Pop Culture

many faces of famous names

Nineteen ninety-two was a good year for Jacqueline McKenzie. She not only represented Australia in the Olympic swimming team, but also won an award at the Stockholm Film Festival for her film debut in Romper Stomper. She’s almost as versatile as Patrick Johnson, who is not only a record-breaking Australian sprinter, but also finds time to play football for the Baltimore Ravens and (gaining a few inches) basketball for the Blue Devils in Atlanta. His record is nearly as impressive as Jane Seymour, who was the third wife of Henry VIII, over 450 years before playing Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman.

            That’s the trouble with famous names. Sometimes, two or more celebrities share the same one.

A problem? Not always, but it can sometimes produce unfortunate incidents.  Last month, when Casey Donovan won the Australian Idol television contest, newspaper advertisements congratulated Donovan and published her website address – or so they thought. Instead, teenage Idol viewers who entered the site were greeted with a full frontal nude photo of Casey Donovan, a (male) legend of the American gay porn industry. It was blamed on “simple human error” – but as errors go, this was a disaster.

            In the U.S. entertainment business, celebrity names are treated like trademarks. The Screen Actors’ Guild will not allow two members to share a name. Hence, when a young Canadian actor named Michael Fox joined SAG in the 1970s, he inserted the middle initial J into his name to set himself apart from veteran character actor Michael Fox. British film actor James Stewart changed his name to Stewart Granger in the late 1930s, to avoid confusion with another star on the rise. Thirty years later, an up-and-coming British pop star named David Jones changed his name because it was taken by another British pop star, the lead singer of the Monkees. Jones’ new name: David Bowie.

            Even when two namesakes win fame in completely different fields, it can cause confusion. One of Australia’s latest Who’s Who entrants, actor John Howard, graduated from the National Institute of Dramatic Art while another John Howard was Federal Treasurer. “In 1978, John Clark – not the satirist but the head of NIDA – said to me, 'John, do you think you should change your name?'” the actor later recalled. “I said, 'No, he won't last.'”

            It was an assumption he would later regret, as an outspoken critic of his namesake. “I don’t let [people] use me for the sake of a joke,” the actor said in a recent newspaper interview. “I’ve been asked so many times to run in Bennelong [the PM’s electorate] it’s not even funny. I mean, I’m not a John Howard impersonator, I’m John Howard.”

The name has had its uses, however. In the most celebrated episode of the television series The Games (co-written by John Clarke, the satirist), Prime Minister Howard causes a diplomatic incident by refusing to apologise for the nation’s treatment of indigenous Australians. Howard the actor saves the day by making a televised apology. As the PM’s face is virtually unknown outside Australia, “A Message from John Howard” is enough to appease global human rights concerns.

            John Howard the actor would no doubt rather be compared with John Howard the English prison reformer (c.1726-1790),  a renowned human rights campaigner, as ardently progressive as PM Howard is conservative. Or even John Howard the classic Hollywood actor, fondly remembered for Bulldog Drummond and The Philadelphia Story.

            The PM is not the only politician who shares his name with other celebrities. Mark Latham, for example, is the name of a sexy American rock singer. Still, “John Howard” is such a common name that the PM must be concerned. How can he be remembered as an exceptional wartime leader when he doesn’t have a more unusual, statesmanlike name… like Winston Churchill?

             Yet even Churchill shared his name with another, unrelated celebrity. Like British Prime Minister Churchill, this Churchill had started his career as a journalist and military man. His interest in history, however, eventually led to his lifelong occupation: writing novels. But the fate of the once-popular American author is for his name to be forever linked to the statesman, three years his junior, who would go on to even greater fame. To cause extra confusion, Churchill the statesman did write one novel (published in 1900, only a year after the other Churchill’s first novel), and Churchill the writer entered politics (albeit confining himself to the State of New Hampshire) only three years after Churchill the statesman. No doubt the American Churchill would be rolling in his grave to know that, as well as stealing all the glory, the other guy would eventually win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

            Fortunately, not all shared celebrity names are confusing. We can easily assume that teen actor Ann Hathaway (The Princess Diaries) was never married to Shakespeare, film director Chris Columbus (of the Harry Potter series) wasn’t doing much sailing in 1492, and the great English writer Samuel Johnson never starred in The Secret Life of Us.  We can even assume that Maurice Greene, the 16th century English composer, was not the U.S. Olympic sprinter.

