You know what happened to me, the other day? Right out of the blue? Michael Sheen punched me in the face!
Oh, I jest, I jest. Or it’s more like: I exaggerate, for silly effect.
Really I was just casually watching telly, when the trailer for that almighty pile of McCrap, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, came on. And for some unaccountable reason, a wild excitement rose in me. It was the kind of excitement that my body usually reserves for something with Scott Cohen in it (yeah, like I’ve felt that in the last thousand years. The next time he’ll be in anything that gets released, the End of Days will be heralded by it), so I was somewhat taken aback.
But not taken aback enough to fail to realise that I fancy Michael Sheen.
I mean, I’ve fancied him casually before. I’ve admired him in things. I thought he made a great Kenneth Williams. But this tremendous excitement- where did that come from? And at first I didn’t even realise why I was excited. I had to think about it for a while.
And then it struck me: I’m excited because Michael Sheen, who has played Tony Blair and is often called the best British actor of his generation, is in a film about warring vampires and werewolves, starring Rhona Mitra and directed by that guy who did the effects for Battlefield Earth.
I suppose this should sadden me. But instead I’m just thrilled by Michael Sheen, that he should have no ego and debase himself in such monstrous cheese. And am also thrilled by his wearing of a lot of skin tight leather in the film, as though the film-makers realised that a million little girls right fancied that Lucian character, and decided that he should replace Kate Beckinsale as the eye candy.
They’ve so far pretended that Rhona Mitra is the eye candy. But I think they’re starting to realise what audience they’re actually going to get. A gaggle of drooling women, wanting to see a werewolf blub and get vengeance for his barbecued girlfriend (OMG! SPOILERZ!). While wearing leather.
Because really, that storyline is the only reason the original film has endured. Seven thousand fanfics and novels, based on one line from a mediocre movie: he killed his own daughter, just for loving me.
I wouldn’t mind being killed, for loving Michael Sheen. Repeatedly, all over him, daily and nightly and ever so rightly. In fact in general I think I like the whole vampire/werewolf forbidden love thing, and should like to immediatly write something awful and made of brie with many scenes in barns where my warrior Mary-Sue doth heal his whipped back, and verily we do bonk in forbidden towers, and I do weep at his mistreatment and free all the slaves singlehandedly and then am put to death but our love crosses mature cheddar oceans of time, etc.
It will make me a million pounds, I tells ya!
And now I shall test something:
ETA: YES! It worked! Now if only I could figure out how to put it anywhere but in a post!
Yes yes. Am aware. Am internet peabrain. In days of yore I would have been one of them peasants who held aloft the wheel and proclaimed it magic from the Debil. It's a miracle I can continue talking to you, Bertha, without calling for a witch to be burnt for stealing my sacred words and showing them in the magical box.