Yes, that's Ethan Hawke and yes, I am suitably mortified.
Don't get me wrong - dude's good-looking, can't deny the man that. He's also, from what I understand of behind-the-scenes gossip and veiled DVD commentary references, something of a gallon-sized pompous jug of douche. I just can't wash that man right out of my hair or the scruffy goatee that every few months I attempt to grow as a tribute.
And if you think that's embarrassing, most embarrassing of all is how unsuperficial this infatuation is. If this were just, "Oh Ethan, rub your downy stubble all over me!" I would actually be less uncomfortable with it.
No, this is a soulmate-type connection I just can't shake, like Porkins doing the Death Star trench run.
Part of it is the roles he takes: a frightened prep-school kid finding who he is through lit class. Moody, confused trust-fund kid muttering to himself in a Blockbuster Video. Bourgeois bohemian Yank trying to find something real despite being an inveterate bullshitter. Dirtbag slacker with a penchant for Bob Dylan, philosophy and TV trivia.
He's always playing a guy too intelligent and too smug for his own good. Somebody who could be a person of substance if he had more than half a clue. He's like a smart guy in a world that doesn't reward smart guys, so flip 'em the bird.
And the film that truly sold me is the most gauche and pretentious of them all:
As I Walked Out One Evening
W. H. Auden
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.
'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.
'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.
'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'
It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
For the curious:
I got stuck in Vienna overnight when I was in college so OF COURSE I had to find all the landmarks from the movie: the Ferris wheel, the bridge, the statue. Doesn't matter, though: I'll defend the movie and the actor long past the point of ridiculousness, way past the point where any rational person would just shrug and say, "Agree to disagree, I guess."
Because really, what I'm arguing for is the part of myself I value the most and which is therefore the most easily wounded: the super-literate, hyper-articulate sensitive guy. Happy now? I've been broken down into the lowest common stereotype: Ethan Hawke wannabe. Also known as this guy -
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