Monday, May 3, 2010

Where is fancy bred? In the heart or in the head?

In light of le nou blogguer, and of the ridiculous hysterical grin that is still plastered onto my face after reading her virgin post, I’m going to talk about something I experienced yesterday, drowned in sushi and HB Swirls, waylaid by perverts and overcome with waxing creative energy. Well kiddos, do you ever have that moment where you fall a little bit in love with someone you shouldn’t? And I’m not talking about that Edward/Jacob slash..none of that body-and-soul sheeet. I was in a weird mood yesterday, sorta buried with a metaphorical avalanche of petty, petty, petty x 400 frustrations which were making me 400 times even more frustrated because I KNEW how petty they were/are. PETTTYYYYY! Anyfuck, I’m talking about those days you, perhaps consciously, seek solace in a brilliant character or let the creative jizz that’s leaching from your pores proliferate itself in the look one person’s eyes or voice.
Queue that pedestal.
Well today, that person was Gene Wilder. After a mini-DVD fest of my freshly-purchased The Producers and the old golden disc’s Willy Wonka..I fell a little bit in love with him. That bit where he looks at the camera and says “It’s just ever called me Leo before”. His deep blue eyes and that lovely voice that sounds like tears mixed with congealed maple syrup along with an undercurrent of emotional instability and those random AMAZING poetic quote-a-thons in Chocolate Factory that I’ve honestly never even registered before: “Is it my soul that calls my name?” or, my favourite, the beaautiful title of this post. Which brings me so-not-smoothly onto a question that has been on my fizzing mind for some time: WHY are vulnerable characters so attractive and endearing? And I don’t mean attractive in a “Dayumm whooza sexayy fiiish” way, I mean when something someone says something that genuinely sunflower’s your heartstrings**. Maybe they touch some kind of vulnerability in all of us or maybe summon up a dormant maternal instinct (VERY dormant for me! NOTHANKS) or do they just innately hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature and show us the vast fragility of every person surrounding us? Somebody explain because I don’t understand this phenomenon - especially in the celebrity world. James Dean, Edie Sedgwick, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Di, Kurt Cobain or the bit in Half Blood Prince where Malfoy sobs in the bathroom..all these people are fundamentally beautiful because of their depressions or issues or tragedies.
I could soliloquy the day away about this but I’ll probably just go re-watch The Producers instead. Well maybe it’s my phantaaaasmagorically strange mood, or the fact that I’ve ‘known’ this actor since I saw Willy Wonka when I was like an embryo and am now noticing all these new wonderful hidden Jokes-For-Adults (MOI? ADULT? gwoyyy..) in his acting today, but anyway, the conclusion is..GENE WILDER IS MY NEW EMPATHIZING BEST FRIEND.


** Only the sicker (M) members of the audience will get that without the help of urbandictionary..

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