Similarly, few people would suppose that great jazz/rock guitarist John McLaughlin has gone on to become acting director of the CIA. Or that Kevin Bacon, the Australian equestrian star of the sixties and seventies, went on to be the American film actor who inspired a party game.

But spare a thought for romance and crime novelist Heather Graham. A New York Times bestseller, she has written 100 books, 20 million copies of which are still in print. Yet a Google search of her name brings up 85 references to her namesake, the Hollywood actor, before providing two links to the author herself.

Since the actor became prominent, the author has been writing more books under her married name (Heather Graham Pozzessere) and her pseudonym (Shannon Drake). But one of her publishers, Mira Books, has continued to use her original name – with great success. This might well be because, thanks to Hollywood, the name “Heather Graham” has become more marketable than ever.

Indeed, celebrity name-sharing has its benefits. In July, when Michael Moore’s documentary Fahrenheit 9/11 was the talk of the town, Canberra radio announcer Rod Quinn’s voice was heard on station previews, excitedly promoting the highlight of his drive-time show: “an exclusive interview with Michael Moore about Fahrenheit 9/11.”

            Quinn wasn’t exactly lying – but if not for his local popularity, he probably wouldn’t have gotten away with it. Though famously media-friendly, Moore was far too busy to speak to Quinn  at that time. Instead, Quinn talked with another Michael Moore: a left-leaning, former independent member of the ACT Legislative Assembly, who had seen the film and was keen to discuss it.

Quinn’s guest, while not THE Michael Moore, was still a local celebrity of sorts. Nonetheless, Quinn’s chutzpah  was impressive. With Moore’s name a selling point, a valuable brand, his radio show was trading it without paying a cent.

            While Hollywood tries to avoid double names, Australia’s film industry is less concerned. In the 1980s, the name “George Miller” was a common sight in the credits. For frequent but uninformed film-goers, it seemed that the name belonged to our busiest, most versatile film director: not only the Mad Max trilogy, but also The Man from Snowy River films; not only Hollywood fantasies, but popular historical mini-series. Whenever film director and comedian Yahoo Serious (Young Einstein) was asked why he changed his name, he would reply, “Australia doesn’t need three George Millers.” It was a joke; Serious’ real name was Greg Pead.

            Another myth, assumed by many Australian film buffs (and previously even endorsed by officials at ScreenSound Australia), is that Peter Best, one of Australia’s top screen composers (Crocodile Dundee, Muriel’s Wedding) was the same Pete Best, Mersyside drummer, who was thrown out of the Beatles in 1962. For the record, the composer was born in South Australia; the drummer, who is slightly older, stayed in England and became a civil servant.

If all this name-sharing still sounds rather trivial, consider some of the long-suffering people concerned. For 25 years, Robyn Williams, presenter of the ABC’s The Science Show, has been taunted for his similarities to U.S. comedian Robin Williams. Not only do they have practically the same name, but – in the early years, especially – they even looked alike. It has been a cause of frustration for the radio presenter.

Then there was Network 10’s hard-hitting crime reporter, who was frequently given a break from discussing regular felons to cover the latest escapades of Lord Voldemort or Draco Malfoy, in book releases and film premieres. The reason? The reporter’s name is Harry Potter. By the time the most recent Harry Potter book was launched last year, he turned down the offer to cover it. Artist and Australian rules footballer Alan Jones is also familiar with jokes comparing him to the controversial broadcaster, suggesting that his name might be held against him. “I reckon it’s just what Australians don’t need: another Alan Jones,” he quipped.

Other celebrities, however, don’t take it so lightly. Just ask Bill Wyman. Wyman had been a rock music reviewer at the Atlanta Journal-Constitutionfor over 20 years, but when he wrote about the Rolling Stones during their 2002 tour, his fame suddenly spread outside his home city. Another Bill Wyman, the Stones’ former bass player, sent him legal threats, claiming that he was trading on his name without permission. “I must ask that you immediately cease and desist from authorising or permitting any such use of our client’s name,” wrote one of the bass player’s attorneys.

Of course, Wyman the critic had often written about the Stones, covering their concerts since 1981. He now joked that, to prevent any confusion, he would change his name to "Not That Bill Wyman".

            Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary. The critic was using that name three years before a bass player called William George Perks changed his name to "Bill Wyman" in 1964,  and had a birth certificate to prove it.  Case closed.

What’s more, he could legally call himself “the real Bill Wyman”. When you can say that, who needs fame?