Mandy Moore as Aquaman’s Kryptonite: Authenticity, Intertextuality, and the Hollywood Homosocial in Entourage
The four protagonists of HBO’s Entourage sit on the balcony of what has been established as Jessica Alba’s Malibu beach house, which she “lent to [them] while off shooting a new Fantastic Four”. Eric Murphy (Kevin Connelly), Hollywood up-and-coming actor Vincent Chase’s (Adrien Grenier) manager and childhood friend, reads names of actresses off of a list provided by James Cameron, the director of Chase’s next movie, Aquaman.
Eric: What do you guys think of Cameron Diaz for Aquagirl?Turtle: Fuck that, she’s got a boyfriend. Who wants to make a movie with someone you have no shot at?
Vince: He’s got a point.
Eric: Jennifer Garner?
Turtle: Boyfriend.
Eric: Kirsten Dunst?
Turtle: She already fucked a superhero. She’s single, though. Who else you got?
Eric: Mandy Moore? You did a few weeks on a Walk to Remember, Vince. Did you like her?
Vince: Yeah, she was great.
Johnny: Come on, Vince, we’re not gonna get into this whole thing again, are we?
Eric: What whole thing? Vince, did you go out with Mandy Moore?
Vince: A couple of times, it was no big deal.
Emblematic of the weaving of the real and the fictional within the narrative of Entourage, the conversation quickly and undetectably slips in and out of reality and the narrative constructed for the show. The content of the discussion references real filmographies and real relationships of real actresses. Melded with these facts is the diegesis that Vince, a fictional character, was an extra on A Walk to Remember, a real movie, and dated Mandy Moore, it’s real star. The Aquaman arc in the show’s second season (2005-06) – which features fictionalized versions of Mandy Moore and James Cameron played by Mandy Moore and James Cameron – constructs pretend personal and professional lives for these real people. Resulting in the dislocation of customary responses and prompting viewers to draw on other texts in order to determine meaning, the show’s self-reflexivity is enhanced by this casually meta ebb and flow in and out of reality. Mandy Moore’s narrative arc not only provides an interesting opportunity to examine the way Entourage utilizes the intertextuality of real stars in order to enhance and authenticate its narrative, it also demonstrates the threat posed by women to the intense male homosocial bonds that reside at the core of Hollywood.
"Whenever we run into people, they say they want to do the show," series creator Doug Ellin says in a USA Today interview. "It often provides them with a different take on who they are" (Keveny). While nearly every episode of Entourage is littered with celebrity cameos and guest appearances, the intertextuality that accompanies Mandy Moore makes her uniquely amenable to playing herself -- as playboy Chase’s first and only true love -- in this extended storyline. After a career as a teen pop star in the late 1990s, Moore moved on to leading roles in successful movies. “I’ve been kind of an underdog [compared to] the people I came out around the same time as, and that worked to my benefit,” said Moore in a 2008 interview. “At the time that Britney and Christina came out and were at the top of their game, I was like the weird little sister. But because I didn’t have the monumental success that they did, it allowed me to go off and do A Walk To Remember, and that put me in a different position” (Stewart). A tabloid fixture, Mandy Moore is recognized less for her singing and acting and more for being a celebrity. This ability to transcend niches makes it possible for her to blur the lines between “Mandy Moore” and “Mandy Moore in Entourage” – particularly fitting for a show that is an exploration of fame (and not necessarily talent). This relative ambiguity does not, however, translate to anonymity. Over the past decade, Moore’s personal relationships with a variety of famous men – including Andy Roddick, Wilmer Valderrama, Zach Braff and Ryan Adams – have received endless media attention. This media scrutiny and interference from tabloids pervade both her real life and her arc on the show, much of which focuses on (controlling, mediating, and anticipating) the public’s response to Mandy rekindling her romantic relationship with Vince after ending things with her (pretend) fiance.
Fictional tabloid snippets such as “what soon to be super actor gets along so swimmingly with his engaged co-star that friends say her impending nuptials are drowning?” function in Entourage in the same way Entertainment Tonight functions in Robert Altman’s 1992 movie The Player. “The inclusion of Entertainment Tonight demonstrates how the experience of Hollywood is purveyed by other media,” writes Christopher Ames of the movie, “It also reminds us of the fictionality of actors playing themselves, when such things as talk-show appearances and fan-magazine publicity are openly part of the maintenance of a favorable public image” (208). Entourage, like The Player, “enters into a vigorous intertextual dialogue with American popular culture,” through its “references to contemporary social trends, consumer products, and actual films and film stars” (Intertextual Encounters,15). Assumptions that viewers are familiar with Moore’s off-screen persona is symptomatic of the “increasing immersion of contemporary Americans in all forms of mediation,” evoking what Dunne refers to as “a contemporary rhetorical community based on a mutual recognition of mediated experience on the parts of senders and receivers of cultural messages” (Metapop, 13, 11).
