iWW) Hegemonics

The Depreciation of the Fake, Part!

by James Baker

here is something about Planet
Hollywood that, like this last sum-
mer’s blockbuster “hit” /Indepen-
dence Day (surely no coincidence),
makes the experience hard to ac-
cept, even on an ironic level.
Somehow these recent products of Americana
have transcended their own ironic origins,
and are now in a territory beyond kitsch. The
celebration of the plastic has come to such a
point that the themed restaurant takes as its
point of origin the construction of an eating
experience around the artifice of film-mak-

ing, or, more properly, movies; Planet Holly-—

wood is, after all, only tangentially connected
to film-making, and only slightly more con-
nected to movies, but the mythos in which
movies take place is its true ground zero.

Some random notes on the Planet Holly-
wood experience:

e Like relics of the holy cross, the hand-
prints of the more rich and famous than I'll
ever be adorn the exterior of the building,
and their authenticity is just as open to ques-
tion as any sliver of wood in the Middle Ages.
If hand-prints are the mark of presence, here
they signify only the absence of the stars who
“made” them; one has visions of a factory of
underpaid labourers pressing their hands into
wet plaster and carving Sylvester Stallone’s
“signature” before they’re shipped north of
the border (the plaques, not the labourers).

¢ One must wade through not one, but
two major souvenir counters, one on the main
floor and one on the fifth, before even seeing
the restaurant itself. The souvenirs are for the
chain of restaurants themselves, not the
movies, which have, in a way, been replaced
by the far-more-expensive restaurant (marti-
nis $6.50, except the Comet, which is $17.00,
but you get to keep the glass with the Planet
Hollywood logo).

Curiously, an attendant, wearing an elec-
tronic headset as all employees of Planet
Hollywood seem to, asked if we were going
to the restaurant; “That’s on the fifth floor,”
she said. The elevator itself only presents one

choice of destination: the fifth floor.
Redundancy is, | suppose, a_ peculiarly
American virtue. (Incidentally, another atten-
dant was vigorously trying to dissuade an
elderly woman and her companion from
going upstairs, perhaps fearing that she
wasn't “hip” enough for the experience, or
that her heart would fail her upon witnessing
the miracles of the lords; she responded even
more vigorously “! know, | know, I’ve been in
Planet Hollywood many times before...”)

e Resisting the somewhat tempting offer
of purchasing a 20th Anniversary Edition of
Rocky t-shirt, with an “official reproduction”
of Stallone’s own artwork on the front, we
were seated against the wall, each chair care-
fully located so that by looking just over the
shoulder of the person across from you you
can see a large video
monitor that alternates
trailers from current
movies and video foot-
age of recent Planet
Hollywood = openings
elsewhere, locations
that could afford the
real stars whose images
adorn the space. The
cut-outs of the richer
and more famous made
me feel like | was walk-
ing into the cover of
Sgt. Pepper's, though | couldn't help but
notice that their images where just slightly
larger than life-size (or am | just slightly
smaller? Whose “life” are we talking about
here, anyways?).

The ever present video monitor is key in
Planet Hollywood: life, we are told, is bound
to fail us (the conversation may be weak, our-
selves and our companions may not be as
“beautiful” as the digitally-manipulated foax
on the screen), but the movies — the images —
never disappoint, and are there for us, always,
a more dependable mediator between us and
the world than the flesh-and-blood people
around us. (Isn‘t this-what the movies are all
about, anyways? Sit in a dark theatre, eyes
glued to the screen; television, with its more
ambient room lighting, and the power of the
remote control in our hands, is more subver-

sive [potentially, at least], and oh how the
movies know it. Plato knew it, and called it
the Allegory of the Cave, which is my one pre-
tentious reference for this article.)

¢ The placemats feature yearbook photos
of the richer and more famous, with the
names printed along the edge so’s you can
make a game of figuring out who’s who. The
goal, | think, is to prove that the big and
beautiful once looked just like you and me, in
fact were just like you and me, but nobody,
especially the management, believes it even
for a second. Like David Byrne in the big suit
(“Everything in life should be bigger than
life”), the ideology of the establishment is to
remind us that the movie, once, perhaps
naively, a reflection of the world, is now
something better—not just louder, faster,

)

The cut-outs of the richer
and more famous made me
feel like | was walking into
the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s.

bigger or different, but better. The yearbook
photos of a bunch of dorky people empha-
sizes that even then, there was something dif-
ferent about these faces, about these
personalities, that made them “stars.”

e Flash-bulbs from point-and-shoot cam-
eras became quite common during the meal. |
guess there’s a need to record one’s encount-
er with the artificial. As if that act of docu-
mentation authenticates the experience,
offers proof of its very reality. Who knows.

