Arriving just in time for Oscar fatigue to set in, Fametracker presents the third annual Rasco P. Soultrain Awards, where the winners are, for the most part, losers.

Famous Person of the Year

In past years, we have had multiple potential candidates for the dubious honour of Famous Person of the Year -- the person whose every professional decision is clearly and solely informed by the overriding will to absorb as much fame as is humanly possible. Following in the footsteps of previous winners Jennifer Lopez and Russell Crowe is this year's famous person of the year, Britney Spears.

We have tried, here on Fametracker, to deny the power of Britney Spears. We administered a Fame Audit, in which we recommended that her level of fame be reduced to that of Kylie Minogue (and hey, who said Kylie could get a fortieth shot at pop stardom, anyway?). We hopefully named her Newgoer of the Year, 2000, confidently declaring that "Britney has exactly no more albums in her. None." Which is true, if by "none," you mean "two or more."

After the year she's had, we can no longer pretend that Britney is not a force to be reckoned with in the arena of fame. Her actual output of product, varied though it is, has not actually generated much fuel in the form of widespread public approbation, and yet the engine of her fame is like a perpetual motion machine, chugging on and on, faster and faster, regardless.

Since her Fame Audit back in 1999, Spears's fame has grown almost exponentially. In addition to all the usual popstar crap -- albums, performances on award shows, spurious Grammy nominations, a lavish concert special on HBO -- Spears has penetrated as many other media as will have her, assaulting the public with a series of Pepsi ads (including one in which it is implied that Bob Dole's use of Viagra is partially motivated by his sexual attraction to her); a Super Bowl half-time performance; a multi-spot Super Bowl commercial "event"; a celebrity boyfriend in her fame caste; a videogame; a "book" with her mom; and, finally, the inevitable star movie vehicle. And that's not all: she announced this week that she would enter the restaurant business and start her own clothing line. The only fame worlds left for her to conquer are a TV series starring an animated version of her, voiced by a soundalike; an eponymous magazine; a Maybelline endorsement; and a nutritionally suspect breakfast cereal.

Spears and her publicity team -- and I just pray, for their families' sake, that each member of that team has the number of a suicide hotline programmed into their cell phones -- have such a relentless death grip on the spotlight that, at this point, they are able to make news out of things that don't happen to her: that's how you end up with stories assuring us that Britney and Justin aren't dead; that Britney actually won't be appearing next season on Sex and the City; that Britney and Justin didn't break up. Even the casual observer of Spears's works knows as much about her weight, workout habits, and sexual life as her gynecologist probably does. Multiple hyphenate Jennifer Lopez doesn't even come approach the level of fame saturation Spears has achieved -- and J.Lo had a celebrity wedding this year, for God's sake.

Britney Spears is literally everywhere. Literally. Everywhere. Yes, you can avoid the bulk of her professional efforts by not watching MTV, but then you buy yourself a soda at the movies, and there she and her navel are on a collectible plastic cup. She is so ubiquitous that the word "ubiquitous" seems inadequate to contain her. There is no more Famous Person this year.

Most Undeservedly Famous Person of the Year

This year's most undeservedly famous person of the year is, arguably, not a person -- he's a series of 1s and 0s programmed by Dreamworks's animators. We say "arguably," because despite his debatable personhood, he appeared at the Golden Globes, will probably appear at the Oscars, endorsed Wal-Mart and Burger King, made it onto Entertainment Weekly's list of the top entertainers of 2001, and has a film franchise as secure as Angelina Jolie's. He is, of course, Shrek.

Yes, obviously, Shrek is not real. But he is famous, and his fame is, we feel, undeserved. The film that bears his name was released last summer to thunderous applause from critics. This critic saw it on its opening night and expected it to tank. (Mind you, this critic thought the same thing after seeing Titanic in its opening weekend, so clearly I am not at one with the average moviegoer.)

The movie in which Shrek appears is a parody. It breaks no new ground, either artistically or technically. Upon first viewing, the movie seemed to this commentator to be no more than a haphazard collection of smirking jokes at the expense of Disney, former employer of Dreamworks principal Jeffrey Katzenberg. Is that why Shrek is so beloved -- because it positions itself as the anti-Disney?

