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doi: 10.1111/j.1467-856X.2011.00504.x
BJPIR: 2012 VOL 14, 375–391
Lights, Camera, Election: Celebrity,
Performance and the 2010 UK General
Election Leadership Debates
Philip Drake and Michael Higgins
The 2010 general election was the first in the UK in which a series of televised leaders’ debates were
broadcast. This article takes forward research on mediated political performance and the relationship between celebrity and politics through an analysis of these debates. By discussing how the
candidates perform ‘personality’, the article highlights the use of performance in constructing
informality and a personalised audience address, contrasting these with where candidates engage
in conventional political speech-making. The article also examines the strategic use of language,
particularly where it is designed to align speakers with the public in opposition to the political
establishment. The article argues that celebrity should not be viewed as an innate quality but
instead as an interpretative set of frames, the terms of which are established through performance.
The article concludes by reflecting upon the implications that can be drawn about the relationship
between performance, framing and political celebrity.
Keywords: celebrity; leadership; framing; television
Great men, even during their lifetimes, are usually known to the public
only through a fictitious personality (Walter Lippmann (1922, 5)).
Introduction
‘Nothing gets you closer’, the billboards for Sky TV promised to those able to watch
the televised 2010 UK general election leadership debates on their new highdefinition news channel. The first such debates to be broadcast in the UK promised
a glimpse of the verve and thrust of political debate between the individuals vying
to lead their party into government: a chance to scrutinise party leaders outside the
comfort zones of their press conferences, and an opportunity for them to present
and defend their arguments directly. The novelty of the televised debates occasioned substantial media discussion and speculation. Some commentators emphasised the possible vitalisation of the mediated public sphere, reflecting upon the
opportunity for public access to political debate as it unfolds. Others echoed concerns addressed by John Street’s 2004 article, ‘Celebrity Politicians: Popular Culture
and Political Representation’, which examines the coming to prominence of celebrity in politics and the ensuing debates on the effect this might have on a representative democracy. In this article we intend to examine critically how these lines
of thought might operate together rather than in opposition. We will argue that the
leadership debates were clearly about the discussion of, and argument over, political
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PHILIP DRAKE, MICHAEL HIGGINS
ideas, but also that certain performative techniques were used and judgements
exercised which are important in understanding how politicians fared in the
debates and the sorts of impressions they gave of themselves. We are interested in
what the debates can tell us about political performance on television, and the
implications this might have for some of the arguments advanced on the relationship between celebrity and politics. In doing so we shall suggest that work in the
field of political communication has not paid sufficient attention to the different
kinds of performances required to perform political personality and celebrity, and
that understanding how authenticity in particular is constructed through performance is crucial in assessing the success of political leaders.
Framing Celebrity and Political Performance
In recent years related sets of debates have focused on the emergence of
personality-driven politics. One of these concerns the relationship between politics
and celebrity culture. Street (2004) attempts to set the political components of this
relationship apart from broader discussions of celebrity, distinguishing between the
intervention of celebrity figures within the political realm and the association of
already established politicians with the practices of celebrity and fame. To this end,
Street identifies two variants of the ‘celebrity politician’: the elected politician who
uses the frame of celebrity for political benefit (CP1), and the celebrity who speaks
out on political issues (CP2). In making these distinctions, Street usefully challenges
the idea that the relationship between celebrity and politics is merely a debasement
of democratic participation, instead showing that celebrity has long been a part of
political culture, to be ignored or dismissed at our peril, while also alerting us to
celebrity-driven political performances that take place outside the traditionally
formal political arena, such as through television appearances.
John Corner (2000) has pursued a related theme by arguing that modern political
communication has seen a series of shifts in how the ‘personalisation of politics’
feeds into formal political conduct. While emphasising the historical precedents for
fashioning political personality, Corner suggests that contemporary politicians are
obliged to maintain at least two ‘spheres of political action’ (Corner 2000, 391). The
first of these involves the administrative activities of political professionalism:
negotiating a path successfully through the party hierarchy, discharging everyday
constituency and state duties, and working with colleagues in formulating and
initiating policy. The second sphere involves the successful projection of a ‘public
figure’, and carries a different set of responsibilities involving the maintenance of
personal credibility and popularity, or what can be described as impression management. It is the latter that concerns us here and almost invariably this is done
through what Corner describes as ‘mediated political performance’ (Corner 2000,
393).
The prominence of leadership in media coverage has implications for the way that
politics as a whole is mediated. In their US study, Stephen Farnsworth and S. Robert
Lichter (2006, 33–34) suggest that even when there is an overall decrease in media
coverage of politics, content tends to be directed away from the legislative bodies of
the House of Representatives or the Senate and towards the figure of the president.
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And, even while questioning the genuine electoral significance of the leader, John
Bartle and Ivor Crewe (2002, 71) claim that, in the UK, ‘communications advisors
take it as axiomatic’ that the appeal of the party figurehead is essential to political
success. Indeed, James Stanyer (2007, 72) argues that the focus on the political
leader has become such that the terms of their ‘media visibility’ extend from their
public performance to the images of their families and their private lives (Smith
2008; Higgins and Smith (forthcoming)).
