The Three Stations of the Cross in Michael Jackson's Calvary
First station of the cross: things. The holy horror of things. An entire apparatus of masks, breastplates, umbrellas, nomadic objects, an entire bubble at once suffocating and over-oxygenated, cloistered and overexposed, operating like a greenhouse and preserving him from the great contamination of things. Not only, as has been said, was it viruses, germs, and bacteria. But life itself as a germ. The living as a bacterium. Matter, objects, and the very air he breathed as soon as he ventured beyond his dear Neverland became a source of infection, pestilence, a macabre obsession -- a school for cadavers. The dandies were like that. I mean the great dandies. The founders of the tradition. Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly. Beau Brummel. Wilde and his Dorian Gray. Red heels to dance on top of a world of vapors and humors. Makeup and artifices to escape the De Profudis of a definitively parasitic abyss. Not to mention Baudelaire who based the principle of his aesthetic, his ethics, and his politics on his disgust with nature and its monstrous proliferations. Michael Jackson was their heir. Michael Jackson, with his vinyl, latex, his mausoleum of a house, his prophylactic terrors and also of course his entrechats of a dance genius, besieged by light on every side, was the last of these great dandies. Add the morbid care that he apparently gave to his body. The hyperbaric chamber where he tirelessly prepared himself for some kind of funereal ritual. He didn't die from a drug overdose; he died because of his desire not only to invent a vaccine against life, but also to want to inoculate himself with it.
Second station: others. Others, truly. No longer things, but humans. Their contact. Their malignant and repugnant proximity. The very presence of others, of their odor, their instantly searching gaze, experienced as an offense, a threat, the source and cause of all violence -- and from which he was only protected by the smoked lenses of his glasses. Hell? Yes, hell. A Sartrean Jackson this time. Or even a Cathar. A Jackson not the least of whose paradoxes was the moment he wrote "We Are the World," the moment where, in other words, he popularizes what must be called the contemporary humanitarian while viewing humanity as a fiasco, men as cankers and their company as a necessary evil, an obligatory compromise, a degrading accommodation that an artist can only begrudgingly make. This reincarnation of Peter Pan sincerely thought, for example, that children were made without anyone touching. This incomplete adult feeds the mad dream -- and, in a certain way, fulfilled it -- of having his own sons without contact, and almost without a mother. This misanthrope, this mutant, was one of the last modern humans to believe -- and to live -- the ancient theorems of the inconvenience of being born. Generation, corruption... Desire without concupiscence... Which, at the very least, shows the absurdity of the witch trials conducted against him the last ten years of his life which were like an endless persecution. Michael Jackson did not want to be a child; he wanted to be a saint. Or an angel. And angels, as we know, don't have a sex. Or only have one in the imagination of the perverted who project onto them their own fantasies.
And finally: himself. His own body and his own face, seen as even greater threats, sites of every danger, the intimate yet merciless enemy that would take a lifetime to subdue or annihilate. There again the singular adventure of Michael Jackson is misread; the mad metamorphosis that he impressed on his face and the repeated plastic surgeries that he inflicted on himself over the course of his life are utterly misunderstood if reduced to a matter of pigmentology -- race, anti-race, self-hate, malaise, unease in his own skin, this reason or that. Look at his photos. Look at this epidermis essentially becoming whiter and whiter, almost like living limestone. Notice this nose reduced to almost nothing, these lips eaten away from the inside, these narrowed cheekbones like those of a Jivaro mask or a Giacometti rendering. Look closely at these dwindled features, this shrinking skin, these eyes that only seem to sit in his skull like a ring on a skeleton's finger. Consider this reduction -- a philosopher would say this epochè -- of a face reduced to its simplest inexpression, having become its own double. Isn't the face the very signature of the human? Its truth? The way that it exhibits and expresses itself? The sign of everyone's singularity, of their priceless uniqueness? Of course. It is always that, a face. And that's why this third chapter, this way of torturing, mortifying, profaning, and ultimately of erasing his own face should be read as the last station of a long and terrible Calvary. Because, having reached that stage, when you have decided to escape the reign of things, and to leave the ranks of humans, and then to become a human without a face, you don't really have too many choices left. Either you reinvent what is considered human, become truly trans-human, and create a genetically modified organism, a GMO. Or you die.
