17th
Dear Christian Bale at the Golden Globes:
Rock me sexy jesus. Seriously. I don’t care that you can barely speak in your own accent. The sound of your voice feels cool. It doesn’t matter to me that the stuff you say - to Carson Daly on the red carpet or when you won your award- makes no sense at all- even if I could understand what you were saying. You sound like you might have opinions about stuff, and be thinking thoughts about things.
Sure, it’s gibberish, but it’s poetic gibberish. No one gives a crap what poetry means either. You are pure poetry, Bale.
The weird combination of angsty and grateful - of resentment and neediness - is just so actorly. I love how you are one of those actors who gets their acting all over everything. You are ragey and vaguely threatening. You seem the most menacing when you appear to be happy. It freaks me out. I wanna see more.
I hope you are in more movies, and tv shows, and hell, even commercials. I’d like to see you try to sell someone something. You make Don Draper look like Shirley Temple. Don’t ever change.
