dazzled the media with the flip of his hair and the romance of his fame.
His spoke one-liners with the velvety vibrato of a seasoned actor, taking his clues from George Clooney and his kisses from Chris Matthews. Oh, he was dreamy. People swooned at the mere sight of him, journalists talked of "crushes", history was being completely rewritten, and for a brief time, Obama was the highest-selling product, ironically created in a capitalistic society which he despises.
But with all shooting rises to glory, the damp, ashy chill of burned-out stature eventually hails down upon the huddled masses - sticking in their hair, getting in their eyes, coating their skin with soot, and clogging their nostrils with the smell of broken promises and sulfur dioxide.
The actor can't act. The dancer lost his groove. And the President can't govern.
When you spend $8+ for two-hours of worthless drivel, you walk out frustrated and vowing to never watch the actor again. When you work from January 1 to April 13 solely to pay for taxes which are wasted on frivolous projects and special interests, you vow to never vote for the current candidates again. When your President raises the debt ceiling to $14 Trillion, while simultaneously attacking private business, you march on Washington and ignite a revolution.
These days, John Travolta (no insult intended) is more popular than the President. A major majority, 77 percent, of investors feel Obama is anti-businesses, while Rasmussen reports:
RASMUSSEN:
Obama Approval Index: -18
Strongly Approve 25%
Strongly Disapprove 43%
Total Approval: 45%
Oh well. By 2020, expect another Nobel nomination, Barry.
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