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By Jennifer Petlinski Daily Arts Editor |
Upon accepting his award for Best Actor at the 69th Annual Academy Awards ceremony on Monday night, Geoffrey Rush reminded audiences of a role-playing game - one where you can invite all characters, real and fictional, to a dinner table to share in conversation.
Rush, who played pianist David Helfgott in "Shine," said he was honored to be seated at the same table as Karl Childers (Billy Bob Thornton, "Sling Blade"), Jerry Maguire (Tom Cruise, "Jerry Maguire"), Larry Flynt (Woody Harrelson, "The People vs. Larry Flynt") and Count Lazlo de Almasy (Ralph Fiennes, "The English Patient"). Rush expressed that he couldn't even begin to imagine a conversation between such a random, different group of characters.
Would a horny Flynt incessantly babble to a mentally disturbed Karl about the beauty of naked women all night?
Would Jerry Maguire be able to sell his new marketing ideas and propositions to an incoherent Helfgott?
Would Helfgott and Karl fight over who was more mentally disturbed?
Would Count Lazlo be able to talk about anything but his true love, Katherine, in the desert? On second thought, with all his bandages and burns, would he be able to talk at all?
Would the characters' "personal poetry," as Rush called it, clash or complement each other? Though personal, can anything coming from Flynt's mouth be labeled "poetry?"
Mr. Rush, here is my imaginative stab at your scenario from the other night. Happy dining.
For imagination's sake, let's just assume that the dinner is taking place at my house and that I am the silent server girl, not participating, but absorbing every facet of the conversation. I am serving spaghetti, sourdough bread and a lightly tossed salad. My guests are now seated and ready to eat. (Flynt is drooling at the mouth, and Karl is nervously rubbing his hands together.) At the last minute, upon Karl's request, I have thrown some frozen "french-fried potaters" in the oven, despite the fact that such a side dish does not go with spaghetti.
FLYNT: Where's the meat, dammit? I'm hungry. I thought somebody told me there were going to be naked chicks here. Where's them Best Actresses? They'd look great in my photo album. Yo, Helfgott ... HELFGOTT! What the hell is wrong with you?
HELFGOTT: I gotta gotta eat because because I'm hungry. I'm hungry, yes, in fact, hungry. Brilliantly hungry. Smashingly, yes, I think, in fact, yes.
FLYNT: Hey - Count whatever. Helfgott's mental? Damn retard. What's the problem? By the way, what the hell is wrong with your face? I know this great, blind naked chick who might really dig you.
COUNT: Mr. Flynt, you disgust me to the greatest degree. I have no use for your blind, naked woman. My memories of Katherine, my true love, live on because I went back for her. But it was too late. Oh anguish! Oh mental torment! Those months in the desert were hell for me. Do you think, haunted by these memories, I can just romance the first blind woman who comes along? My life has been too great, too painful, too filled with love, hate, deceit, lust, revenge ...
FLYNT: Shut the hell up, you overdramatic jerkoff.
KARL: If you ever speak to dat boy like dat again, I'll kill you. Uh huh. Where's dem french-fried potaters? I reckon I could eat me some a dem. Uh huh. Could somebody pass da margarine knife. Some folks call it a butter knife, but I call it a margarine knife, but some folks call it a butter knife.
HELFGOTT: I can't reach. I can't reach. I can't reach the margarine knife.
MAGUIRE: No problem, Karl. I've got it, David. Don't worry about it.
FLYNT: He's a goddamn retard killer. Yeah, give him a KNIFE, Maguire. Good job, Sherlock Asshole. Always assuming the good in people.
HELFGOTT: Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, I believe. Holmes, yes, in fact, Holmes precisely right. Sherlock.
COUNT: Mr. Flynt, I can almost assure you that Karl cannot hurt anyone with a margarine knife. I've been exposed to a lot worse. When I think back on the desert storms, the torrential winds -
FLYNT: Can we just pretend this pretty boy doesn't exist for now, huh men? Wouldn't that make this dinner slightly more enjoyable? Men? What do you say? Screw the Count, eh?
KARL: All right then because, Mr. Larry, I like da way you talk.
HELFGOTT: Yes, yes, yes. Screw the Count. Screw the Count. Screw the Count. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
MAGUIRE: No, Flynt. I know the Count's been through something rough. I think I can relate. Love is a tricky business.
COUNT: Jerry, I know. My bandages remind me of the horrors of life and love every single day.
MAGUIRE: There's this woman. And she completes me. Completes me.
COUNT: That's so beautiful.
FLYNT: (between whooping sounds) Maguire, you stud. Does she "show you the money?" Aw yeah. Does she want to be photographed?
MAGUIRE: Listen, Larry. Nobody's talking to you. I'm with the Count. Stay out of it.
KARL: All right den. Where's dem potaters? I's a just released from a nervous hospital and I reckon I still git nervous without my french-fried potaters from time to time.
HELFGOTT: Time to time to time to time to time. Brilliantly said. Brilliant. Yes, yes, yes, yes.
FLYNT: Great, Maguire. The margarine knife killer man is nervous. Now we're all screwed. Am I the only sane person here?
KARL: Uh huh. Uh huh.
FLYNT: Shut up, Karl. Was I even talking to you?
KARL: Alright den.
COUNT: Fine. I will ignore the rude comments and tell my tale of love, deception, greed, war ...
FLYNT: This loser needs a psychologist. Now I know one of you mentals must have one.
KARL: Uh huh.
Maybe you can imagine the rest. And maybe, if you don't understand any of the movie references, then you need to brush up on your Academy Award-winning films of 1996.
Bon appetit.
- Jennifer Petlinski can be reached via e-mail at petlinsk@umich.edu