After thirty-eight years, I still daydream. I used to dream of acting in cool and good looking parts, stuff that James Dean or a young Marlon Brando would have landed. I saw movies and TV shows and thought, “I can do that.”
Lately, those daydreams have changed to meaningful and ugly parts, like the Phantom of the Opera. Sure, I don’t have a Michael Crawford voice; likely I am still too young for the role; and no one wants to see a short and fat Phantom. But angst…I have moved on from beautiful teenage angst to middle aged, living in the dark sewers of Paris angst…
…and I think the mask is pretty cool, too.
Lately, those daydreams have changed to meaningful and ugly parts, like the Phantom of the Opera. Sure, I don’t have a Michael Crawford voice; likely I am still too young for the role; and no one wants to see a short and fat Phantom. But angst…I have moved on from beautiful teenage angst to middle aged, living in the dark sewers of Paris angst…
…and I think the mask is pretty cool, too.
