No, this is not a blog on Sidney Poitier and, to be honest, for a film fan it is a shame that I have never really seen any of his films and as my colleague at work, AL, is fond of taunting me with: “For a film fan you don’t really appreciate anything before the 1990s do you?” That being said, I figure that there are so many films being made now that it would be quite hard to catch up now.
About five years ago I had a traumatic experience at Acer Arena, Sydney. The experience haunts me to this day and I can honestly it has changed my perspective of the world. In particularly, it has changed my perspective of one man: the Undertaker. Granted, he is a wrestling character and has a real name and life outside the squared circle, but for the sake of argument and from my perspective he is his character.
Previous to this traumatic experience, the Undertaker had been the one larger than life character in all of WWE; The Rock was already making his transition into Hollywood, Bret Hart had lost some of his lustre in his post-WWE funk and I knew enough about what the industry was like for those who lived it to appreciate the hardships it entailed. Despite this though, the Undertaker (even taking into account his Harley riding stage) remained the imposing and unshakable big guy of the WWE: a genuine monster in a land of genetically and pharmaceutically enhanced monsters.
The traumatic experience itself was relatively benign to any outside observer: I saw him walk into the arena with no pyrotechnics, special effects or smoke. More shocking of all:
HE WAS BALD
I was gob smacked. Standing in the nose bleeds, his stark, balding, middle aged head dominated all. As he approached JBL to wrestle in the night’s main event, a world title match everyone knew would be a DQ, all I could think was: he’s bald. The match itself was predictably thrown out when Renee Dupree interfered but I had been scarred for life.
The net result of this was that I can no longer taker the Undertaker seriously. All I notice now when I see his entrance on TV, pay-per-view or DVD (the last is best as I can fast forward while he take 10 years to walk down the ramp) is the way in which the camera hides his balding head and the deft way in which he flicks his hair over to hide the bald spot (or is it just hair plugs?). Either way, the aura and magic of the Undertaker went up in smoke.
What do these two seemingly unconnected recounts have in common? It is the fact that I would never invite the Undertaker to dinner. This is not because I have something against bald people or wrestlers or people who like to dress in all black, it’s just that I wouldn’t want to ruin my already shattered image of him further by meeting the man behind the façade. Same goes for some of my favourite artists: Chris Jericho, Elton John, Rufus Wainwright, Woody Allen and Quentin Tarantino. I love these people’s work to death but I don’t think I could stand being in the same room as them for a long period of time.
The reason is that these people play characters in my life just as much as the Undertaker. They have characteristics, appearances and mannerisms that I love in art but I would be annoyed at if I had to put up with them for an entire meal or alternatively be shattered to discover they were put on: such as Allen not being neurotically Jewish or Elton being just a regular guy who could play piano. This is a mistake many people make in wanting to meet their idols: these people can’t match the reality or expectations we have of them and frankly it’s not really fair to expect them to either.
That all being said, there are a few people (living and dead) I would like to have dinner with:
Bill Clinton – apart from wanting to share a cigar with the man (just kidding!), I think he would be an interesting person to discuss world events with and I heard he has a magnetic personality.
Sophia Coppola – my favourite director, her relatively quiet persona makes me think she would have a range of deep views on various topics plus I would love to pick her brain for her film inspirations.
King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette – probably the two of the most maligned historical figures plus I think Marie Antoinette has great fashion sense and would be interested in Coppola’s film about her.
JFK – after ensuring that my wife wasn’t anywhere near him, his historical legacy and playboy attitude would be great to encounter as a contrast to his almost saintly historical life.
Elvis Presley – the King, enough said.
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