Hollywood is Dead E-Book

Tina Papados

• Herausgeber: AKAKIA Publications
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 41

Beschreibung

Hollywood is Dead is a collection of monologues which explore the life of a young actress, who discuses the psychological and thrilling impact of transforming into her film character, Amorette.

Leseprobe

HOLLYWOOD

is dead

Copyright © Tina Papados 2016Published in England by AKAKIA Publications, 2016Tina PapadosHOLLYWOOD IS DEADISBN: 978-1-910714-76-8 Copyright © Tina Papados 2016CopyrightHouse.co.uk ID: 185437Cover Image:

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2016, London, UK

To reveal Art andconceal the Artistis art’s aim.

(Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890)

Contents

• [I AM] The Alpha

•[A] Fallen Angel

• Cash Can Kill

• The Delta [δ]

•Em[B]olden the [D]irector in [S]ignificant [M]otion

• Lenses and Lies

• I AM[orette]

• Let [A]rt Reveal The [A]rtist

• HIStory For Tomorrow

• Silent Letters

• Violent Drug

• TRANS[form] Us

• Hollywood Is Dead

I AM] The Alpha

[I wander to seek a Director, perhaps]

I’m not going to lie and say that Hollywood is a safe place.

It’s not easy reaching an Eiffel1 state of mind and succeeding in this business without family or PR connections.

Some say you have to actress-ify2 yourself up to the top through sexual permissiveness and prostitution.

I suppose that’s how Marilyn Monroe3 and Lucille Ball4 got started.

This sets a dim-lit stage for a performer,

allowing them to take part in such a dark, mistrusted society.

That’s why everybody quits this industry.

Artists who resist in taking part have failed and they just go on to form their own families.

I sometimes wonder which chosen road makes us weaker.

But what if the road to Hollywood is the common road

not taken?

Resisting this dark shaded society would weaken an artist by turning them into an individual

--wouldn’t it?

They are weak to the point where they deny their own Art. They deny the truth, because Art, is truth.

The road to Film, the road to Noir

the road to MADness, and sin

turning into a Hollywood Actress,

I am sure this is

The Road NotTaken5.

I don’t want to be a delusional young theatre actress forever.

I don’t want to join the nobodies of Hollywood.

I am not a pay to play6 actress.

My long-lost father, a Charenton-le-Pont7 Jew

warned me about the shiksas8 of Hollywood.

You shall never turn into one of them, he said.

I understood where he was coming from.

He thought acting was a silly job for shiksas.

‘In some way acting is prostitution, and Hollywood Jews

don’t want their own women to participate’9.

Perhaps I’ll remind these Directors too much of themselves.

Maybe that’s what they’re afraid of.

Seeing themselves before the lens.

I often wonder why they’re so afraid;

They already reveal

All sexual desires and sin

Why not reveal the beholder of such visions?

I don’t mind belonging to multiple Directors.

So long so

I don’t belong to just one man.

My father didn’t like the sound of this.

Most marriages end due to competition for power. Why should one man possess me and “own my womb”10?

Actresses! You belong to everyone!

I sit before Directors,

Directors and camera lenses, hoping

they will teach me how to spread my wings,

show me; the art of opening up.

Take things slow, they said

in a few years I would meet parts of myself that

I would be at war with.

“Take the apple

and nourish yourself.”

Like a Cobra, shedding its skin

those words transformed into mine.

I discovered strength, in my summers

and weaknesses in my winters.

Suddenly, I saw it all--

parts of myself within everyone.

They too, grew on me

turning into those dark waves

that suffocated me.

Voices, within my head

repressed all desires, showing me

the art of shutting down.

Adult filters, are trapped within [me]

Directors yelling, actors laughing

telling me that my art will be the end of me.

[A] Fallen Angel

I won’t forget how it felt

not being centre stage.

Those nostalgic days of darkness. Early hours of my life.

They marked the scars of my childhood, of my very being.

I was pulled back, by a young theatre director.

It was some silly Christmas play. I can’t recall it.

I was a child.

He once said I would make the most beautiful child-actress.

But he suffocated my Christmas wings.

He let the other dolls pass by; and swirl

like forgiven angels in the sky.

I remember him, clearly.

He kept asking the brown-eyed actresses

to stand at the back.

Only mine were a dark shade of green.