Apparently not, because the reason Shrek landed on so many critics' top ten lists is the political message that is, we're told, lurking somewhere behind all the brightly painted, Disney-looking, virtual scenery. You see, Shrek loves Princess Fiona even though she turns out to be a fat ogre girl transformed by magic to look like a thin human girl. When we learned that this was the reason that Shrek was so groundbreaking, and such a positive lesson for children to learn (though those children were probably bored stiff by all the Disney in-jokes they didn't get and tuned out well before Fiona's true form is revealed), our response was to note that the very fact that Fiona's appearance is an issue at all sort of negates the "positive" message that conventionally unattractive characters deserve to find love just as much as skinny princesses do.

Shrek is a one-note visual joke, goosed by a half-note ethnic audio joke in the form of Mike Myers's well-worn "funny" Scottish accent. We're sure we don't know to what PC issue Shrek will pay ill-considered lip service in the inevitable Shrek sequel. We also don't care. Shrek doesn't deserve his fame, and the movie doesn't deserve its fawning and seemingly endless accolades.

Newgoer of the Year

Usually the newgoer of the year award goes to some young upstart, recently vaulted to fame -- the so-long, we-hardly-knew-ye types who've only just found themselves on the red carpet of celebrity when they realize that the carpet is, in fact, a conveyor belt -- and their ride is almost over.

This year, though, the Newgoer isn't an upstart but a long-familiar face -- one that, in its Teutonic severity, has improbably adorned movie posters around the world for over two decades. Yes, it's finally come time to bid adieu to that two-syllable grunt of a man, the Ah-nuld (a.k.a. Arnold Schwarzenegger).

We, too, could barely believe it when they cast the former bodybuilding champ in the live-action version of Conan the Barbarian way back in 1982 -- an epochal cinematic event that happened before many young Fametrackers were out of diapers. And we, too, thrilled to his plodding acting and gurgling enunciation in The Terminator -- how brilliant was James Cameron to take this plodding, gurgling slab of a man and cast him as the ultimate robot killing machine? (Why the cyborg has a severe Austrian accent is a question that's gone thus far unanswered in both of the Terminator films.) We, too, cheered as he delivered his monotone, tongue-in-cheek eulogies for the various villainous henchmen he so efficiently and creatively dispatched throughout the 1980s. ("Remember when I said I'd kill you last? I lied.") In short, we, too, loved the Ah-nuld; sometimes hated to love him, sometimes felt embarrassed to love him (most often around the Planet Hollywood start-up days), but at all times, loved him just the same.

Now, however, it's time for the Ah-nuld to lumber out to pasture and lay his weary, steroid-sculpted body down. Really, when your last film gets a macabre publicity boost -- as Collateral Damage did post-9/11, first as the symbol for Just the Kind of Entertainment We're Not Interested In Anymore, and then, a few months later, as The Movie That Got Postponed Because We Weren't Supposed To Be Interested In That Stuff Anymore, But Is Now Opening At a Theatre Near You -- and it still fails to make even a ripple on the surface of the public's consciousness, you know it's time to pack the tent. In fact, it was probably time to pack the tent after Eraser. Or Batman & Robin. Or The 6th Day. Or End of Days. Wait -- were those last two even different movies?

But no -- instead of enjoying a semi-respectable retirement as Hollywood's favourite former action-franchise and serial adulterer, the Ah-nuld is reviving the Terminator series, which means the new installment will now have two questions to answer: Mommy, why is the robot talking funny? And why did they make him look so old?

So we say to the Ah-nuld: Please. You've had a long and, in its way, impressive career. Your consonant-heavy last name is so well known, it's in the spell check of our word processor program! But enough is enough. Watching you in an action movie is now about as fun as watching a Clydesdale run the Kentucky Derby. Strangely fascinating, yes, but, really, it's something we can live without. And so can a lot of people, it would seem. So repeat after us: It's over. Or, to put it in words you can understand: It's Oh-Vuh.

