not in our stars, but in ourselves
Look. I’m going through a Thing right now, and maybe it will be all over after the Oscars, or maybe it’s here to stay, but for the time being I have a big fat crush on Christoph Waltz and I don’t ever want it to end. You remember – no doubt – that it is my belief that he’s both the Dietrich to Tarantino’s Von Sternberg and the 21st century’s Fred Astaire. Yes, of course you do. In other words, I am trying to make my possibly transient crush ageless, because he is just so goddamn good and I want to love him forever.
The fact that he is Austrian makes me think that he embodies the spirit of Mozart: charming, childlike, funny, lighter-than-air, brilliant at his chosen profession and pretty fucking funny in others as well. There’s perfect music: that’s Mozart. There are perfect performance: that’s Hans Landa and King Schultz. There are funny, dirty letters: most of what Mozart wrote to his friends and relations. There are funny, goofy comedy sketches: “Der Humpink” and Movie: The Movie and his stint on American Idol and a good number of Waltz’s bits on SNL last week (to which I cannot link because YouTube is cruelly policed by anti-fun-niks). Maybe I’m beating this Mozart thing into the ground, but the point is: Austrian. Elegant. Funny. Perfect.
And also, I mean…
God, Christoph, if you ever read this: please believe me that my love for you is not quite as creepy as it seems. I can’t say that for the rest of the internet – but really, everyone thinks you’re just great (and cute).