Despite Moore’s paradoxically vague and overexposed public image, she is highly associated with the image of the manufactured pop star – a notion she explores (and ultimately succumbs to) during her stint on Entourage. “No aspect of the media can be more obviously attended by hype than the production of stars,” asserts Richard Dyer in “A Star is Born and the Construction of Authenticity,” “there is nothing sophisticated about knowing they are manufactured and promoted… even the media knows it. Yet in the very same breath as audiences and producers alike acknowledge stars as hype, they are declaring this or that star as the genuine article” (173). While Mandy is presented as being real, sincere, and down to earth, the audience is also exposed to the well-oiled machine functioning behind her.
After Vince and Mandy miss important appointments because they were too distracted by one another, Eric meets “Mandy’s people” – a team consisting of a manager, a music agent, a publicist, an attorney, a music manager, and a theatrical agent. “Stars are a form of capital and a resource of great value to the commerce of Hollywood, and the production of stardom is a vital part of the film industry,” writes Paul McDonald, “the industry that makes motion pictures also manufactures, with the aid of the press and other media, movie stars” (168). “We both know Vince has fucked half the actresses in this town, E,” Mandy’s agent, Barbara Miller (Beverly D’Angelo) says during their meeting, “Mandy, on the other hand, is a good girl”. “We wanted someone innocent,” series creator Ellin said of the decision to cast Moore as Vince’s first love, emphasizing the parallels between the real Mandy Moore and her fictional counterpart (Strauss). By making visible the “organized and restricted network of professional functions” responsible for producing stardom, Entourage exposes its artificiality (McDonald, 168).
In self-reflexive Hollywood texts like Entourage and The Player, “our attention switches quickly –and intertextually—between realistic representation of the story and self-referential film technique. We must therefore interrogate both” (Intertextual Encounters, 114). In the first scene of an episode titled The Bat Mitzvah, we see Vince and Mandy -- attached to harnesses and wearing unglamorous sweatpants and sneakers -- hanging in front of a large blue screen on a soundstage. Eric stands in a sound booth, watching James Cameron as he tinkers with multiple monitors, soundboards, and complicated electronic technology. “It may not look like much now,” Cameron says of the two dangling actors and large blue wall, “but wait till you see Poseidonis in 3D with Aquaman riding Storm”. In scenes like this, “when we are reminded that we are reading a novel or watching a film, the realist frame is temporarily broken,” writes Ames. “But self-reference in a film does something that self-referentiality in literature does not: it foregrounds circumstances of artistic production and reception, the dynamics of industry and audience” (8).
The scene is intertextual on multiple levels; seeing James Cameron -- the quintessential director of the big-budget, CGI Hollywood blockbuster – in this stage of movie making reflects the deepening of a text via what David Marshall refers to as “the proliferation of information about the making of a film or cultural commodity” (77). Although the viewers of Entourage will never see the finished Aquaman, (after all, it does not, and will never, exist) being involved in the fictional production process provides a more significant connection between the audience and the (nonexistent) movie. Moreover, this proximity to Cameron and the production equipment puts us in a privileged position, providing us with access to a part of Hollywood even the stars are denied entry to.
At the same time, the mise-en-scene jarringly reminds us that what we are watching is itself a production; as Dunne writes, “seeing films discussed, made, and shown on screen eventually makes the audience aware that the embracing film probably went through similar processes. At least, the audience’s willing suspension of disbelief is shaken by these reminders that films are not ‘life,’ but artistic constructions” (Intertextual Encounters, 123). Hanging in a harness in front of the blue screen, an unknowingly miked Vince tells Mandy that he is still in love with her while Eric listens in from the sound booth. The scene presents an interesting commentary on the invasion of celebrity privacy (by both their management and by the public), on the intersection between the personal and professional lives of movie stars, and on the self-reflexivity of Entourage as a Hollywood text.
