Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Mr. Polanski, I'm ready for my underaged full frontal close up
My agent says I can still play the 13 to 18 age bracket. Irregardless of this being true, ever since I was turned down for the role of Luke Ward on the hit Fox TV series, The O.C., my confidence has be cracked like a concert go-er's head by Courtney Love's swinging mic stand (apparently, actor and former Abercrombie and Finch model Chris Carmack looks better in a water polo Speedo than I do, that over-waxed casting couch slut). However, when the call came into audition for the title role of Roman Polanski's upcoming adaptation of Oliver Twist, my pulse skipped a beat. This was my big chance to make the leap from stage to silver screen.
For the past year, I have been toiling in relative acting obscurity, honing my craft and paying my dues in esteemed theatrical productions. Being mindful of the quality of my acting accumen, I selected only roles in pieces that would advance my depth, broaden my range and further stimulate my passion for and reputation in the craft. In that vein, I choose only roles of the highest artistic merit, roles which would challenge the modern social paradigm, roles that crest the issues that matter on to the craggy shores of human consciousness. My last ouvre was as principal understudy in the UK run of Footloose the Musical. In the original big screen version, the coveted role not only propelled a young Kevin Bacon to the top of the b-list but also left my fellow Julliard alumni speechless in what I can only assume was bitter, seering envy. However, my mastering of the part of dance vanguard Ren McCormack never saw light. The lead actor failed to take neither ill nor leave throughout the entire run of the production. Not even once. This is despite my repeated efforts of collecting, dressing and parading mephitic bag ladies backstage to his dressing room guised as lustful groupies. The son-of-a-bitch proved immune to street urchin born infections, venereal or otherwise. Growing weary of life in the shadows, I soon craved the allure of the cinema screen.
Polanski, a film-maker of considerable artistic and criminal achievement, is my ticket out of actor's skidsville. In 1977 he was charged with drugging and shagging a 13 year old girl. Am I concerned about Mr. Polanski's sordid history? True, in certain lighting my dewy features and fluttering lips do ressemble a that of a nubile 13 year old Lolita. But, no- I'm not afraid of Mr. Polanski's past. I'm a professional, dammit. I would be very comfortable saying to Mr. Polanski, "Roman, I'm a 35 year old man of unsurpassed physical beauty and questionable masculinity, not the preadolescent school girl vixen you imagine before you. Now, with all due respect, sir, please remove your hand from underneath my gap kids demin mini skirt and give me back my skipping rope."
For the past year, I have been toiling in relative acting obscurity, honing my craft and paying my dues in esteemed theatrical productions. Being mindful of the quality of my acting accumen, I selected only roles in pieces that would advance my depth, broaden my range and further stimulate my passion for and reputation in the craft. In that vein, I choose only roles of the highest artistic merit, roles which would challenge the modern social paradigm, roles that crest the issues that matter on to the craggy shores of human consciousness. My last ouvre was as principal understudy in the UK run of Footloose the Musical. In the original big screen version, the coveted role not only propelled a young Kevin Bacon to the top of the b-list but also left my fellow Julliard alumni speechless in what I can only assume was bitter, seering envy. However, my mastering of the part of dance vanguard Ren McCormack never saw light. The lead actor failed to take neither ill nor leave throughout the entire run of the production. Not even once. This is despite my repeated efforts of collecting, dressing and parading mephitic bag ladies backstage to his dressing room guised as lustful groupies. The son-of-a-bitch proved immune to street urchin born infections, venereal or otherwise. Growing weary of life in the shadows, I soon craved the allure of the cinema screen.
Polanski, a film-maker of considerable artistic and criminal achievement, is my ticket out of actor's skidsville. In 1977 he was charged with drugging and shagging a 13 year old girl. Am I concerned about Mr. Polanski's sordid history? True, in certain lighting my dewy features and fluttering lips do ressemble a that of a nubile 13 year old Lolita. But, no- I'm not afraid of Mr. Polanski's past. I'm a professional, dammit. I would be very comfortable saying to Mr. Polanski, "Roman, I'm a 35 year old man of unsurpassed physical beauty and questionable masculinity, not the preadolescent school girl vixen you imagine before you. Now, with all due respect, sir, please remove your hand from underneath my gap kids demin mini skirt and give me back my skipping rope."
