What I want, I get: demanding divas

Time was when artistes were always prefixed by the word 'struggling' and were housed in garrets bereft of any form of luxury, sustained only by an intrinsic belief in their own talents.

Today, things are rather different. Even the most average actor, it seems, lives in a mansion with a coterie of staff and measures their worth by the size of their Hollywood trailer.

Welcome to the age of the celebrity, a curious time in which talent is often secondary to grandeur and the illusion of excellence.

And with the fleeting nature of such fame comes an almost demonic desire to hold on to and inflate it at all costs.

What better way to advertise your status than with a huge entourage and the absurd demands of a diva?

This weekend, it was reported that former Spice Girl Geri Halliwell had demanded control of camera angles when she is filmed judging an upcoming television talent show.

Geri is also said to be considering banning any of the contestants from doing covers of her songs - lest they overshadow her.

Earlier this year, Madonna was reported to have demanded a sunken bath be installed in her dressing room for her appearance in Up For Grabs at London's Wyndham's Theatre.

Then there is fellow singer Mariah Carey, who will only drink tea made with Poland Spring water, and Christina Aguilera, who needs - no, demands - a police escort to get her to the stage on time.

In fact, there are so many strange requests made that one road manager, writing under the pseudonym Bill Kessler, has filled a new book with them.

Show The Girl The Door is an informative and hilarious catalogue of requests from stars.

Yet underneath this 'my dressing room is fancier than yours' mentality is a rather sad and disturbing insight into the flimsiness of modern celebrity.

For these same stars who fight so ferociously to protect their privacy, actually reveal through their demands so much about their deep insecurities.

In the early days of film, the concept of the celebrity seemed as laughable an idea as Man walking on the moon.

Major Hollywood studios such as MGM literally owned their actors, binding them to draconian contracts which insisted they appear in a specified number of movies each year for a relatively pitiful sum.

The trade- off was public adulation, infamy and perhaps some wardrobe cast-offs.

It was only when audiences, seduced by the studio propaganda, began to believe the hype surrounding their screen heroes that the actors saw their own value rise.

Studios didn't immediately increase their wages, but instead pandered to them with gifts of furs, cars and virtual handmaidens to wait on them.

The trend has continued and often serves to further remove the celebrity from everyday life.

For example, Oscar-winner Gwyneth Paltrow had her own macrobiotic chef prepare her food during her recent London theatre run.

And after September 11, a number of stars admitted to bizarre security precautions, including nuclear bunkers.

One of the earliest dressingroom divas - who now looks understated in comparison to his successors - was Frank Sinatra.

Ol' Blue Eyes stated that an ear, nose and throat specialist had to be on call on the day of a concert lest his voice fail him.

Otherwise, his main requirements were of the type not known to ease illness, but certainly to dull the memory of a particularly poor show.

The crooner requested seven specific brands of alcohol in his dressing room list, including Absolut Vodka, Beefeater Gin, Jack Daniels and Courvoisier.

Burt Bacharach also demanded for his dressing room 'one bottle of first-class white wine and one bottle of first-class red wine'.

Among current chart-toppers, alcohol is usually eschewed in favour of mineral water - a reflection on the number of young celebrities who burn out and have to be checked into rehab 'suffering from exhaustion'.

Late-night partying is forgone in favour of cleansing diets, alternative healers and endless yoga instruction.

For example, Jennifer Lopez likes to relax in an all-white dressing-room lit by candles as she sips Evian water - but only if it's at room temperature.

Crooner Tony Bennett, on the other hand, insists he is not collected in a white limousine, only blue or dark cars, please.

Food also has to be just so for today's performers. Fruit, vegetarian and organic ingredients feature prominently.

All a far cry from Neil Diamond's modest desire for a Chinese take-away served on a china plate.

Meanwhile, tubby tenor Luciano Pavarotti requires a kitchen 'like home' in which to prepare his food (no doubt this explains why he also asks for a golf cart in which to transport his bulk), and soft toilet paper.

Soft toilet paper, incidentally is one of the most oft-requested items on stars' 'must have' lists.

Britney Spears demands 'clean towels', as if any selfrespecting organisation would proffer any other type. She also fines local concert promoters £3,300 if any outside caller gets through to the private phone in her dressing room. Spears's requests, like those of other young performers who graduated from children's TV to celebrity status with precious little of a normal childhood in-between, give an unwitting insight into her lost youth.

She insists on a large bowl of candy bars, a supply of tuna salads with Hellman's mayonnaise, Pop Tarts and Doritos crisps, while Aguilera favours an equally childlike assortment, including Flintstones vitamins and chocolate milk.

On the other hand, singer Janet Jackson has one of the longest and most precise lists of backstage requirements.

She requires an entire medical team (including a masseuse) on stand-by, a local dry-cleaner and recycling facilities so that she and her entourage can do their bit for the environment while chomping their way through a shopping list of goodies.

Her changing facilities must be 'plush' and have seating for eight, a banquet table and lamps, be carpeted and exude a relaxed atmosphere.

Accommodation for her backing singers, however, need be little more than clean with hot and cold running water.

Of course, security is another big concern for the multimillionaire entertainers.

Country singer Shania Twain travels with her own sniffer dog, and Cher demands extra protection for her wigs, which must be kept in high-security rooms.

But perhaps the most revealing aspect of these stars' requests is the demands which involve their relationship with the fans who indirectly pay for those macrobiotic doughnuts.

Veteran Tony Bennett can't get enough of his fans and stipulates that they should be no more than 6ft from the stage.

But Barry Manilow - who invites an adoring fan on stage for a duet during one of his more nauseating numbers - demands his venue promoters keep fans away from him at all other times, and that no one approaches him for an autograph backstage.

That's as if any autograph hunter could get past the sniffer dogs, boxes of Poland Spring water and yoga instructors.