The fact that the conversation revolves around the imaginary love life of Mandy Moore, an actual Hollywood celebrity, underlines the way “a fictional construct (the celebrity as real person) functions… as the reality against which other fictions are contrasted. Within the fiction of the movie, the appearance of movie stars portraying themselves adds verisimilitude at the very same time… exposing Hollywood phoniness. It makes the fakery more realistic” (Ames, 208). The references to – and appearances of – real Hollywood people (as well as real Hollywood scandals, jokes, etc.) is the primary way in which Entourage authenticates itself as a Hollywood insider narrative.
Viewing Entourage, like “viewing a Hollywood Picture… necessarily involves our recognition of the allusive, intertextual, self-referential dimensions of the present cinematic text” (Intertextual Encounters, 106). “Warner Brothers is very concerned,” agent Ari Gold (Jeremy Piven) tells Vince regarding his relationship with the newly single Mandy in the episode Blue Balls Lagoon, “they don't want you pulling an Angelina Jolie.” “Yeah, or a Russell Crowe,” publicist Shanna (Debi Mazar) adds, “he broke up Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid on Proof of Life. Movie cost 80 mill to make, did less business than Gigli”. This dialogue – already complex and self-reflexive in that it addresses concerns over fictional intertextuality potentially interfering with metadiagetic fiction – is laden with pop-culture references and Hollywood allusions. “The rhetorical intention of the self references,” Dunne argues, “has shifted considerably… away from the artist’s self-expression and toward an affirmation of the mediated community that is embracing both creator and audience” (Metapop, 7). Here we see not just the rewarding of viewers in the know, but an out right exclusion of those who might be unfamiliar with the world of Hollywood.
At the same time, a viewer who does not understand a particular reference is always one Google search away from an explanation; in Mimi White’s piece, “Crossing Wavelengths: The Diegetic and Referential Imaginary of American Commercial Television,” she comments on how “the easy accessibility of old television events in the forms of reruns and compilation elides the historical distinctions that once restricted intertextual referencing, when only memory could give access to the past of television and film” (51). Both Dunne’s and White’s points are illustrated in the episode Exodus; after Johnny Drama (Kevin Dillon) and Turtle (Jerry Ferrara) see Mandy and her former fiancé leaving a Blockbuster together, Drama insists that they bribe the cashier to find out what movie the pair rented.
Turtle: What exactly are we trying to find out? We already know they rented a movie.
Drama: Yeah, but what movie? Texas Chainsaw Massacre, that says one thing. Nine and a Half Weeks? That says something very different.
Entourage presupposes not only its audience’s but also its diegetic characters’ familiarity with other texts. Dunne’s assertion that “we exist in a culture that is brokered for us primarily by the mass media” is evident lines of dialogue like “Page Six is one thing, cover of US Weekly is another,” or Ari’s statement that his wife “doesn't read Variety. She reads InStyle,” both of which underline the ways in which cultural referents are used to impart information and as signifiers of identity within the narrative (Metapop, 15).
Investigating the ways that we as viewers “enter into intertextual dialogue with Hollywood and the American culture for which Hollywood functions metonymically can help us think more productively about” Hollywood texts and “our relations as viewers” to the content (Intertextual Encounters, 106). In the season and a half of Entourage prior to Mandy Moore’s arrival, Vince is portrayed as having few weaknesses. He seems to float above the Hollywood nonsense, fully secure in his talent and his self-image, carelessly moving from woman to woman. When she comes back into his life, we get a glimpse into the existence of Vince’s insecurities and witness his career and public image on shaky ground for the first time in the series. More importantly, Vince’s relationship with Mandy induces unfamiliar tension and conflict among the boys of the entourage.
The fallout that results from their group leader being in love with a woman highlights the deep homosocial bonds that reside at the core of the show and the world it represents. “The problem with this male‐male dynamic of relationships,” writes Shaamani Yogaretnam in a piece on the series, “is that women are presented as either sexually available, and thereby disposable, or as problematic entities to be avoided or dealt with” (105). Even before Vince and Mandy rekindle, his buddies are apprehensive about her return; she is repeatedly referred to as Vince’s “kryptonite” and Turtle urges him not to work with her, saying, “this girl ruined your youth. You’re the star, tell them you don’t want her.” Never is the threat posed by females to the male homosocial relationship clearer than in season two finale The Abyss, in which Vince’s firing of Ari and first ever fight with Eric are shown as direct consequences of Mandy Moore’s presence in his life. After she breaks up with him, Vince’s world comes undone; Eric has quit as his manager, neither Turtle nor Drama is speaking to him, and he decides not to do Aquaman because he refuses to work with Mandy.
