Wade Deep

I was prepared to loathe Wade Robson. Discovered by Michael Jackson when he was only five years old, he’s appeared in three music videos alongside the erstwhile, self-proclaimed king of pop. He was referred to as the “unofficial sixth member of NSYNC,” actually standing in for an injured Joey Fatone during intricate dance sequences in their “Pop” video. He suggested Britney Spears rip her clothes off and expose her inner self at the 2000 MTV Awards. To me, Wade seemed part of the MTV/Mickey Mouse Club machine that helped to ruin pop music and make a slew of untalented, slim-hipped automatons into worldwide, worshipped superstars. I was wrong. One phone call taught me that Wade is not only a cool and funny dude, but he also remains fully aware of the nature of the fake, plastic beast he’s helped create.

“Famous people are like a different breed,” he muses, and I can only imagine what he’s seen out there in Hollywood. “I would never want fame like that. I prefer to stay behind the scenes, be creative that way.” Who can blame him? He’s seen Michael Jackson’s wretched fall from grace, and the omnipresent overexposure that plagues Britney. Wade Robson doesn’t even watch music videos anymore, and the only current artist who lights his fire is Usher because he’s talented enough not to have to succumb to “booty-shaking bullshit.” The sycophants came sniffing around Wade too, and he turned down their offers to make him a star, to produce an album of disposable, sugar-coated crapola. Instead, he’s signed a three-picture directing deal with Disney to bring back the movie musical. The film he’s currently attached to, 5,6,7,8, actually sounds complex and interesting. Instead of being a meatheaded hoofer, the guy exposed me for the judgmental critic that I am. Touché, Wade. Touché.