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What happened to Daniel Day-Lewis?

When I was twelve, I had a good friend who I think was way too ahead of everyone at school. She had ideas that didn't conform to the norm, talked of rebellion against teachers and of places that I've never heard of. She was a lot more mature than me, on hindsight, and her taste in men reflected it.

She used to rave about an actor called Daniel Day-Lewis, son of celebrated poet Cecil Day-Lewis. At that time, I had heard of neither, nor would I have been interested in any movies that Daniel starred in or read any of the works of his father. My friend showed me a picture of him, hair all gelled up and wearing a tuxedo at some fancy awards do. She was practically drooling over him but I didn't think he was handsome at all, rather funny-looking in fact. Of course at that age, the opposite sex barely registered on my radar. If someone twisted my arm and insisted I name somebody who I thought was cute, I would probably go with Joe from New Kids On The Block, or Corey Haim.(Although his contemporary, Corey Feldman was more interesting-looking and fascinating to me, but I couldn't bring myself to go against popular opinion then.)

But tastes and interests change - I'd laugh my head off if anyone said they still liked NKOTB or thought Corey Haim was still a hottie. One day you think boys are weird and gross and you say mean things to them, the next you're looking at men and go, "Mmmmm, break me off a piece of that!"

One day you think Daniel Day-Lewis looks funny, and the next your jaw drops to the gorund when you see him striding across the tv screen in his leathers in The Last of The Mohicans, and you burn with envy because Madeleine Stowe is in his arms. All you can think is, "Phwoooaaarrr." The already loose screw in your head falls off. All men now dim in comparison, all the heroic characters in the books you read tends to look like Daniel Day-Lewis. Never mind that in his other movies he doesn't live up to your first impression of him. He is still, the fabulous, knee-shaking Hawkeye.

Many years past. You have more important things on your mind - Jim Caviezel, johnny Depp, that bassist from Coldplay - and all teenage infatuation is forgotten. Then one rainy night, while sitting in your jim-jams with your pot of foot cream and socks, you're chatting with your housemate while lazily keeping an eye on the television, when suddenly up comes The Last of The Mohicans and Daniel Day-Lewis bursts forth in all his long-haired glory.

The housemate's voice fades into a background chatter, your eyes are glued to the television, your usual critic is silent about the movie's cheesy scenes, you forget about the minty freshness of foot cream. You ask for forgiveness for having forgotten him. You wish he would turn his head just a little bit this way so his smouldering glance would encapture you and not Madeleine Stowe. You wish everyone else not Daniel Day-Lewis would get off the screen.

But all good things must come to an end. Hawkeye and Cora walk off into the sunset. You pick up your forgotten sock from the floor. You realise your housemate's left the room. You sigh and switch off the television. You can't quite shake him from yor mind yet so you get on the web and look up anything you can find on Daniel Day-Lewis. God, he looks old now. He's married to Rebecca Miller and he's got two kids? The last time you were infatuated with him he was still going out with Isabelle Adjani. He's obviously gotten on with his life.

So you get on with yours.

Ah, well, he's still alright.

Comments

Maryam said…
I was right. You really do like the mangy types.
Kere said…
Anything to keep my sister happy :D. Next week, we'll be ogling Scott Baio. Not.

Ok, I admit it, I do like the mangy types, see previous exhibits: Viggo Mortensen as Aragon, and Indiana Jones Microbiologist. But they're all well buff, heh heh.

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