Male Bag: Another Letter to Leonardo DiCaprio

Dear Leonardo DiCaprio,

As promised, I am following up to the letter I sent you in July of 2013. I said I would contact you after watching Django Unchained, but I didn't. Life happens. I'm so sorry. I was inspired to write again when I saw that article in The Atlantic about how you've turned into a risk-averse actor. I won't lie - it stung a little. I hope your majestic, ungoverned beard brings you solace.

So, Django was tidy and ordered, hm? You played a bad man, as was to be expected, but, I gotta shoot a dead horse here: how was that character different from the egotistical tyrants you played in your other films? Catch Me if You Can = egotistical boy tyrant. Revolutionary Road = egotistical man boy tyrant. Inception/Shutter Island = egotistical tyrant who is losing his mind because his wife is dead. The Aviator = egotistical tyrant who is losing his mind because of planes. The Man in the Iron Mask = egotistical actual tyrant.

I watched The Man in the Iron Mask for the first time about a week ago and I had an epiphany. The soft wilted boy that came out of the titular Iron Mask is who you really are in your heart of hearts: tender, vulnerable, and exposed. Why are you so afraid of accepting love Leonardo? You know you aren't going to find it on a yacht visiting your own collection of private islands, buried in a pile models named Anja, Sashanja, and Katanja. The Wolf of Wall Street was gratuitous in the best kind of way, but it was also a horror movie because I imagine you actually have enough money to live like that.

None of this is my business, and I really do want to keep this letter on a professional level, but you keep popping up on my lady blog websites. I don't want to see you there anymore. I want to see you on a stage, collecting Oscars, with your tender boy hands.

Let's try something, for a moment. Put your hands in mine and close your eyes. Imagine you are making a film. Imagine you aren't making it because you are getting paid obscene sums of money or because Marty is directing it. Imagine you aren't even the star. Imagine you are simply a memorable character who is hideous and maybe you have a messed up tooth that the audience thinks is going to fall out the whole time, like Jude Law in Contagion. Imagine your character is mild mannered, gentle, and tragic, like Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream. Imagine your performance is nuanced, but kind of irritating, and that you just don't care anymore, like Randy Quaid in life, probably. Now open your eyes and look at your tender hands. You are no longer holding onto mine. You are holding an Oscar. The Oscar for best supporting actor.

Oh what, that's not good enough for you? Gtf over yourself.


-- Shay Lorseyedi


PS: My offer still stands, but my rate has gone up to 30%.

PPS: I still haven't watched J. Edgar because someone deleted it from the DVR.