AN OPEN LETTER TO COLIN FIRTH
Dear Sir,
I must address a situation that has arisen for which you are
somewhat responsible.
This particular day is one on which, in America, one finds
an extraordinarily gross display of wealth, marketing and sado-masochism on the
television. Avoidance of this particular event has become essential to my life.
Americans, as you probably know, are, for the most part, a
selfish, self-involved lot that tend toward violence and buffalo chicken
wings. There are, however, perhaps
150 or so of us who have who have moved away from the two-fisted
Budweiser-Dunkin Donuts drinking and profanity to appreciate some finer
cultural virtues that do not involve testosterone poisoned individuals slamming
their precious bodies against others of similar dimensions. While the other 350 million of my
fellow Americans will be gorging themselves on beer and nachos, I will be at my
local, semi-independent cinema.
Several years ago I realized that I had seen, on successive last Sundays
in January, one of your films on each of those days. The years of “A Single Man” and “The King’s Speech” were
particularly gratifying. There was
the one year that I had timed my cinema-viewing incorrectly and arrived home at
Halftime which required that I find a small television in an upper room and pop
in a very well-worn copy of “Love Actually” but I have done better in
subsequent years with scheduling.
And there was the year that I chose to go shopping but, really, I’m not
a shopper. I’m a filmgoer. Hence, that was a wholly unsatisfying
year.
After my viewing of “The King’s Speech” I began to refer to
this particularly Sunday in late January/early February (it is late this year,
isn’t it?) as “Colin Firth Sunday.”
Many of my friends have picked up the habit, as well. Your onscreen persona, Sir, is the
epitome of the antithesis of, (there is no way around this; I must refer to it
as others do) Super Bowl Sunday.
You appear cultured and refined, as most Brits do to us Americans, but
you add a tangible sensitivity that is not often found in American film stars.
That you are British is essential, too, as the British do not give a fig for
what Americans call “football.”
Your films present us with a handsome, articulate (especially as King
George) man with depth and tears, a soupcon of the mercurial and a solid
dependability. In short, just what my friends and I need when our houses fill
with beef chili, braggadocio and thudding helmets.
This year, however, I find there is not one of your films
being screened at a cinema anywhere near my home. This is a horrifying situation. Must I resort to watching a
film with the Other Colin in it?
But, no, I have already seen that film. And, besides, the Other Colin’s film persona is one of
debauchery, not at all adhering to the Rules for Colin Firth Sunday. A friend
has suggested that I see “The Wolf of Wall Street” because a trailer for your
film XXXX is attached to it. That, too, would not meet the criteria for “Colin
Firth Sunday” as Martin Scorsese does not understand the female psyche in the
least and would defeat my purpose in being absorbed by intelligence, culture
and Earl Grey Tea.
I realize that you are not strictly in control of when your
films are released but you are a powerful individual in your chosen field and
you must, I am certain, wield some authority in this regard. I am imploring you, from the depths of
my Earl Grey-drinking, Downton Abbey-watching, “Pride & Prejudice”-reading
soul, please find it in your power to make certain your devoted contingent of
“Colin Firth Sunday” advocates have something in at the cinema to see next year
on this date. Our very
sub-culture depends upon it.
Very truly, most assuredly yours,
Mary Alice Holmes