“The female star emerged as an inherently contradictory construct,” writes Allen Larson in “1937: Movies and New Constructions of the American Star,” “threaten[ing] to unsettle the symbolic foundations of a patriarchal culture organized by the sexual division of labor and gendered assignment of economic roles” (195). In using Mandy Moore as a catalyst for chaos in Vince’s world, Entourage demonstrates that, seventy years later, Hollywood’s ideologies about gender have not significantly evolved. In an article titled "Let's Hug It Out, Bitch! The Negotiation of Hegemony and Homosociality Through Speech in HBO’s Entourage,” the author uses René Girard's 1961 theory of the erotic triangle, in which women act as a "conduit" for homosocial bonds, in order to contextualize the male relationships on Entourage: “while there are numerous heterosexual interactions with women, the homosocial spaces between the main characters on Entourage are enduring. Tensions within these spaces are key to understanding the constructions of noticeable power dynamics in this group of friends: homosocial bonds between the men facilitate contemporary understandings of the norms of hegemonic masculinity” (Lee).
Questions of gender, intertextuality, and authenticity in Entourage would benefit from further investigation into the implications of the show’s interactions with reality beyond the work I have done here. Part of what is intriguing about Entourage is the way it has shifted from a reflection of Hollywood reality to somewhat of a Hollywood reality in and of itself; “as the show's visibility has grown,” USA Today journalist Bill Keveny writes, “particularly in the entertainment world, the sitcom seems less a case of art imitating life than paralleling it — and even influencing it”. In the June 16th, 2006 issue of Variety magazine, HBO placed a two-page ad touting the success of new James Cameron epic Aquaman, pronouncing that the movie had earned $116 million during its opening weekend, becoming the highest grossing movie of all time. The ad gave no indication that the movie was not real; “it even fooled some of the director's friends into thinking they had missed the premiere of his latest film starring Vincent Chase, the show's fictional star,” Variety reported the following day. By exploring and experimenting with the intersection between fiction and nonfiction, Entourage epitomizes the inherent reflexivity of a Hollywood production about Hollywood. Furthermore, in its attempt to authenticate something that is arguably artificial to begin with, the HBO series at once reveals truths about and further mystifies and romanticizes the world of Hollywood.
Works Cited
Ames, Christopher. Movies about the Movies: Hollywood Reflected. Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky, 1997. Print.Entourage, season 2. (2005-06). Created by Doug Ellin.
- Episodes: “Oh, Mandy”.“I Love You, too” “The Bat Mitzvah” “Blue Balls Lagoon” “Good Morning Saigon” “Exodus”
Dunne, Michael. Metapop: Self-referentiality in Contemporary American Pop Culture. (1992).
Dyer, Richard. “A Star is Born and the Construction of Authenticity”
Holmes, Su. ‘Starring... Dyer?’: Re-visiting Star Studies and Contemporary Celebrity Culture” (2005).
Keveney, Bill. "'Entourage' Settles in." USATODAY.com. 1 June 2006. Web. 05 May 2011. <http://www.usatoday.com/life/
Lee, N. “Lets Hug it Out, Bitch: The Negotiation of Hegemony and Homosociality Through Speech in HBO’s Entourage” (2010).
Lowry, Brian. "Cable comedy craves cameos." Variety, January 10, 2005, 28,30.
Marshall, P. David. “The New Intertextual Commodity”. in Harries, Dan (eds), The New Media Book, pp. 69-82, British Film Institute, London, England. (2002).
McDonald, Paul. "The Star System: The Production of Hollywood Stardom in the Post-Studio Era". 167-181. (2000).
Stewart, Allison. "Mandy Moore’s Second Act." Americana and Roots Music - No Depression. July-Aug. 2007. Web. 05 May 2011. <http://archives.nodepression.
Strauss, Gary. "Stars Flock to 'Entourage'" USATODAY.com. 14 July 2005. Web. 05 May 2011. <http://www.usatoday.com/life/
White, Mimi. “Crossing Wavelengths: The Diegetic and Referential Imaginary of American Commercial Television.” Cinema Journal 25.2 (Winter 1986). 51-64.
Yogaretnam, Shaamini. "Contemporary Cable Television and Hegemonic Masculinity: Pricks, Pussies, and Publicity in HBO's Entourage." Sprinkle: A Journal of Sexual Diversity Studies 2 (2009): 100-10. Freireproject.org. Apr. 2009. Web. 1 May 2011.