These circumstances, in which political fortunes are influenced by media performance, encourage a strategic focus on the leader as an individual. Comparing the
coverage of the US president with the legislator, for example, Farnsworth and
Lichter (2006, 31) note that ‘television, with its emotionally laden images, can be
particularly effective for rejuvenating public sympathy for the president over the
mostly faceless crowd of lawmakers on Capitol Hill’. Unsurprisingly, then, Karen
Sanders (2009, 75) emphasises how those in political office need to have an
effective media strategy, clustered around the successful projection of the leader and
their personality. In the UK’s 2010 general election, much of the media coverage in
the final month of campaigning focused on the perceived success (or otherwise) of
the political leaders in the television debates, which were subject to immediate
polling and extensive media commentary.
As discussion of celebrity and politics has expanded, so have the ways of defining
it. David Marsh et al. (2010, 327) expand upon Street’s heuristic typology to
formulate five categories: (i) celebrity advocate; (ii) celebrity activist/endorser;
(iii) celebrity politician; (iv) politician celebrity; and (v) the politician who uses
others’ celebrity. However, while this attempt, and others, to map out the
celebrity–politics interface has some potential to drive forward the functional categorisation of celebrity–political roles, it does not in itself extend much beyond
further taxonomic description. For example, even this expanded typology draws
a binary division between those individuals originally located in the political field
and those originally rooted in the celebrity field—reinstating an original political/
celebrity distinction. One of the aims of this article, developing but also revising
arguments made earlier (Drake and Higgins 2006), is to question the distinction
between these domains, and to argue that politicians may inhabit and draw upon
the resources of several of these roles within even a single performance. In doing
so, we adopt a broader definition of celebrity as a ‘mediated public persona’
(Drake and Miah 2010). Rather than accepting celebrity as a quality that individuals possess or inhabit, we prefer to reconceptualise celebrity as a process, or a
‘frame’ (with both performative and interpretative rules) through which particular media publics are configured and addressed. For political forms of celebrity
this frame is often conventional—the discursive and performative rules of the
formal political interview, for example—which establish the credentials of the
subject. However it is sometimes purposefully incongruous: for instance the 2011
appearances of Prime Minister David Cameron and former Prime Minister
Gordon Brown on the charitable BBC comedy telethon Comic Relief. In such
frames the charitable status of the event allowed unconventional performances to
take place free of the consequences that would arise in a more formal political
space.
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With these definitions in mind, we wish in our analysis that follows to consider how
political celebrity and leadership can be studied using approaches derived from
discourse and frame analysis, as well as performance studies. We should stress that
we are using ‘frames’ to illustrate strategic modes of performance that delineate a
particular relationship between utterer and audience. This is an approach to
framing that sees it as an element of discourse, rather than a means of distinguishing and categorising types of content (Entman 1993; Pan and Kosicki 1993). In
doing so we return to approaches based around Erving Goffman’s (1969 and 1974)
theorisation of framing (see also Gamson 1992). Framing is particularly concerned
with the textual and contextual relationships set up between a text and audience
that mark out certain acts as ‘performed’. Attention to frames offers an insight into
how such factors as intention may be attributed or imputed to certain acts, for
instance how politicians’ ‘sincerity’ is judged by others, or how it may be fabricated.
Goffman’s early and widely cited book, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (1969)
has been influential in political studies (Corner 2000; Corner and Pels 2003; Smith
2008), but it is his later work, Frame Analysis (1974) that provides us with a more
developed account of how performance is framed, keyed, laminated and fabricated.
In this work the ‘frame’ is an organising principle through which a situation, and
how our involvement in it, as the audience member, is defined. Framing is therefore central to the relationship implied between performer and audience/public. It
thus offers limited insight to talk about performance and meaning unless as part of
an iterative process; as Goffman argues (1974, 125): ‘No audience, no performance’.
Similarly we suggest that any discussion of celebrity also requires an understanding
of audience and address.
Political Leadership and ‘Likeability’ in the UK
Election Campaigns
James Stanyer and Dominic Wring (2004, 2) argue that the personalities of the
politicians involved have become a key component of the modern UK election
campaign. This has extended to the activities of politicians throughout the parliamentary calendar. Street’s (2001) account of Prime Minister Tony Blair’s appearance on a television chat show a year after taking office emphasises that his political
party was not mentioned, with political issues only discussed as illustrations of
Blair’s personal endeavours, such as with the Northern Ireland peace process.
Instead most of the exchange concentrated on Blair’s leadership style and his family
life, laced with a few anecdotes on the prime minister’s apparent mischievous
disregard for political convention. Street (2001, 221) argues that this amounts to a
carefully conceived political strategy: Blair ‘intended to enhance or promote his
political image, to “brand” him. And it was about him, Tony Blair, rather than his
party’. Andrew Tolson (2006, 81) shares these conclusions in his analysis of one of
Blair’s election broadcasts: ‘Blair’s personal experience thus becomes his philosophy, which is now available for “you” [the audience] to share’.
In keeping with the Blair strategy, the years prior to the 2010 debates saw concerted
exercises in what Bob Franklin (2004) describes as ‘packaging’ the individual party
leaders. In this respect all still had much of the work of branding to do. David
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Cameron and Nick Clegg were comparatively new to their political roles, having
become leaders of their parties in 2005 and 2007 respectively. So even though
Gordon Brown had been in government office as chancellor of the Exchequer since
1997, prior to becoming prime minister in 2007, this was the first election that each
of the three men entered as party leaders.