e The fun behind the Planet Hollywood
concept is, after all, the celebration of movies
and their construction, and to this end Planet
Hollywood decorates its walls (never a blank
space, never a visual resting space, every
square inch must remind you how wonderful

March 1997 / Planet of the Arts 31

Tripping into Planet Hollywood

the movies are and that’ you haven't seen
enough of them lately, have you) with props
from, in Vancouver at least, bad movies, and
questionable props at that. | mean, can
anyone really tell if that moccasin was fea-
tured in Batteries Not Included, or if Rick
Moranis really wore Those Very Glasses in that
film, you know, the one before he became
famous? And what appears to be a model
from Terminator II is really from Judge Dredd.
The message is clear: Vancouver, on a global
scale, just doesn’t rate good props. Which is a
strange, Hoffman-esque celebration of the
banal in a place devoted to the other-than-
life. (By the way, almost everything on the
menu is, you guessed it, named for a movie:
The Terminator is a martini, Legends of the
Fall is another drink of some kind, and I’m
sure my burger was called American Graffiti
or some such thing. But try ordering a
Sophie’s Choice or Baby of Macon, and see
what happens. Only certain movies.)

Planet Hollywood is not, it’s no surprise, so
much a restaurant as a sit-down concession
stand, without the benefit of actually seeing a
movie. For that you have to walk two blocks
to Granville. But Planet Hollywood is ulti-
mately about movies as much as it’s about
food: it’s about the culture of movie iconog-
raphy, the hegemony of the constructed
image, and the desire to see movies more and
more as empty form, with no content. It’s like
the magician who forces you to watch how
it’s all done, especially when it’s a lame trick
to begin with, and the only thing that held
your interest was the futile hope that even
that weak piece of sleight-of-hand might be
carried out not too ineptly. Planet Hollywood
revels in its own shallowness, with its own

need to keep you distracted with a hard-rock

soundtrack, an array of movie memorabilia
framed and mounted on the wall (kinda like
art!), a constant reminder, via the ever-
present commercials for the chain, of it's own
excitement, an excitement that not only never
materializes, but which the restaurant, from
the first moment, knows and tells you will
never materialize. <@

kultur (1996)

oil on canvas 183cm x 235cm
; Craig Stewart

- Studio (Painting)

See

PP

(WW Hegemonics

The Depreciation of the Fake, Part!

ipping Into Planet Hollywootl

by James Baker

here is something about Planet
Hollywood that, lie this lat sum
mers blockbuster “hit” indepen:
dence bay surely no coincidence),
makes the experience hard to ac
cept, even on an ironic level
Somehow these recent products of Americana
have transcended thelr own ironic origins,
and are now ina territory beyond kitsch. The
Celebration of the plastic has come to such 9
point that the themed restaurant takes a5 its
point of origin the construction of an eating
experience around the artifice of filmmak
ing, of, more propery, movies; Planet Holly
‘wood i after al, only tangentially connected
to filmmaking, and only slightly more con-
rected to movies, but the mythos in which
‘movies take pace is its true ground er.

Some random notes on the Planet Holly
wood experience:

+ Like relics of the holy cross, the hand.
prints of the mote rich and famous than Fil
fever be adorn the exterior of the building,
and their authenticity is jst a open to ques
‘tion as any sliver of wood inthe Middle Ages
Ifhandtprints are the mark of presence, here
they sighfy only the absence of the stars who
made" them; one has visions of a factory of
underpaid labourers pressing thei hands into.
wet plaster and carving Sylvester Stallone's
“signature” before they're shipped north of
the border (the plaques, not the labourer)

+ One must wade through not one, but
‘wo major souvenir counters, one on the main
floor and one on the fifth, Before even seeing
the restaurant tel, The souvenirs are for the
chain of restaurants themselves, not the
‘movies, which have, in a way, been replaced
by the farmore-expensive restaurant (mart
fis $6.50, except the Comet, which is $17.00,
‘but you get to keep the glass with the Planet
Hollywood logo)

Curiously, an attendant, wearing an elec:
tronic headset as_all employees of Planet
Hollywood seem to, asked if we were going
‘to the restaurant; “That's on the fifth floor”
she Said, The elevator itself only presents one

choice of destination: the fifth floor
Redundancy is, | suppose, a peculiarly
‘American virtue. (Incidentally, another atten:
dant was vigorously tying to dissuade an
flderly woman and her companion from
‘going upstairs, pechaps fearing that she
‘wasn’t "hip" enough for the experience, or
‘that her heart would fil her upon witnessing
‘the miracles ofthe lord; she responded even
more vigorously I know, know, Ive been in
Planet Hollywood many times before...)

