Dear Brad Pitt, I Love You, but Seeing You on Screen Makes It Hard to Keep on Living
In each of his films, Brad Pitt plays it too cool, too beautiful, too classy. Andrew Dominik’s "Killing Them Softly," in theaters this week, is a striking example. It’s annoying. Very annoying. Who does he think he is? This is a well-deserved letter.
Dear Brad Pitt,
No, I am not going to verify the facts. This is probably not very professional of me, I’ll give you that, but I like it that way, and I’m afraid that this might not be true. I read on imdb.com, which is hardly a forum for gossipmongers, that you had your teeth redone. At the very least, your dentist crowned your chompers with white paper wrapping, maintaining a long tradition of presenting a gleaming smile to the world in general, and girls in particular. Let me tell you that I don’t think that’s very fair play.
What is left for us poor, inglorious mortals, little boys neither handsome nor rich? You and your pal George Clooney, whose name, don’t forget, will forever look like a big red nose* — and don’t even start me on yours — frankly, you’re starting to annoy me. Pay attention. The red carpet at your feet will not last forever. And the fact that you are an excellent actor won’t change a thing, dear Brad Pitt. If no one else notices your little game, I do. Take "Killing Them Softly," by Andrew Dominik, for example.
Opposite James Gandolfini, who was drunk as a skunk, you played it a tad dismissive, haughty and ironically backhanded. Yeah, you think you’re hot stuff. Without an ounce of compassion. You are next to Tony Soprano in person, or virtually — the man capable of desoldering any pipe with a single raised eyebrow — and you find nothing better to do than to put on your Hollywood attitude. That will have to change. It will change. I had the kindness to warn you, so take it as you must. With modesty, please.
You will soon enter your 50th year, on Dec. 8, to be exact, and the plaster will start to crack. Your Dorian Gray attitude will last about five minutes and then the day will come when, behind the mask, we will finally see the true picture -- old, dull, and crusty. Yes, my young Brad, that will be you. A little gut, some dark circles, a bit of arthritis and the like.
No more casino robberies or Benjamin Button tricks, in which I’m sure you used Coué’s self-help methods. You are going to get old, and that’s that. And you don’t know how ugly it’s going to get. It’s a question of global balance, you see. Today you are too beautiful, too classy, too rich, too sexy, too cool, too married. Tomorrow, you will be all that but less so. Or not at all.
*Editor's Note: The French pronunciation of the word "clown," which is taken from the English, sounds like the first syllable of "Clooney."
Dear Brad Pitt,
No, I am not going to verify the facts. This is probably not very professional of me, I’ll give you that, but I like it that way, and I’m afraid that this might not be true. I read on imdb.com, which is hardly a forum for gossipmongers, that you had your teeth redone. At the very least, your dentist crowned your chompers with white paper wrapping, maintaining a long tradition of presenting a gleaming smile to the world in general, and girls in particular. Let me tell you that I don’t think that’s very fair play.
What is left for us poor, inglorious mortals, little boys neither handsome nor rich? You and your pal George Clooney, whose name, don’t forget, will forever look like a big red nose* — and don’t even start me on yours — frankly, you’re starting to annoy me. Pay attention. The red carpet at your feet will not last forever. And the fact that you are an excellent actor won’t change a thing, dear Brad Pitt. If no one else notices your little game, I do. Take "Killing Them Softly," by Andrew Dominik, for example.
Opposite James Gandolfini, who was drunk as a skunk, you played it a tad dismissive, haughty and ironically backhanded. Yeah, you think you’re hot stuff. Without an ounce of compassion. You are next to Tony Soprano in person, or virtually — the man capable of desoldering any pipe with a single raised eyebrow — and you find nothing better to do than to put on your Hollywood attitude. That will have to change. It will change. I had the kindness to warn you, so take it as you must. With modesty, please.
You will soon enter your 50th year, on Dec. 8, to be exact, and the plaster will start to crack. Your Dorian Gray attitude will last about five minutes and then the day will come when, behind the mask, we will finally see the true picture -- old, dull, and crusty. Yes, my young Brad, that will be you. A little gut, some dark circles, a bit of arthritis and the like.
No more casino robberies or Benjamin Button tricks, in which I’m sure you used Coué’s self-help methods. You are going to get old, and that’s that. And you don’t know how ugly it’s going to get. It’s a question of global balance, you see. Today you are too beautiful, too classy, too rich, too sexy, too cool, too married. Tomorrow, you will be all that but less so. Or not at all.
*Editor's Note: The French pronunciation of the word "clown," which is taken from the English, sounds like the first syllable of "Clooney."