Yet, what public profiles there already were of the three differed in some important respects. In spite of never having held major political office before becoming
leader of the Conservative party, by the time of the debates David Cameron was
a well-known political figure in the UK. In terms of how Cameron’s image had
been marketed to that point, Robert Busby (2009, 185–186) argues that it was, at
least in part, based on a perceived contrast between Cameron’s youth and vitality
and the older and wearier Gordon Brown. Paul Kerr (2007, 47–48) also acknowledges Cameron’s success in performing ‘sincerity’ and in producing a ‘keeping it
real’ kind of ordinariness and likeability. Even though Kieron O’Hara (2007, 46)
suggests that Cameron’s ‘youth and agreeable personality will only get him so
far’, this amounted to a media-friendly persona that was at least initially something of an asset, certainly in reaching beyond traditional Conservative voters.
Indeed, a survey of Cameron’s press coverage reveals a predominance of articles
dwelling on his personal qualities and his seeming ‘likeability’ (Langer 2010, 69).
Overall—even in negative accounts—Cameron is routinely described as young,
dynamic and charismatic.
In marketing its own leader, the Labour party sought to turn comparisons
between Cameron and Brown to Gordon Brown’s advantage, offering the latter
as an experienced politician and man of stature (most clearly expressed in a retort
of his to Cameron: ‘This is no time for a novice’), and emphasising his supposed
‘reputation for his financial management and prudence, rather than flamboyant
or overt personal marketing’ (Busby 2009, 187). Yet, as Angela Smith (2008)
points out, Brown soon joined Cameron in using Blair’s strategy for success by,
albeit reluctantly at times, referring to his family, personal life and individual
qualities. Furthermore, by the time of the debates, Brown’s preferred image as a
politician of old-fashioned conviction and substance rather than spin and celebrity, had been undermined, first by an abortive general election call in 2007, and
then by economic and local election setbacks over the course of 2008–09 (Busby
2009, 195).
We turn now to Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg. From the relative obscurity
that has recently attended leadership of a third party in the UK, Clegg attained what
Katy Parry and Kay Richardson (2011) describe as ‘sudden visibility’ during the
2010 campaign and, in particular, in the immediate wake of the first of the three
leader debates. Given the relative absence of an orchestrated marketing campaign
by Clegg’s Liberal Democrat party, Parry and Richardson highlight how much his
attractive demeanour and alleged sexual prowess drove a substantial proportion of
Clegg’s media coverage, drawing far more on the resources of celebrity than on
traditionally political discourse. To a greater extent than Brown or Cameron, the
debates offered a stage for Clegg to establish his public image as a political performer, as well as an opportunity to present a new image of leadership to the
viewing public.
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The 2010 Television Leaders’ Debates: Articulation,
Address and Performance
It is against this background, combining the prominence of personality and celebrity
in politics with the relationships between various types of performance of self, that
we now turn to the leaders’ debates for the May 2010 general election, broadcast on
Sky, ITV and BBC television during April 2010 (Hook and Hitchens 2010). Such
debates had been discussed for many previous UK elections (Coleman 1998) and
against predictions that the 2010 election campaign would be the first to be
contested online and across social media, it was actually the television debates that
provided the broadest form of public engagement with the political leaders during
the period immediately before the general election. Instead of Web 2.0 social
networks, it was the ‘old media’ of television and newspaper commentary (much,
of course, also online) that took centre stage.
Each debate ran for between 85 and 90 minutes and was broadcast in front of a
selected studio audience. ITV hosted the first debate (moderated by newscaster,
Alastair Stewart), Sky News hosted the second (moderated by political editor, Adam
Boulton) and the BBC held the third (moderated by presenter and chair of BBC’s
Question Time, David Dimbleby). Detailed rules and guidelines were produced for the
debates, including a 76-point programme format agreement that specified the
structure of the programme, the recruitment of the studio audience, the ‘staging’ of
the debate and even the use of particular shots (Hook and Hitchens 2010). Each
debate featured eight questions presented by members of the studio audience, but
filtered by panels set up by the broadcaster for suitability. The leaders made an
opening and a closing statement in each debate and would be allowed to respond
not only to the specific questions but also to opponents’ replies, encouraging some
spontaneous debate. By way of limitation all leaders were required to stand at a
podium, reducing the informal studio audience interaction that has characterised
debates elsewhere (for instance, the 1992 US presidential debate between Bill
Clinton and George Bush Sr where Clinton moved towards the audience in answering questions).
While the three debates were dedicated to different themes—domestic issues, global
issues and the economy, in turn—each of them presented a similarly complex
network of address in performance, involving the three participating candidates,
the host, the studio audience and the audience at home. Within this elaborate
arrangement, the candidates were obliged to switch between and negotiate their
interlocutors, while at the same time appearing as likeable, trustworthy and persuasive. In spite of the studio interaction, the main recipients of these various forms
of television address constitute what Higgins (2008, 144) describes as the wider
‘political public’, positioned outside the studio and out of sight of the debate
participants. This is an audience linked in complex ways to the ‘surrogate’ studio
audience through forms of address, camera angles and editing. The guidelines
specified that audience cutaways—a key convention in establishing the studio
audience as a proxy for the wider viewing public—should be used sparingly, stating:
‘there will not be undue concentration of the reactions of individual audience
members’ (Hook and Hitchens 2010, 18). These also included a provision for a
close-up shot of the questioner as he or she asked a question, but not one for
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close-up cutaway shots of an individual audience member while the leaders were
speaking (other than when the audience member was being directly addressed).