The William H. Macy Memorial HITG! Graduation

You loved him as the guy who gets run over by a slam-dunking Jim Carrey in The Cable Guy! You loved him as the disorderly orderly in Jesus' Son! And you especially loved him when he asked you what's your favourite dish, then didn't make it, but ordered it from Zanzibar's!

Ladies and gentleman, please join us in congratulating this year's Hey! It's That Guy! Graduate: Jack Black!

With apologies to the competition, there really was no competition for this year's HITG! Graduation Award. Sure, Viggo Mortensen had a big year, but in the minds of most Americans, he simply went from being The Guy With the Weird Name in That Gwyneth Paltrow Movie to being The Guy With the Weird Name in Lord of the Rings.

Jack Black, however...well, Jack Black went from being The Manic Dude Who Stole High Fidelity to being identified, in a New York Times Grammy-party photo round-up, as simply, "Jack Black." Which is pretty much the opposite if being a Hey, It's That Guy!

Of course, it helps that he has a name that sounds like an olde-tyme Western villain or moustache-twirling, silent-movie scoundrel. It also helps that he starred in a Farrelly Brothers comedy this year, the posters for which became the official wallpaper for bus shelters across North America.

But what really sewed it up for Jack Black is that, in addition to being 2002's breakout comedian, he also found fame and success (well, limited fame and some success) with his band, Tenacious D. Suddenly, there was Jack Black in Premiere, and there was Jack Black in Spin! Call 2002 the year of the "Black-out"! Except that instead of being really dark so that you can't see anything, it was light and you could see several photos of Jack Black in different places.

Added together, the screen fame and the D fame combined for a kind of sudden-fame overload -- like if, say, William H. Macy went from being a recognizable character actor to being nominated for an Oscar, and winning a Grammy, too. Or, as Black himself might put it, 2002 was something like the celebrity equivalent of a Double Team Supreme.

Most Likely to Become a Personality Before the Rascos are Awarded Again

Take a failed talk show. Add an endorsement of a discount collect-calling service. Throw in an ex-SNL pedigree, and shake vigorously. What's the result? A Personality, of course.

That recipe incorporates some of the most notorious lowlights of Dennis Miller's career. He still heads up a successful, Emmy-winning half-hour HBO talk show, so he hasn't quite crossed all the way over to the status of full-time Personality; he has, however, forfeited all claims he once had to relevance. Unlike his one-time network-mate Chris Rock, Dennis Miller didn't go out on a high note and end his show at the height of its popularity; of course, that may be due to the fact that Miller has already tried several other career paths, with mostly dismal results.

Consider the trajectory. Sure, we all loved him on SNL. He anchored "Weekend Update" during a period when the show's talent was at a rare high point -- a time we like to call The Hartman Years. "Update" was a fine showcase for what we later learned were Miller's limited talents: he was smarmy and sanctimonious, but only for about five minutes per episode -- which, as we later learned, was the proper dose of Miller. He was a smart, funny "Update" host and cast a long shadow over everyone who followed him in the position, right up to The Tina Fey Years.

Then came the syndicated talk show. Then came the cancellation of the syndicated talk show. Then came the INTERMINABLE GODDAMN BITCHING from Miller about the cancellation of the syndicated talk show, a tale that has now attained near-legendary status -- you know, he read about it in the newspaper? No one told him directly? Remember? Miller hammered this point relentlessly until years afterward, through appearances on The Rosie O'Donnell Show right up to his Emmy acceptance speech for his HBO show. Like, by the time Miller got his own self-titled show, he'd been working in television for some time. It wasn't until he read about his show's cancellation in the newspaper that he twigged that show-business types can sometimes evince a total lack of common courtesy and decency? It's not like Miller got fired from his job as a Red Cross nurse or an ACLU lawyer by reading about it in the newspaper.

Then came the movie "career"...and the less said about Miller's unique contributions to Disclosure, The Net, Murder at 1600, and Tales from the Crypt Presents: Bordello of Blood, the better for us all. Suffice it to say, Miller's gifts did not lend themselves well to the medium of film.