Translated from French by Sara Phenix.
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What????
"The Man in the Mirror"; probably the best ballad MJ wrote, was in retrospect , more about himself.
I think Mr. Levy - the "philosopher" - would say the "mutant" in the mirror. How nice.
Of course it's about himself reflecting - on himself - and realizing that change must take place within. A powerful message that millions of people understand, and try to apply to themselves. DUH!
WilliamProc, "Man in the Morror" is a very good song. But, I have to wonder WHY did Michael Jackson hate the image he was in the morror so much that he had it butchered beyond recognition?
Why on earth did he find looking at his real face so repugnant?
That is a good song, but Michael Jackson didn't write it. As with many of the later songs he recorded, I think he and the record company found it less work to just buy songs others had written.
So who wrote it? Could you tell us please?
i usually like Bernard's articles and insights but this was unneeded commentary...not only unneeded but incredibly full of itself...it serves no greater purpose...like a long 70's guitar solo....
I though the slap at Calvary's place in Christianity was a nice, toxic touch - along with the "mutant" AA genius. A two-fer! How clever.
How small does a man have to be to write something this ungracious at the death of someone who brought so much happiness to so many???
really well said. The insensitivity and inability to appreciate is mind boggling.
Mr. Levy also compared Mr. Jackson to Jean-Paul Sartre and the Cathars in the same paragraph. This suggests that Mr. Levy believes there is something of the "mutant" in Sartre and the Cathars too.
GNC:
Thank you. This is a philosophical column not a psychiatric account of MJ's life.
And you let yourself free from it either. Where in the article did Levi criticize Jacskons contribution to music? There's no reason why someone can't criticize the man and seperate that from his work and not be in effect called a racist. Read the article.
In all honesty, those of us who see Michael as a tortued, talented human being can understand what is being said here. However, as with any death people always romantacize the good because that is how they want to remember the person - the hope of what they could be to them all the time. Death takes the taint of imperfection away so that you don't have to deal with the realities of what might have been, what could have been and what needed to be.
1 week after the man has died, all kinds of people have come out of the word works with an opinion, a story a tale to sell (not tell) all because they think they understand or think they could understand the man. All genius unfortunately comes with madness, eccentricities and what some call craziness. I for one am able to look past that and just enjoy what he did give us. Great music and a life that while materially rich was still humanely poor. Perhaps his is a cautionary tale about fame and fortune. But can we get a break from those who think it's their role, their duty to tell us what we should be examining? There is no more appreciation anymore for the good, all this society focuses on is the bad, the horrible. The price of fame is your soul and your life. Michael has paid in spades. Let him rest.
Probably has little relevance to the interior life of Michael Jackson, but still enjoyed this poignant, learned piece of literary writing. That in itself is refreshing, along with the thoughtful responses.
Michael's story seems to touch many people deeply. That includes myself. It is painful to observe
his haunted eyes since those trials. This was a man who seemed to be in great pain, and yet was
ever the visionary and entertainer. Apparently, there will be video published of his rehearsals for
the now never to be tour. I look forward to that, and seeing him happy and focused.
Like the Dorian Grey allusion. Though I have often commented on it, I agree that you seldom hear anyone talk about how weird it is that white people lie out in the sun all day to go from pale to tan--those self haters. . .
...weird...while mocking, demeaning (envying?) people of color, simultaneously. Maybe Mr. Levy will deconstruct THAT for us, one day.
And, ENVY...as when the President won and hijacked the American (and world's) news media from subjects Mr. Levy would prefer.
Sorry. We've turned the page.
Deconstructive surgery. Also elective.
Nose jobs...as teenagers, too.
How can I persuade all the networks to increase their Jackson coverage?
Too much is never enough, but, Jesus Christ Almighty, doesn't there some a time...
In the meantime, Williams, Gibson and Couric, how about more news of the impending record company and better closeups of the grieving papa's ear ring
:)
I appreciate this column....tres Francais...tres philosophique! Yes, some folks here complain that M. Levi cannot "deconstruct" the life of Jackson because Jackson was a Black American and Levi is a White Frenchman. They may have a good point, but then no one could say anything about anyone unless they are of the same race? Or from the same home town, maybe? Or of the same religion? Or the same generation? I think there is something to be said for both sides ot that argument.