Much commentary on performances in the debates was fixated on the interaction
with the live studio audience. The leaders’ engagement with the studio audience
presents what Paddy Scannell (1991, 1) describes as a ‘doubly articulated’ form of
address, that is, ‘a communicative interaction between those participating in discussion ... designed to be heard by absent audiences’. While answers may be
directed towards studio audience members – indeed judgements later fixed on
how explicit the connection with the questioning audience member was – the
exchange remains part of the overall performance for the political public at large
and is therefore akin to the form of address we might associate with celebrity.
Nick Clegg, in particular, was praised for his adept recital of the names of multiple
audience members while providing answers: a practice that Cameron and Brown
then tried to follow. Clearly, using the names of each member of the audience is
not an exercise in positioning the response as a private one, thereby obliging the
rest of the audience temporarily to disengage while the named recipient gets their
answer. Rather, this is a performance of ‘sincerity’, showing willingness to
empathise with individuals, and demonstrating an appreciation that issues of
public interest are also matters of personal importance. In terms outlined by
Goffman (1974), naming interlocutors ‘re-keys’ political performance towards a
personal form of address, thereby investing it with a greater sense of intimacy. In
large part, this draws upon the liveness of the event, as the sense of ‘immediacy’
(Marriott 2007) generated by the naming of previously unknown audience
members helps to guarantee the performance as spontaneous and unrehearsed.
Of course, even as liveness contributes to the construction of a sincere address,
soundbites and answers to anticipated questions are carefully drilled and
rehearsed beforehand behind closed doors.
However, while the studio audience occupy a place of discursive importance in
contributing to the exchanges of the debate, facilitating the performance of sincerity on the part of the candidates and representing the ‘public’s’ interests and
concerns (Higgins 2008), the wider audience at home are invested with a central
position, as the majority of the electorate that the candidates are explicitly
engaged in persuading. The position of this audience is placed immediately to the
fore in the opening addresses the candidates are invited to deliver before the start
of questions. In reading these addresses, it is worth noting that sincerity and
authenticity are not simply ways of engaging the questioner or studio audience,
but of performing both humanity and humility. What is offered in such a performance is, as often with celebrities, a paradoxical double address: performing
ordinariness (‘I am like you and understand your concerns’) alongside extraordinariness (‘I am an exceptional and gifted leader’).
Below are the first sections of each of the opening speeches from the second leaders’
debate of the series, broadcast on Sky television on 22 April 2010 (GB: Gordon
Brown; DC: David Cameron; NC: Nick Clegg). In this and the following transcripts
an ellipsis in brackets denotes a pause in speech, with multiple ellipses denoting an
extended pause:
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PHILIP DRAKE, MICHAEL HIGGINS
1
2
3
4
5
6
GB
This may have the feel of a popularity contest (.) but in truth (.) this is an
election (.) about Britain’s future (.) a fight for your future (.) and for your
jobs (.) if it’s all about style and PR (.) count me out (.) if it’s about the big
decisions (.) if it’s about judgement (.) if it’s about delivering a better future
for our country (.) I’m your man
[..]
DC
It’s clear from last week’s debate (.) that the country wants change (.) but the
question is what sort of change and who’s best placed to lead that change (.) if
you vote Conservative (.) you will get a new team (.) running the country (.)
from May the seventh (.) and you won’t be stuck with what you’ve got now
[..]
7
8
9
10
11
NC
I am so proud of the values that have made our country so great (.) democracy
(.) human rights (.) the rule of law (.) but the sad truth is that in recent years
our governments under (.) the old parties have let those values down (.) we
shouldn’t have sent soldiers into battle (.) without the right equipment (.) we
shouldn’t be facing allegations of complicity in torture (.) we shouldn’t have
(.) invaded (.) Iraq
12
13
14
15
16
17
This part of the debate—as well as the concluding address of each leader—is where
conventional questioning is set aside and the address is the most unequivocally for
the benefit of the viewing audience. Of the three, Cameron is the most explicit in
drawing upon the presumed competence and electoral status of the broader political public: beginning his contribution with an interpretation of the outcome of the
previous week’s debate (on line 7), as well as presupposing the viewers’ relationship with the UK government (on line 10) and their entitlement to vote (on line 9).
His engagement in direct address to camera is unwavering and focused on the
audience at home. Clegg, on the other hand, begins with what appears at first to be
a personal statement (‘I am so proud ...’, on line 12), before immediately changing
his footing to occupy the same position as the electorate at large (‘our country’, on
line 12), and then moving into a development of this position in which the
electorate and government share an ethical burden, expressed through the anaphoric repetition of ‘we shouldn’t’ (‘we shouldn’t have sent soldiers into battle’, on
line 15; ‘we shouldn’t be facing allegations of complicity’, on line 16; ‘we shouldn’t
have invaded Iraq’, on line 17).