Then came the rather odd move to ABC's Monday Night Football, where Miller contributed colour commentary. Miller, mind you, is neither an ex-football player nor an ex-football coach. He's just a dude who happens to have a lot of arcane historic and pop-cultural references at his fingertips. And, sure, this gig was putting Miller's mug in front of an audience that might not ever see him otherwise...but then, that's an audience that probably never wanted to see him otherwise. And, in any case, it's over; Miller has "left" the show...but we all know what that means.

At this time in 2001, Dennis Miller had two toeholds on celebrityhood. Now he has one. Next year, who knows? We do. And he'll be a Personality by then.

Lifetime Achievement Award

We've figured it out: Michael Jackson is the Picture of Dorian Gray for the world of celebrities. More specifically, Michael Jackson is the canvas on which all the excesses, indulgences, perversions, and degenerations of famous people everywhere are made physically manifest, so that the celebrities themselves can maintain their sheen of youthful perfection. (Okay, excepting Melanie Griffith.) The only difference between Michael Jackson and Dorian Gray's portrait is that, sadly, we don't keep Michael Jackson hidden in the attic.

As we've noted on this site before, we're not keen to pile on to poor, poor Michael Jackson, who's certainly had more heartache in his life than most of us will ever...oh hell, as if any of us can even begin to conceive what it's like to be Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson! He was married to Elvis's daughter! And that's not even the half of it!

It's also not really the point. The point is that no one better personifies -- literally personifies -- the ravages of modern celebrity than the erstwhile King of Pop. Really, if you had to sum up everything that is wrong and horrifying and frightening about our slavish celebrity culture and communicate it to, say, an alien from outer space, could you really do better than simply to hold up a photo of MJ, and shrug?

As we well know, Michael Jackson has legions of zombie-like fans who rise up to defend him against any perceived slight, hint of criticism, or mere suggestion that maybe he could have possibly at some point in time attempted to alter his skin, nose, and face, with somewhat unflattering results. (Why he, of all pop singers, inspires this level of knee-jerk devotion, we're not sure -- where were all you people when Paula Abdul really needed you?) So we will not focus on his oft-remarked appearance, or his creepy predilections, or his flame-out of a comeback album, or even his shameless profiteering in the days immediately following 9/11. We have chosen him for the Lifetime Achievement Award this year because this year he finally, inarguably, became entirely irrelevant to the world of pop.

We're not happy to point this out -- we loved Thriller, too. But he only has himself to blame -- well, himself and those zombie-like fans, who insist on over-praising every mediocre single and misguided publicity stunt as though it was the second coming of Sgt. Pepper and the rediscovery of insulin, all rolled into one. (You're not doing him any favors, people!) Really, who but Michael Jackson could spend an insane amount of cash to hire the half-dozen hottest, most innovative R&B producers on the planet -- people like The Neptunes and Rodney Jenkins -- and then screw up every single track with his trademark "whoo-hoos!," as though it was still 1983 and every kid in America was still clambering, one-gloved, to their local KMart to buy one of those multi-zippered red leather jackets?

Sure, today's pop stars feel the need to pay lip service to Jackson's continued pop supremacy. ("Yes, we'll dance with you -- just please stop staring at our crotches.") But when it came time for these same stars to join him in the studio -- to heal the nation! -- they all hightailed it to the exits, trailing a stream of "No comments." Because they know what we know what everyone knows, except maybe Macauley Culkin and Liz Taylor and Liza Minnelli and several million people in Germany: Michael Jackson doesn't matter anymore.

Which, folks, is just fine -- that doesn't mean he never mattered, or that you can't still like the good old stuff just as much as you always have. But let's face it, not many pop stars make a huge record in one decade and are still artistically relevant twenty years after the fact. Do you think anyone will be calling Alanis the Queen of Pop in 2015? Do you think anyone's calling her that now? Do you think she cares? No, but then again, she's not completely insane.

And on that note, we introduce this year's recipient for the Rasco's Lifetime Achievement Award of Fame: Mr. Michael Jackson.