| Author: 123456789 |
I don't really want to belabor the Mel Gibson story. Obvious high-minded criticism of his behavior seems a mite tiresome. Further, in an age where media mavens dissect the "handling" of each new celebrity fiasco, more analysis of how Gibson and his PR team have, or have not, taken control of the situation is interesting but likely to miss the fundamental issue.
There is a lesson here that has value well beyond the art and science of spin. It is a lesson in longer-term "reputation management," a genus of actual, not tactical, rehabilitation that could save his soul and make the world in which he (presumably) still lives a somewhat better one as well.
The Gibson case is, first of all, an instructive example of the limits of short-term spin. We certainly applaud his reaching out to the Jewish community but, as has been pointed out, it may not be enough. The media has amply cited his broken promises to that community in the wake of the fracas over The Passion of the Christ. The marketing campaign for the movie seized on the reservations of some Jews about its content in order to create a sensationalistic buzz that was bound to sell tickets. Alas, too many Jewish organizations rose to the bait.
Connect the dots between then and now, and it's hardly reasonable to suppose there was anything aberrational about Gibson's anti-Semitic rants. Gibson's initial response after the arrest was additionally discrediting. The response was, "I was drunk."
Alcohol doesn't create or impose ideas. Alcohol releases ideas. The more deeply ingrained the ideas, the more explosive their release under the influence. In vino veritas, Mr. Gibson.
Then came apologies for the anti-Semitic remarks themselves at a point in time, a day or so later, when there was apparently no choice. The Gibson tragedy is just a particularly glaring example of a problem with which publicists representing celebrities -- and corporations too, for that matter -- must increasingly grapple. With so many scandals, and so many communications specialists trying to work their magic on a nearly daily basis, it is harder and harder for any crisis response not to look orchestrated. Once it looks orchestrated, it looks, well, orchestrated.
Ironically, one of the great spin tools available to disgraced public figures, from Charles Colson to Richard Scrushy, is not available to Gibson. When in doubt, convert. Be reborn. Find faith and guidance in the Lord. Unfortunately for Gibson, he's already played that card. In fact, it's what got him into this trouble.
There's a time-honored "best practice" in the communications profession that is painfully relevant here. To be convincing in a matter of such grave significance -- to effectively transcend the look and feel of a cynically orchestrated response -- you need to show, not tell. You need an emotional picture, a visual that will prove there's more inside your soul than a no-contest plea and a paid fine.
In Gibson's case, we say "painfully relevant" for two reasons. First, to be effective, the picture of his remorse must be real. The emotion must be real. Gibson may be a convincing actor by trade, but I doubt Barrymore or Olivier could fake it in his situation.
Second, it's hard to overcome ideological instincts inherited from a father who believes the Holocaust is fiction. For Gibson, self-knowledge is the linchpin here and self-knowledge doesn't come cheap. The inner journey requires time, lots of time. Too much time to salvage the PBS deal. Too much time to win over Reuters or the AP while the DWI story is still hot. Maybe even too much time to convince this generation of entertainment industry consumers.
Modern American history offers a rather powerful example of someone who did make just the kind of long and dark voyage we're talking about, and lived to "show" the profoundly transformative results. Once upon a time there was an Alabama governor named George Wallace who built a career on racism. He even based a scary run at the Presidency on that vitriol.
At the end of his life, Wallace regretted it. He said he regretted it and his face showed it. His body language showed it. My visual memories of him in those last years leave no doubt in my mind, no doubt whatsoever, that he did indeed bitterly rue his legacy of hate.
Wallace arrived at this place of spiritual decency not just by prayer -- the quick fix of convicted celebrities, politicians, and CEOs -- but through searing personal pain and suffering. Wallace's political career was over by then, of course. At this point, I might not bet against Gibson's career. It is Hollywood, after all.
But he has more at stake than that. |
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123456789 is a champion in this field. 123456789 has written several articles in the past on this topic. |
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