In ending this first section with a three-part list, Clegg’s introduction also draws
upon a rhetorical form commonly used in political speech-making (Atkinson 1984,
57; Drake and Higgins 2006, 97; Higgins 2009). Significantly, this is a characteristic
Clegg shares with Brown’s address. After setting out with an aside on the appropriate tenor of the occasion, likening it disapprovingly to a ‘popularity contest’ (line
1), Brown follows his declarative ‘count me out’ (on line 3) with a series of three
positive items prefixed ‘if it’s about’ (‘if it’s about the big decisions’, on line 3; ‘if it’s
about judgement’, on line 4; ‘if it’s about a better future for our country’, on lines
4–5), associating himself with each in the climatic assertion ‘I’m your man’ (on line
5). While the ‘list of three’ is a characteristic of political speech-making, its
function has tended to be the production of and timing of audience applause, what
Max Atkinson (1984) refers to as the ‘claptrap’. In both of these instances, the
audience applause appropriate to the rhetoric of speech-making is denied in
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advance by the agreed rules of the debate—where the audience is asked to applaud
only at the beginning and end of each session (Hook and Hitchens 2010).
There is also an embodied element to these leadership performances. As in the
previous debate, both Cameron and Clegg deliver these opening addresses directly
to the camera. The set-up uses a close-up shot of each leader (often combined with
a slow zoom-in) as they address the camera (and, it is implied through the staging,
the studio audience). This has the effect of linking the studio audience with the
audience at home, both directly addressed by the politician. However, the enactment of Brown’s address still has more in common with a conventional political
speech, in that he predominantly directs it to the studio audience rather than the
viewing audience. In the second of the three televised debates, from which the
extract above is taken, Brown occasionally follows the lead of the other two
candidates and punctuates his addresses by a look towards the camera, but in this
regard Brown treats the camera and watching audience as one viewer among the
many present. Unlike the other candidates, Brown therefore punctuates his speech
and includes pauses for emphasis by scanning his eyes around the room. Applying
what W. S. Condon and W. D. Ogston (1966) describe as ‘self synchrony’ to the
management of body and gesture in political speeches, Peter Bull (2003, 26)
describes such a mode of performance as an enactment of sincerity designed to
engage those in the room, whereas Cameron and Clegg instead direct their performance towards the viewing television audience.
Of the three, Cameron is therefore the one that pays least regard to the practices
associated with the conventional political speech. Both Cameron and Clegg distinguish themselves from Brown by directing their address exclusively towards the
overhearing audience by speaking directly into the camera. Yet, Clegg joins with
Brown in drawing upon the rhetorical devices of political speech-making, designed
for a context that requires inviting and regulating audience applause (Atkinson
1984). For his part, Cameron uses this section of the debate to meet what Scannell
(1996, 23) calls the imperative for ‘sociability’ in television, using a mixture of
second person pronouns (‘you’) and what Deborah Cameron (2001, 133) describes
as ‘conversational’ phrasings such as ‘team’ in place of ‘government’, and ‘stuck
with what you’ve got’. Granted, Cameron still draws upon such qualities of speechmaking as the development of theme, where his next section expounds on a
Conservative trope of ‘belief’ and ‘values’ associated with the speeches of Margaret
Thatcher (Gaffney 1991, 164). Nevertheless, following the advice of the great
performer Winston Churchill who counselled that traditional political oratory was
‘ill-suited to the informality of home viewing’ (Cockerell 1988, xiii), Cameron
engages the viewing audience in a manner that contravenes the conventions of the
political speech. This can be seen elsewhere in Cameron’s performances in less
customary political arenas such as his controversial 2006 appearance on the UK’s
highest rating chat show (Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, BBC, 23 June 2006) or his
‘back-stage’ video podcasts, Webcameron.
Cameron and ‘Us’
We want to develop the suggestion, then, that Cameron’s genial informality and
composed performance extend into a formal lexicon of inclusiveness, in keeping
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PHILIP DRAKE, MICHAEL HIGGINS
with a celebrity frame, and we propose to do this by using an exchange between the
two to contrast Cameron’s performance style with that of Gordon Brown. In
addition to the strategies of address and articulation, personal pronouns play an
important role in aligning the relationships between the politicians and various
formations of audience and public. As we are about to see, the use of pronouns also
establish a relationship with the policy apparatus and institutions of government.
