Should actors really play a role in politics?

The borderline between grown-up politics and a glitzy, imitation version has become blurred

It was one of those marvellous interactive radio moments when a studio guest says something and, across the country, listeners respond in their own direct and instant way. The Today programme, doing one of its and-now-on-a-lighter-note spots, had invited Nigel Havers to explain why he had gone on record as objecting to the term "luvvies" to describe members of the acting profession. It was not only disrespectful, Nigel argued, but unfair, too. The Chambers dictionary definition of the word referred to someone who is camp and pretentious. "Now do I," he purred smoothly, "sound camp and pretentious?"

It was one of those marvellous interactive radio moments when a studio guest says something and, across the country, listeners respond in their own direct and instant way. The Today programme, doing one of its and-now-on-a-lighter-note spots, had invited Nigel Havers to explain why he had gone on record as objecting to the term "luvvies" to describe members of the acting profession. It was not only disrespectful, Nigel argued, but unfair, too. The Chambers dictionary definition of the word referred to someone who is camp and pretentious. "Now do I," he purred smoothly, "sound camp and pretentious?"

Once could almost hear the mighty chorus of Radio Four listeners yelling at a million radios: "Yes, you do!"

Hurt feelings in Luvviedom; it is hardly a new story. Once every few months, some distinguished thespian will point out that doctors are not routinely described in the press as "quacks", nor journalists as "hacks". Why then was it acceptable for the honoured trade of acting to be dismissed as luvvies? Actors have a tough enough life, frankly, without that kind of unthinking prejudice.

The argument is as unwise as it is naïve. It is a rule of public life that the more someone asks to be taken seriously, the sillier they tend to look. The very fact that well-paid actors should object to a mildly mocking tag points up precisely why they so often cause hilarity. Once people who have a talent for bringing to life the words and ideas of someone else begin to believe that their own words and ideas are equally worthy of attention, then they are well on the way to becoming figures of fun.

Or at least, in a sane society, they should be. This mild spat over an alleged lack of respect towards actors reveals a bigger problem. For not only do performers take themselves seriously but recently we have been expected to, as well. In a celebrity-hungry culture, it is not just actors' performances that are now served up to the public but also their personalities and points of view. All but the thickest of them have realised that, when on a chat show, it is no longer quite enough to look good and talk about yourself.

An ambitious, career-conscious actor needs to have ready opinions on the sexy, big issues of the moment - the environment (really important), the Iraq war (really tragic), famine in Africa (we can all play our part). There is nothing particularly new here: over the past decade or so, actors have been eager to add to their personality portfolio, writing novels, doing a spot of directing or becoming involved in politics.

What has changed is not Luvviedom but the world in which it exists. The borderline between fact and fiction, between grown-up politics and a glitzy imitation version, has become blurred. It now no longer even causes surprise that an actor can sit beside a cabinet minister or political commentator on BBC's Question Time: the views of Richard Dreyfuss have become as relevant and important as those of David Blunkett or Menzies Campbell.

Moving in the opposite direction, Kirsty Wark can step out of the Newsnight studio, where she might have been interviewing Michael Howard, to appear in Bremner, Bird and Fortune, acting as "Kirsty Wark" as she interviews a fake, satirised Howard. No one is remotely shocked because we know that, given half a chance, the politicians themselves would jump at the chance to play the same game.

Recent events in America reveal the disconcerting side-effects of this confusion between the real world of issues, policies and decisions and the more amusingly glamorous world of Luvviedom. The man who played The Terminator sweeps from a Hollywood career straight into power as governor of California. President Bush has taken to adopting a variety of roles - from heroic airman in Top Gun mode to honest, bow-legged Texan cowboy - and these tricks of presentation seem to have fooled voters. As John Kerry has discovered, it plays less well in the polls to have actually been a war veteran, with all the moral complications that involves, than it does to play the part of one in speeches and on television, as his opponent does.

Never has there been such a strong luvvie influence on a presidential election. Surfing easily on their new status as cultural role models and unofficial pundits, actors, rock stars and even writers are urging citizens to do their civic duty and vote on 2 November.

It would be easier to praise these civic-minded public figures were it not for the niggling sense of silliness that is never far away. The rap singer P Diddy's campaign is called "Vote or Die". When the creators or South Park and Team America dared to suggest that those who know nothing about politics should not vote, they received an infuriated public letter from the actor Sean Penn accusing them of encouraging "irresponsibility that will ultimately lead to the disembowelment, mutilation, exploitation, and death of innocent people throughout the world."

Perhaps it is unfair to blame all this on the influence of actors but they must take some responsibility for turning politics into another branch of entertainment. While we are in danger of being luvvied up, our political sensibilities turned to tinsel, it may be sensible to take actors considerably less seriously than they take themselves.

terblacker@aol.com