Dear God,
Please make me morph (as close as humanly possible) into a carbon copy of Emma Thompson, someday.
…I should like to own the linguistic and intellectual banter to keep up with the Cambridge fellows of her like, as Stephen Fry, and Peter Laurie, and all the rest.
…Please let me one day read Lit in a top worldly place of letters and write an Oscar winning screenplay on the author’s works of my former thesis.
I would like to be one of the newest version of Lunt and Fontaine, Olivier and Leigh, Branagh and Thompson, please.
Could I get away with being a total bohemian nutter, and people will still love me viciously?
…Also, please can I marry Willoughby?
I would really appreciate working with Streep, and Pacino, and Hoffman, and Winslet, whilst have them love me so much, they consider me family.
Can I own the magic English skin that never wrinkles or ages, and the lithe figure to go with it?
Please, dear God, make me funny some day. (I know my limits, but a 100th of a percentage of Dame Thompson will due me.)
…Also, WHY ain’t she a Dame yet…it’s really bothering me….
Smart-sexy. It’s a thing. I watch it and want to own it. Willing to work hard: please help me to achieve.
A “Character Actor” of first degree: please grow me.
Smart choices. Smart dialog. Smart wit. Smart woman. I beg this degree.
A double header, double feature is all it takes to remind me…how astronomically essential a hard worker is. And how (more than anything) I wanna be “that guy.”
…Who, in this case…
…Happens to be…
An Emma Thompson.
I thank you.
Sincerely,
Me.