The following exchange between David Cameron and Gordon Brown is extracted
from the last of the three leadership debates, hosted by the BBC:
DC
On Nick’s point (.) I mean of course we’ve benefited from immigration across
decades in our country (.) people have come here (.) to work hard to make a
contribution (.) to bring their special skills and we see that (.) in our health
service (.) and in our schools all the time (..) but I do think (.) that as I say it’s
got out of control and it does need to be brought (.) back under control
1
2
3
4
5
Host
[Gordon
Brown
6
7
GB
Well I don’t like these words because we are bringing it under control (.) net
(.) inward (.) migration is falling and will continue to fall as a result of the
measures we’ve taken (.) we’ve brought together the police and the
immigration officials and the custom officers in one agency (..) we’re doing
that already (..) il illegal immigrants are (.) deterred (.) because (.) we’ve got
ID cards for foreign nationals now (.) so an employer cannot say to someone
you can come and have this job (..) they’ve gotta ask for the identity card first
(.) and there are big fines if employers break the law (..) now (.) we’ve gotta
do more (.) and that means we’ve gotta tighten the number of skills we need in
this eh country and that’s why we’re moving
Host
GB
Host
DC
[Mr Cameron
[from care assistants to
chefs (.) right across other occupations where we train up B British people to
do the skills
[let’s take Mr Cameron first
[but I think I think a lot of people I think would ask though (.) y’know
we’ve had thirteen years of a government (.) that’s now only started to talk
about addressing this issue (.) and if you look at the (.) numbers (.) you know
(.) immigration levels net migration levels before 1997 were never greater
than seventy-seven thousand a year (.) under your government they’ve never
been less than a hundred and forty thousand a year (..) that’s a very (.) big
number (.) it’s only now you’re starting to take this (.) and you’re only starting
(.) just before an election to take the steps that need to be taken
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
What Cameron and Brown have in common here is their use of emphasis (those
words that are underlined in the transcript are given stress) to produce a particular
form of ‘modality’ to lend assertiveness to their contributions (Cameron’s ‘of
course’, on line 1; I do think, on line 4; ‘never greater’, on line 26; Brown’s ‘cannot
say’, on line 13; ‘there are big fines’, on line 15). Yet their contributions differ
sharply in other respects. In his first turn of the extract, David Cameron uses
personal pronouns (‘we’ve’, on line 1; ‘our’, on lines 2 and 4) and a deictic adverb
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(‘people have come here’, on line 2) to position his discourse as at one with the
overhearing electorate and to situate himself within the home nation. This strategy
of inclusiveness contrasts with Gordon Brown, who begins his response by deploying a series of personal pronouns to occupy an institutional position as spokesman
for and defender of his party apparatus (‘we are bringing it under control’, on line
8; ‘we’ve brought together the police’, on line 10; ‘we’re doing that already’, on
lines 11–12). While this is followed by a more inclusive example, limited to the
home nation by the presumed shared understanding of ‘foreign’ (‘we’ve got ID cards
for foreign nationals now’, on lines 12–13), this is then followed by a number of
instances in which the ‘we’ first offers a potentially inclusive address, based upon
shared interest (‘we’ve gotta tighten the number of skills we need’, on line 16),
before immediately restricting the terms of inclusion to those with the governmental capacity to determine future policy direction (’that’s why we’re moving from
care assistants to chefs ... where we train up British people’, on lines 17–20).
Cameron’s second turn, in which he responds to Brown, has two qualities that are
worthy of note. The beginning of Cameron’s turn reasserts his illocutionary position
in communion with a casually unspecified number of the overhearing public by
giving voice to their thoughts: ‘a lot of people I think would ask though (.) y’know
we’ve had thirteen years of a government ...’ (lines 23–24). He then switches his
pronominal usage to the second personal singular of ‘you’ in order to address this
overhearing public directly (‘if you look at the (.) numbers (.) you know (.) immigration numbers were never greater ...’, on lines 25–26). However, what Cameron
then appears to do is to direct his fire towards Brown’s chosen institutional footing,
repositioning the second personal singular in an attack on Brown’s record (‘under
your government they’ve never been less than a hundred and forty thousand a
year’, on lines 27–28; ‘it’s only now you’re starting to take this and you’re only
starting (.) just before an election’, on lines 29–30).
In a parallel of his use of the second person plural in attacking Brown, Cameron’s
turns are marked by his use of the first person singular pronoun in reference to
himself; a quality that Norman Fairclough (2000, 103) has detected in the presentational style of Tony Blair. Whereas Brown’s only use of ‘I’ is to express the internal
state of ‘dislike’ for the terms of Cameron’s argument (line 8), otherwise containing
references to himself within the governmental ‘we’ (which he does on most
occasions) or the home nation (which he does on two occasions), the first-person
agency of Cameron is apparent throughout his turns. Furthermore, in keeping with
the patterns that Martin Montgomery (1999) picks out as markers of ‘speaking
sincerely’ in public, Cameron aligns first-person pronouns with mental states,
thereby presenting his speech as driven by compulsion (‘I mean’, on line 1; ‘I do
think’, on line 4; ‘I think’, on line 23).
To some extent, the pre-election position of Cameron as leader of a party in
opposition gives him greater latitude to take up a position on behalf of the overhearing public, in opposition to the governing authorities. Through this, Cameron
is better able to position himself outside an institutional or partisan frame by placing
a rhetorical emphasis on his own subjective agency. Yet, perhaps a significant mark
of the difference in Brown’s style from Cameron’s is that Brown shows less inclination to adopt a populist mode of address that positions him in common cause
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with the people. So while Busby (2009, 191), for one, emphasises the presentational influence that the rise in Cameron’s popularity had over Brown, this does not
extend to Cameron’s strategic use of populist inclusivity in his political performances. Cameron’s performances are notable in that they evoke similarities to
modes of address that are commonly adopted by media personalities and performers, who adopt a para-social method of presenting a one-way address as if it is part
of a two-way conversation with the viewer.
