Watching Steve Coogan giving his testimony to the Leveson inquiry on Sky News, I was intrigued by his argument that, unlike some, he’s never entered into a ‘Faustian pact’ with the press. The implication is that those who have, like Katie Price, are fair game. Not an argument for a universal right to privacy, then, but a qualified right that would only apply to celebrities that shun the limelight.
The obvious objection to this is that either everyone should be entitled to a right to privacy or no one should. It cannot be contingent on not returning phone calls from the Daily Mail’s showbiz desk. But, actually, I think Coogan may be on to something here. It’s not that the right to privacy isn’t universal. It’s more that celebrities trade in a part of it in return for fame and fortune. Where Coogan is wrong is in thinking that this only applies to Page Three girls and the like. In my view, it applies to all of them.
Just to be clear, this isn’t a contract between celebrities and the press. Suppose Steve Coogan had invited Hello! to cover his wedding. That wouldn’t mean that the press would be forever after entitled to take photographs of him and his wife whenever they wanted. It would have been a one-time-only deal, not a Faustian relinquishment of his privacy for all eternity.
To make an analogy, the fact that Coogan has sold some of his possessions in the past, possibly even a house or two, doesn’t mean he no longer has a right to property.
Rather, the ‘Faustian pact’ is between celebrities and the general public. If a star willingly accepts a fee to make a public appearance of some kind, whether in a film or at Philip Green’s party, and at least some of that fee is due to the fact that they are a celebrity and not just a talented comedian or a beautiful model or whatever, then they are profiting from the public’s fascination with them. They are trading on their celebrity status, regardless of whether they collude with the press or not. That, in turn, means the public can legitimately expect to be told at least some things about their private lives, usually in the tabloid press.
Why? Partly because that is and always has been the nature of the deal, stretching back to the beginnings of celebrity culture and the rise of yellow journalism in the 19th century. When an actor or a sportsman starts earning serious money in virtue of his celebrity status, there is an implicit lack-of-privacy clause in the contract — Clark Gable called it ‘the small print’. And by accepting the money, the celebrity in question is tacitly consenting to it.
Now, the reason someone like Steve Coogan should be held to the terms of his ‘Faustian pact’ is not just because he’s entered into it of his own free will. It’s also because it’s fair. Why should the public be denied its desire to know about a celebrity’s private life when it has been responsible for enriching that person beyond his or her wildest dreams? The public pays because it’s fascinated, spellbound, mesmerised. It’s hardly surprising, therefore, that it should want to know about the person’s sex life — and that seems like a fair trade.
Coogan’s reply to this is that he’s not interested in fame and has entered into no such bargain. ‘I have never wanted to be famous, as such,’ he told the Leveson inquiry. ‘Fame is a by-product. Me, myself, personally, I like to keep myself private.’
That’s as may be, but it’s vanity on his part to imagine the public just watch his TV shows or buy his DVDs because he’s an über-talented comic actor. It’s also because he’s famous and, in accepting their money, he’s entering into the same ‘Faustian pact’ he accused other lesser celebrities of entering into.
I get the sense, listening to both Steve Coogan and Hugh Grant, that they wish fame wasn’t a by-product of their success. I’ve spoken to other celebrities about this and they often make the same lament — they just want to do their work to the best of their abilities and if people want to pay to see it, fine, but they never signed up to join some ghastly, three-ring circus.
Problem is, if they weren’t members of that tawdry club they wouldn’t be able to command the fees they do. That’s why the public is entitled to its pound of flesh — and it makes no difference whether Coogan or Grant are publicity whores or not.
Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.
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