Dear Mr. Skarsgård,
I just saw your movie in 3D at my local theater. I took the day off to go, thrilled at seeing you act again. I have missed your Eric Northman, and thought this might be a glimpse of something precious from my past. It was, and it was. Let me explain.
Imagine a young girl, about seven, long brown hair, serious blue eyes, sitting in a rocking chair three sizes too large for her, in front of a small black and white television set. The knobs are broken off, and if you want to change the channel you need a set of pliers. There are only three channels to choose from though, so there isn’t much call for channel changing.
It’s a hot summer day, late afternoon, in a house with no air conditioning, and there are voices in the next room that threaten to drown out the broadcast. She quietly slides her massive rocking chair closer to the set, and forces herself to concentrate on the movie. It was something called Tarzan, and it was the first time she had ever seen the like of it.
A man who talked to animals, and who flew from jungle vines, climbing as though he were an ape himself. His wife was called Jane, and his son Boy. He was from a world that seemed so magical and special that it takes the little girl’s mind away from the drunken shouts, and curses that are coming from the next room. Her parents are fighting again, for no good reason. There are no natives to save or animals to summon in her small house, or on the farm outside, so this yelling all seems so unnecessary, even if it is standard for a Saturday afternoon, in the house where she lives.
Later, after the movie was over, she goes outside to find her trusty friends, a bull dog her father had name Butchie, because as a puppy he had been hit by a car, and had a pin on his left rear leg that kept it straight at all times, giving him an odd gait when he ran, and her German Shepherd, Smokey, who spent most of his time tied by a chain around his neck. Sometimes, she would let him off the chain so he could run and play with her, even though it always led to a whipping with the belt afterward.
These were her jungle friends, if you can call a two thousand acre tobacco farm a jungle, and two dogs friends. As the screaming continues inside the house, she tucks her skirt up on both sides into her underwear to create a loin cloth like the one she had seen Tarzan wear, and sets about imagining an adventure not unlike the one she had just seen on TV.
It was always a good time, playing in my head, and it was a happy memory that you gave back to me today.
Your movie is beautiful. It was the first 3D film I have ever seen, and I can’t imagine seeing it any other way, though I will, when I purchase it, and add it to my collection of your films.
Your performance was amazing, though I think neither you, nor David Yates gave you a chance to be the amazing actor you can be. You are beautiful, even without the eight pack, and if I could wish for anything to be different, I would wish that you had been less diligent in creating the distraction of the perfect body that dazzled everyone, blinding them to the expressions on your face and your true skill.
I got the impression that it was more important to constantly capture your body in every shot, than it was to let you do what you do best, show emotions, complex and intricate with your face. You are very animated when you speak. I admire that. Your cinematographer should have as well.
I hope this movie is successful enough to let you do whatever you want to do as far as parts go. I hope that you remember who you are, and what you want, no matter what everyone else tells you want. It’s hard sometimes to stand true to your heart when there is so much noise in your ears. Everyone is sure they know who everyone else should be; it keeps them from having to figure out who they should be.
So, thank you again, for making me feel something. It seems a small thing perhaps, but it’s the world to me. You reminded me that we are all lost in the jungle, looking for a place to belong. I hope you find yours. I hope we all do.
Much love to you,
PS- The carriage conversation with Washington, the flick of your brow with the almost smile, and the unforgettable train scene… pure Eric Northman. It was devastating, and delightful in the best of ways.