The Performance of Politics and the
Political Performance
So far we have discussed how the leadership candidates have been engaged in
various kinds of activities to align themselves with the studio audience, the viewing
audience (the wider political public) or with political institutions, while performing
to different degrees such qualities as sincerity and informality. We have examined
these activities in the context of our opening argument that such performances can
be seen as part of the construction of a political personality, or brand, and situated
within debates around celebrity in politics. While we have hinted at these factors in
our discussion of ‘self synchrony’ (Condon and Ogston 1966), we now want to
emphasise that there is a further performative dimension to this: political performances are not just words, but also embodied performances—kinetic and gestural;
visual as well as oral and aural. There is a significant body of academic writing in
performance studies, rarely addressed by political communication scholars, that has
sought to understand the politics of performance, and such work has analysed
performance as a particular cultural activity through which textual, social and
ideological meanings are produced and circulated (Diamond 1996; Drake 2006).
According to Elin Diamond (1996, 4), analysis of performance addresses:
questions of subjectivity (who is speaking/acting?), location (in what
sites/spaces?), audience (who is watching?), commodification (who is in
control?), conventionality (how are meanings produced?), politics (what
ideological or social positions are being reinforced or contested?).
Clearly these questions are highly pertinent to a greater understanding of political
performance and the performance of politics. Engaging with questions of performance has the potential to offer a more dynamic model of the interface between
celebrity, political communication and politics. Such a focus avoids a static categorical (or constative) model of the celebrity–politics relationship and suggests instead
that meanings arise out of the application and recognition of a particular performative frame (politician as celebrity performer on a television chat show, or politician as parliamentary speech-maker, for instance). As we have seen, these
meanings are further contingent on how a particular public is constituted (for
instance as a mediated television audience) and the appropriate mode of address
and engagement.
Analysing these processes of framing and mediation is critical to a better understanding of the various formulations of political celebrity. Earlier we offered a broad
definition of celebrity as a ‘mediated public persona’. We might then expand this to
suggest that celebrity can be conceptualised as a mediating frame (or set of frames)
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through which different kinds of public performances are enacted and recognised as
such by constituted publics (Drake and Higgins 2006; Higgins 2008; Drake and Miah
2010). Celebrity, then, can be understood as a performative relationship activated
through these processes rather than as a condition that precedes them. In such a
conceptualisation, political celebrity is not an innate quality possessed by certain
individuals, but a set of frames through which particular modes of political performance may be enacted.
As we have stressed, political performances can take place in varying frames, many
of which are not conventionally viewed as political spaces. An example of this is
David Cameron’s aforementioned appearance on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross,
which caused some controversy due to Ross’ unconventional and informal line of
questioning. This was a particular kind of political celebrity performance by
Cameron that differed in framing from an interview with the BBC’s Jeremy
Paxman, or from a heated exchange in Prime Minister’s Questions. It draws more
explicitly upon the resources associated with celebrity (renown, public visibility,
recognition, informality) in a way that analysis of framing and performance can
help us to decipher. Different frames lend appropriacy to various forms of political
performance, and situate them within different, often contrasting realms of judgement and approval.
As we have tried to show through our examples above, at times political performance is itself able to re-key the current primary frame so as to suggest a greater
sincerity. During the leaders’ debates Nick Clegg continually attempted to reframe
the debate so as to appear to be above the (implied petty) party political squabbling
of the other two leaders. For instance he responds to a questioner during the first
debate by saying: ‘I’m not sure if you’re like me, but the more they attack each
other, the more they sound exactly the same’. That is, by questioning a particular
performance frame (the two-party ‘Punch and Judy’ contest of political debate),
Clegg attempts to confer his current frame (foregrounding the truth of his own
utterances) with the greater authority. Goffman astutely comments on such a
strategy by pointing out:
When a character comments on a whole episode of activity in frame terms,
he acquires a peculiar reality through the same words by which he
undermines the one that was just performed (Goffman 1974, 400, emphasis in original).
There is potential for this kind of reframing in many political performances, and
both Cameron and Clegg are adept at this. An aside in a speech, rather like a preface
to a book, or a talk, can act as a device through which the politician can stand
outside and comment upon that which will be undertaken or has been already
done. It works to bracket off and layer one kind of performance from another, to
reframe what comes before or after, to change the meaning, to appear sincere and
more authentic than others. As well as Clegg, we have discussed an instance in
which Brown also does this by stating that the leaders’ debates might be mistaken
for a popularity contest, thereby positioning himself as selfless and dutiful, not
interested in popularity for its own sake.
However in spite of Brown’s attempts to question the worth of the competitive
frame of a televised debate, Clegg’s strategy—even more than Cameron’s—was able
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to offer a form of continual commentary on the conventional terms of a frame of
politics as usual and through doing so gain greater potential claims to political
sincerity. By drawing upon his distance from the two-party-dominated political
system he was able to position himself as an outsider in a way similar to celebrities
when they comment on politics (see the analysis of Bono in Drake and Higgins
2006). Both Cameron and Brown were, because of this strategy, forced into
attempts to diffuse this authority through repeated ‘I agree with Nick’ responses
(which became a short-lived national catchphrase).
Moreover, in tandem with an examination of framing, we need to analyse performance with regard to sets of rhetorical conventions: the ‘mode of address’ and the
‘degree of ostensiveness’ (Naremore 1990; Drake 2006). We have already discussed
the mode of address. As we noted, the opening and closing statements of the
leaders’ debates used direct address—offering a stronger address to viewers and
listeners at home—and this then reverted to a question and answer session with
more indirect address, mediated through the studio audience. As we argued, Brown
made significantly less use of direct address to camera, and relied instead on the
conventions of the traditional political speech.
