Last night a friend and I went to the theater. Fancy theater. I’ve been to two or three real plays ever, so it was exciting to head to midtown and do it up. We had tickets to see “The Vertical Hour” starring Julianne Moore and Bill Nighy. I purposely read nothing about it in order to have no preconceived notions . So I walked in a little confused about why film star Moore was being paired with Bill Nye, The Science Guy. I am a moron.
One of the most fun things about going was seeing all the “theater people” who go to the theater. Apparently, theater people are mostly older women in fur coats and their nieces. The place was crawling with fur coats. There was enough fur for an all furry zoo, or maybe a seventies porn.
So the play starts and it’s not the Science Guy, it’s the aging rock star guy from Love Actually (one of my shameful favorite movies, at least in the Christmas Category) who is totally awesome. His performance was honestly and truly incredible. We had great seats and so it was kind of a Hi-Def TV experience. Because we were so close we could see all the incredibly specific little things he was doing with his face and body that somehow added up to this original, real person. Watching him was just viscerally pleasurable, kind of like eating chocolate pudding for two hours.
So that was Bill Nighy. Then there was Julianne Moore. Watching her was not like eating pudding for two hours. It was more like watching someone else eat pudding for two hours, someone who won’t share it with you and is a real bitch about it. Obviously live theater is hard and you gotta be brave to do it, but I really, really thought she sucked it. Like it was embarrassing.
I’ve never liked her in anything, not in Boogie Nights or Magnolia or any of the things she’s supposed to be so great in. Last night I figured out why. I feel like the whole time she’s acting, she’s thinking about her hair, and you looking at her hair and loving her hair. In fairness, it is very beautiful hair. It’s shiny and long and red and thick. Hair-wise, hair doesn’t get much better. But it can’t act for her. I’m not exaggerating, I don’t think for a second she knew the words she was speaking. I think as she was talking, in her head her inner voice was just repeating the words, “my hair…my hair…my hair.”
In the second half of the play I just started wondering why she became an actress at all. If she just wants us to see her hair, why not just sell photos of her hair on the internet? I’m sure people would buy them. I think I would. Probably more than once. Her hair is that special.
Is this too mean? Probably. I feel guilty. Who the hell am I to say anything? I literally was sitting here a second ago reading the fictional “blog” of PJ from “My Boys.”