Personally I enjoyed this column because it gave a different perspective to the enigma of MJ. There have been many many words devoted to MJ's talent and the devotion he inspired in many people. All of that is true, and yet the fact that he was obviously "unusual" has been greatly .ingored because people don't want to defame their idol. Sometimes it takes a person from another culture to have an acute perspective and the willingness to express it. Here everyone from Depak Chopra on down has jumped on whatever bandwagon they can find to claim how great Michael was, at the same time alluding to how close they were to him, and also throwing in some information about how they tried to save him.
I look forward to more columns from M. Levi!
Deconstructing himself?
Great and thoughtful comment, Promise! I found Levy's column to be very human, in the sense that he approached the subject of MJ as a fellow human being, not as a critic or as a fan. No one could have failed to see what Michael was turning into, but too many fans were willing to overlook the hollow shell as long as they could enjoy his talents. Before he died, he was reportedly being signed up for FIFTY concerts on a tour. This would have killed him in any case. Shame on those around him who only saw him as a meal ticket, and that started with his father.
Stick to de Tocqueville.
...and France. This babble is going out of style...with the Clinton era. Sorry.
Hatred of France and the Clintons has NOTHING to do with this. You show the lost age you cling to quite clearly.
And you stop watching reality tv shows and reading the tabloids.
An extraordinary piece of writing. Wonderfully translated.
Like that highlight of French literature--"Madame Bovary"---Michael Jackson was his own fatal attraction. He lived his life beyond any reasonable means and his desire for love, fortune and in his case fame, took him to outrageous and grotesque acts upon his personal self that in the end destroyed him. Arsenic poisoning is a painful death but Jackson took the arsenic long before last week when he began his route into a world of fantasy that felt safe instead of dealing with the real world around him, including the leeches who lived off him.
It's been reported that Jackson, when he ived in the middle east, was more or less a "court jester", paid by oil rich shieks to privately perform at parties etc as in effect a condition for his being allowed to stay there. How pathetic and sad.
One could say that during the era Michael Jackson was born - Segregation in the US, or our Apartheid - he and his brothers were court jesters of a sort, as well as many of us. Fortunately, AA culture doesn't define success or not based solely upon the limited economic views of the macro culture. We have "starts" in our communities who never make a dime - in New Orleans and Harlem, for instance.
Many artists have died paupers - whose talents were not realized or recognized until long after their deaths. Fortunately, there is an audience who values talent and beauty - and GRACE - wherever it resides - and we KNOW it when we see/feel it. A case can be made the shieks were no different than the Popes and wealthy families of the Renaissance - sponsoring talent.
Or, a case can be made of the genius, talents and gifts of AAs being exploited for FREE for centuries in the Americas - being no different. In the end, it is a proud LEGACY to have created much that lasts...and Michael is a proud part of that narrative, tapestry and legacy. We don't define his value by artificial or superficial currency.
He began with nothing...and may end with nothing. That's OK with AAs.
While you make valid observations, I do wonder why you brought race into your reply to someone who was looking at Michael simply as HUMAN.
Yes! Great post!
I'm not one to put down educated reflection--something we are sorely lacking in modern America--but upon my own reflection, I find this piece to be largely smug psychobabble. We don't know enough of how Jackson truly lived his life and what truly motivated him yet (future historians will help us along) to be able to ruminate so esoterically about the man. This piece just makes sh*t up the same way the tabloids do, but uses a cloud of thesaurus pages and squid ink to passl it off instead of plain, old chutzpah.
Amen. Complete pseudo-intellectual baloney through-and-through.
And, like most progaganda...well written to weave in a narrative that is toxic under the guise of WIT.
Agreed, completely.
Plenty of words, verbose speculation, meaningful to those who assume taking the long way around a simple thought is a sign of wisdom. There are occasionally sound reasons why academia is mocked.
And by the way:
"...these eyes that only seem to sit in his skull like a ring on a skeleton's finger"
...that's not good writing, sorry. Eyes that sat in a skull... like something on the finger of a skeleton? I can't imagine it read any better in the original French.
Thermidor:
Excellent point. Though I liked the piece, there are some 'extras' that are unnecessary and self-serving in that context you mentioned.
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