By Jason Schwalm
The 50th anniversary of the death of 1950s screen mega-star James Dean will be marked on Sept. 30. Though all deaths prompt evaluation of the lives they foreclosed, this reflection is always most prominent in the passing of the young and extraordinary.
In retrospect, Dean’s ascent to fame seems inexplicable, and is absolutely one-of-a-kind. While it is accepted wisdom that an early, tragic demise catapults many an artist into the pantheon of American celebrity, the posthumous mythologization of James Dean from a relative unknown to the crowned prince of a generation defies repetition. Marilyn Monroe, Elvis and Joe DiMaggio were all humongous figures at the time of their deaths, and while their popularity certainly grew after their passing, none rose from the relative obscurity of James Dean at the time of his fatal car crash to such stellar heights. In our culture, so obsessed with recreation and mass production, James Dean had accomplished the impossible: living a life that was truly and unassailably unique.
Most celebrities are victims of the American cultural obsession with legacy – Denzel Washington is the next Sidney Poitier, or Chris Rock is the next Eddie Murphy (who was said to be the next Richard Pryor). Pity any white musical artist who tries to rap after Eminem’s improbable super-stardom. Try as critics might, however, no one has been effectively pegged “the next James Dean.” Occasionally, the term gets bandied about at the premier of a film starring some young, attractive male actor, but it never sticks.
What is it about James Dean that, though he appeared in only three films (two of which were released after his death) he seemed to speak directly to so many people? More than likely, it is that he spoke for those people. Recent generations of youth could surely never understand what it means to be totally without a voice or mechanism for redress of grievances. In our era of fragmentation and hypermediation, every subculture and identity group has its own mouthpiece, a ‘zine or a blog that it can use to disseminate its message and worldview. The Internet is a remarkable tool for ensuring that no person is ever again left entirely without a means for expression. Moreover, as “Saved by the Bell” indoctrinates us all into a social stratosphere comprised of jocks, dweebs, preps, cheerleaders, punks, skaters and nerds, there is simply not a distinct, generational monolith to be represented. When we speak of “the youth,” we are no longer speaking of everyone at once.
More likely than not, no generation will ever again have a James Dean. No single person could ever again fully summarize the neurosis of millions with the racked scream, “You’re tearing me apart!”
It was not James Dean’s talent for which he is remembered, but his timeliness. Tacitly, he was the poster child and spokesperson, even after his death, for the movement towards youth autonomy. When college students would later protest the doctrine of in loco parentis, which stipulated that the administration was allowed to serve as parents by proxy to university attendees, it was the spirit of the rebel, the contemporary Dionysus that James Dean embodies, that fueled the fire. He bared his soul at a time when comportment dictated that we not shed a single tear, and did it with howling authenticity.
“His taints and honors waged equal with him,” Shakespeare writes of Anthony’s death. It is fitting that the America James Dean helped forge remembers him, although perhaps we do so because, despite his faults, we have seen nothing grand enough to take his place.
Mourn, America, the passing of youth, and possibility.
Jason Schwalm is a senior English major, and the Opinion Editor for the Louisville Cardinal.
Contact him at: jschwalm@louisvillecardinal