The term ‘ostensiveness’ refers to the scale of the gestures of the performance—the
‘showing’ of the performance. In performance there is a clear relationship between
ostentation and framing conditions—the frame of the political speech, for instance,
already ostends the performance. Similarly the physical staging of the debates
presented the leaders as ostended signs. Indeed, celebrity politicians are alreadyencoded ostensive signs. This is in part due to the way that they become associated
with a repertoire of performance signs that circulate beyond the formal political
domain: their ‘idiolect’, the tropes strongly associated with a particular performer
(Naremore 1990; Drake and Higgins 2006). Tony Blair’s grin, David Cameron’s
amiable seriousness and open-palmed earnest gestures, Gordon Brown’s earnest
scowl all contribute to a recognisable bodily performance, just as their speech
idiolect contributes to their vocal performance, and feeds into strategies of selfpresentation. Further analysis of political performance in these terms has some
potential to offer insights into the effectiveness of political performance that cannot
be addressed through more conventionally deployed techniques, such as content or
discourse analysis, on their own.
Concluding Remarks
In this article we have attempted to outline a series of strategic practices in political
performance, and through our analysis of the television leaders’ debates we have
shown how these practices are manifest in attempts by politicians to align themselves with the studio audience and the viewing (political) public. This emerges in
different ways from each of the leaders and might be seen as a response to the
widely reported public disenchantment with formal politics, using the debates as
the ideal platform. Certainly Ruth Wodak (2009, 19) points out the opportunity,
and perhaps obligation, for many successful contemporary political performers to
find a means of engaging with widespread political disaffection, not just with
politicians but also with politics in general. Adopting a celebrity/personality frame,
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we have suggested, is one way in which this might be done, as it moves debates
away from judgements about issues to those about the personal qualities and
likeability of the utterer.
In the leaders’ debates the performances should therefore be seen as strategic, and
more aligned with the manner in which each leader is positioned in the debates
relative to the sitting government (enabling Clegg’s performance of sincerity, for
instance) than with any dominant political styles, and more or less attuned to the
demands of television and the requisite televisual performance for a mediated
public. For Cameron and Clegg, there was some scope to extend briefly the
performance of ‘outraged bystander’ after electoral success by taking a position
relative to the previous government’s legacy. However, once in political office, such
a position for both has been far more difficult to sustain, calling for revised
performance strategies and, in Clegg’s case, a different relationship to the political
establishment.
In large part, the question of what makes some political performances/performers
successful and others less so remains elusive. It is tempting to return to Weber’s
account of the political quality of ‘charisma’, in which the qualities of leadership
draw upon a ‘personal gift of grace’ (Weber 1971 [1919], 29). Yet, applying Weber’s
version of charisma to contemporary British politics is not necessarily a straightforward matter. For one thing, the term itself emerges from a religious discourse—
the charisma of the prophet—which implies a form of unconditional devotion that
does not fit neatly to electoral politics in the UK in spite of the encroachment of the
celebrity frame. Yet, referring to the British case in particular, Paul Ricoeur argues that:
In a democratic system like the British form of government, people vote
for three things at the same time: a programme, a party, and a leader.
Therefore we can never bracket completely the element of leadership,
because politics is the place where decisions are made for the whole. The
necessity of decision making preserves, at least as a residual element, the
charismatic (Ricoeur 1986, 212).
In our analysis of political performance the charismatic appears to play a part. Yet
while seductive, the concept of charisma is ultimately unsatisfactory. Much like
celebrity, political ‘likeability’ is a process that is performed (and constantly has to
be re-performed), not innate. ‘Charisma’ implies that these characteristics are as
much a personal quality as one’s DNA, whereas we have argued here that they
are both performative and frame contingent. Successful political performance—
such as that of Clegg in the leaders’ debates—may be short-lived. Clegg’s success did
not ultimately translate into electoral success for the Liberal Democrats, and while
it did enable his own rise to deputy prime minister in the following coalition
government, it did not protect him from unpopularity with a significant percentage
of the political public when he became associated with coalition public sector cuts
and increased higher education tuition fees.
Further elaboration is needed on these themes, taking full account of Ricoeur’s
(1986, 212) call that ‘charismatic authority’ be met with an examination of ‘credentials’ and how Street’s (2004) reflections on celebrity politicians clarifies the
terms within which we can make these judgements. In our analysis of the three
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party leaders as political performers, we have highlighted strategies of engagement
in public dialogue and ways of claiming the credentials of the political public.
Successful performance style draws upon the resources of celebrity and personality
but also operates in tandem with established political persona, is mediated through
framing, and hinges on the ability to address political realities in ways that are
judged by viewers and by voters to be sincere and believable.
About the Authors
Philip Drake, Department of Film, Media & Journalism, University of Stirling, Stirling FK9 4LA,
Scotland, UK, email: p.j.drake@stir.ac.uk
Michael Higgins, School of Humanities, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow G1 1XH, Scotland,
UK, email: michael.higgins@strath.ac.uk
Note
The authors would like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their useful comments, Angela Smith, John
Street, Andy Ruddock and the editors of this journal for organising a 2010 PSA round table on celebrity
politics that aided the development of the ideas presented in this article.
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