+ Resisting the somewhat tempting offer
‘of purchasing 2 20th Anniversary Editon of
Rocky tshirt, with an “offal reproduction”
‘of Stallone own artwork on the front, we
‘were seated against the wal, each char care
fully located so that by looking just over the
shoulder of the person across from you you
an see 2 large video

‘monitor that alternates
trailers from. current
‘movies and video foot
age of recent Planet
Hollywood openings
elsewhere, locations
that could. afford the
real stars whose images
adorn the space. The
Cutouts of the richer
fand more famous made
ime fee! like | was walk:
ing into the cover of
Sgt. Peppers, though | couldn't help but
rtice that their images where just slightly
larger than lifesize (or am I just slightly
smaller? Whose "life" are we talking about
here, anyways?)

The ever present video monitor is key in
Planet Hollywood: ie, we are told, is bound
1 fal us (the conversation may be weak, our
selves and our companions may not be as
“beautiful” asthe digitally manipulated foax
‘on the screen, but the movies — the images -
ever disappoint, and are therefor us, always,
3 more dependable mediator between us and
‘the world than the flesh-and-blood people
around us, (ent this what the movies are all
about, anyways? Sit in a dark theatre, eyes
Glued to the screen television, with its more
lmbient room lighting, and the power of the
emote control in our hands, is more subver

sive {potentally, at least, and oh how the
‘movies know it Plato knew it, and called it
the Allegory of the Cave, which is my one pre
tentious reference for this article)

+ The placemats feature yearbook photos
‘of the richer and more famous, with the
‘names printed along the edge s0' you can
make a.game of figuring out who's who. The
‘goal, | think, is to prove that the big and
Beautiful once looked just lke you and me, in
fact were just like you and me, but nobody,
‘especialy the management, believes it even
for a second. Like David Byrne in the big suit
(Everything in life should be bigger than
Ife"), the ideology of the establishment is to
remind us that the movie, once, pethaps
naively, a reflection of the word, is now
Something better—not just louder, faster,

The cut-outs of the richer
and more famous made me
feel like | was walking into
the cover of Sgt. Pepper's.

bigger or diferent, but better The yearbook
photos of a bunch of dorky people empha
Sizes that even then, there was something df
ferent about these faces, about these
personalities, that made them “sar.”

+ Flash-bulbs from point-and-shoot cam
eras became quite common during the meal.
‘Quess there's a need to record one's encount
fe with the artifical. As if that act of docu
mentation. authenticates. the experience,
‘offers proof ofits very ceality- Who knows.

+ The fun behind the Planet Hollywood
concept i, after al, the celebration of movies
fand their construction, and to this end Planet
Hollywood decorates its walls (never a blank
Space, never a. visual resting space, every
square inch must remind you how wonderful

March 1997 / Planet of the Arts 31

the movies are and that you haven't seen
fenough of them lately, have you) with props
from, in Vancouver atleast, bad movies, and
questionable props at that. | mean, can
Anyone realy tell if that moccasin was feo
tured in Batteries Not Included, or if Rick
‘Moranis really wore Those Very Glasses in that
film, you know, the one before he became
famous? And what appears to be a model
from Terminator Is really rom Judge Dredd.
The message is clear Vancouver, on 9 global
scale, just doesnt rate good props. Which is 2
Strange, Hoffman-esque celebration of the
banal in a place devoted to the other-than-
Ife. (By the way, almost everything on the
menu i, you guessed it, named for a movie:
‘The Terminator is a martini, Legends of the
Fall is another drink of some kind, and I'm
‘ure my burger was called American Graffiti
for some such thing. But try ordering 2
Sophie's choice or Baby of Macon, and see
‘what happens. Only certain movies)

Planet Hollywood isnot, it's no surprise, 0
much a restaurant as a sitdown concession
Stand, without the benefit of actually seeing 2
‘movie. For that you have to walk two blocks
to Granville. But Planet Hollywood i ult
mately about movies as much as it's about
food: i's about the culture of movie iconog
raphy, the hegemony of the constructed
image, and the desire to see movies more and
‘more as empty form, with no content. 1 ike
the magician who forces you to watch how
its all done, especially when isa lame trick
to begin with, and the only thing that held
Your interest was the futile hope that even
that weak piece of sleight-of-hand might be
Carried out not too ineptly. Planet Hollywood
revels in its own shallowness, with its own
reed to keep you distracted with a hard-rock
Soundtrack, an array of movie memorabilia
framed and mounted on the wall (kinda like
art), a constant reminder, via the ever
present commercials for the chain, of it's own
‘excitement, an excitement that not only never
‘materializes, but which the restaurant, from
the fist moment, knows and tells you will
never materialize.

nt 990)
craig Stewart
[stad earn)

a