The NGV Triennial work Wilson Must Go, originally titled Love Story, presents an investigation on how video art “that re-appropriates multi-sensory popular culture as a form of social critique can provide a model for critical, interdisciplinary conversations” (Spont 2015, p. 295). Seven screens basing the audio on six situations in which individuals have fled their countries from numerous occurrences, Breitz “evokes the global scale of the so-called refugee crisis” (Martinique 2018, para. 1) by providing a voice for minorities and cultures that are whitewashed or unheard by the world of art.
Breitz, whose name coincides with the art of “appropriating clips of famous Hollywood actors and creating montages from them” (Batycka 2017, para. 2), utilizes her artistic platform to dismantle ideologies around the identification of modern Hollywood and it’s presented reality. Adopting verbatim as a means of storytelling in this individual work, Breitz previous artistic productions are not alien of investigating the social representation of pop culture and the cult of celebrity, and merging these notions to amplify “voices that often go unheard, and to help empower and repair dignity” (Martinique 2018, para. 1) through the use of her privilege as a Caucasian South African woman. Alluding to the reality of six unheard of names who fled from their birthplace, the work entices viewers with a cinematic installation of two notable Hollywood names, Alec Baldwin and Juilanne Moore, as the title, Wilson Must Go, references these individuals own, foreign realities and the uplifting moments and pitfalls that follow.
“Alec, you’re famous! People will listen to you” Baldwin states to himself as he retells the real life circumstances of a man seeking refuge as he travels to Italy on a congested boat before a singular day in 2015 where he arrived in Berlin. Moore interrupts, depicting a callous onslaught her family endured in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, before seeking asylum towards as unreliable and undetermined future for her children. In modern times, Breitz combination of readymade footage transforms into almost a remix, as she illustrates her creative process by drawing “on a long avantgarde tradition that has become part the inescapable condition of our contemporary world” (Spont 2015, p. 299). Being commissioned by the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne, the cinematic projection conveyed an emotion of being focused on by Moore and Baldwin as the passers-by are subjected to dismantled clips of identifiable different gestures and vocal cues by the two actors introducing us to “those who are typically destined to remain … beyond our zones of comfort” (Koch 2017, para. 2). Seventy-three minutes of jumbled clips presenting Moore and Baldwin makes the viewers vulnerable to a “dramatized narration that moves us to tears and to laughter, and the inevitably awkward spectacle that ensues as we observe two highly-privileged celebrities attempting to earnestly channel lives that could not be more remote from their own” (Koch 2017, para. 2).
Removing the glamorized montage of Hollywood privilege in the first space of the installation, the viewers are able to access the second area that presents the viewers with the six original interviewees on large screens, each accompanied by headphones where they are able to hear the narrative from those who lived through the experience. Seeking refuge from her native Kinshasa, in the Congo, Mamy Maloba Langa states the common ideology that based on social status “people don’t even care about us, you know. They would never put us on a movie screen and talk about us”. Breitz’s Wilson Must Go bares the unbalanced power of art when utilizing those in the spotlight in juxtaposition with unnamed or unheard of marginalized people. “Some of the most pressing social issues of our times have come into the limelight only after Hollywood actors … performed certain roles”, Shabeena Saveri, a transgendered activist explains as she fled India under relentless coercion. Employing six narratives of refuge in the public view, initially verbalized by two mainstream actors has “built a bridge” (Koch 2017, para. 3) where the audience is enticed to hear the true story from those who experienced it after hearing the reinterpretation.
In an age to capture our short spans of attention, the work presenting twenty-two hours of footage overwhelms the viewer who, quite possibly, is unable to watch it all, however by immersing Wilson Must Go with notable star power, Breitz considers “how our ability to consume entertainment masks our ability to see and empathize with others” (Batycka 2017, para. 7). This utilization of star power in both video art, and the creative practice of screen acting stems from the root of the whitewashing propensity of Hollywood that Breitz is able to extract ideas from. This perpetual and sensitive topic has been an enduring occurrence since acting, and specifically screen acting has been brought in the public eye which “several high-profile non-white characters were played by white actors” (Batycka 2017, para. 3) amidst the blockbusters that premiered late last year. Wilson Must Go dissects this controversial proclivity to substitute the minorities with Hollywood names and abled the work to bare this notion by presenting it in a raw form, and then having the real stories visible and audible behind it. The interview structure presented to the viewer “deconstructs the logistics of the attention economy in a way that calls into question how we perceive the narratives of those who have been forcibly displaced, albeit filtered by deceptive forms of Hollywood whitewashing” (Batycka 2017, para. 7) which is an uncommon trait within screen acting for Hollywood movies which have only just recently began seeing a backlash when controversy arises.
Having a history of painting over people of colour, Hollywood in comparison to Breitz work is still fairly living amidst the past. Using white actors to portray other races has been employed for decades, and although certain characteristics of it are unacceptable today, subtle versions of this offensive look into art is still seeping through the cracks. The television series Kung Fu (1972) whose owes the notion to famous “Asian martial artist Bruce Lee, who had hoped to play the main character” (Lowrey 2010, p.1), casted David Carradine as the producer stated, “If we put a yellow man up on the tube, the audience will turn the switch off in less than five minutes” (Mako gtd. In Michelle). Fast forward to modern Hollywood, The Last Airbender employed all white actors to represent the lead characters, regardless of its setting in a fictional Asian world. “Contemporary art is forever looking for something new, disengaging with the cultural normal and … historical canon” (McKever 2009, p. 49) and Breitz work, especially due to her physical attributes as a white South African woman, utilizes her platform to lay “bare these cultural and political dynamics”.
Wilson Must Go “uncovers the mechanisms of cultural hegemony and how the media de-personifies narratives of displacement” (Batycka 2017, para. 8), as the project entices the viewer in a claustrophobic and intimate environment. Adopting the familiar faces of notable Hollywood royalty and infusing six individuals situations of refuge whose voice relates to numerous other beings in similar unfortunate positions allows for the cinematic-esque work to project the voice and independence of those who believed and are seemingly right, silenced by the mainstream media.