The author, John Marek, is a writer and CEO of the Anson Economic Development Partnership.
Brandon Cronenberg’s new movie, “Infinity Pool,” opened last week to solid reviews and decent box office receipts. It’s a bloody horror film about wealthy travelers to a third-world country who pay to watch their clones executed. That plot shouldn’t be surprising since Brandon’s father, David Cronenberg, pioneered the “body horror” genre. Many of the online criticisms of the film, in fact, have less to do with the quality of the filmmaking and more with the perceived unfairness of Hollywood nepotism. Cronenberg and others with famous actors, directors and producers for parents are increasingly characterized as “nepo babies,” a derogatory term implying they have only achieved their success because of their lineage.
It is hard to argue that actors such as Gwyneth Paltrow (daughter of Blythe Danner and Bruce Paltrow), Maya Hawke (daughter of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman) and Lily-Rose Depp (daughter of Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis) didn’t benefit from their family connections. Being raised among the Hollywood elite exposed them to the craft of acting in ways a workshop at the local community college simply cannot, and dropping mom or dad’s name during an audition probably didn’t hurt either. But is it fair to criticize them for that? And do the vast majority of the people doing the criticizing have the standing to do so?
It would be one thing if a more talented actress who lost out on a role to Maya Hawke complained about it, but the vast majority of people posting on Twitter and TikTok about the unfairness of nepotism are just lashing out from their parents’ basement at anyone they believe caught a break. And, to one extent or another, aren’t we all nepo babies?
My college roommate, Mark, worked summers in the paint factory where his father was a supervisor. His job was “third shift maintenance,” which he described as a “cushy” mixture of pushing a broom, emptying wastebaskets and drinking coffee at the incredible pay rate (for the time) of $7 an hour. Would Mark have gotten that job without his father’s aid? Maybe, but I kind of doubt it.
In past columns, I have written about my first “real” job at Underwood’s, a family-style restaurant in my hometown. But I have never described the story of how I got that job. That’s because there is no story. I never filled out an application. I never had an interview. My older sisters, who worked there as
waitresses, approached the owner and said, “Our little brother needs a summer job.” The owner replied, “When can he start?”
If we honestly examine our pasts, even those of us whose brand is “pulled ourselves up by our own bootstraps” will likely admit that family connections played some role in where we are today. Although my mother was just a school cafeteria worker, you’d be surprised how many of my teachers asked if I was Josie Marek’s son; her reputation as a purveyor of fine baked goods cementing that all-important first impression. And Mom’s cafeteria job itself was likely not hindered by the fact that her sister-in-law was the food service director for Port Clinton City Schools. It goes on and on.
Maybe it’s not a prominent role in a popular Netflix series or the opportunity to carry on the family business of composing bloody horror, but most of us have benefitted from our family connections. Some might call that “privilege,” but in reality, it’s just the way the world works.