I say, “Oscars all round!”

So few are honoured for their portayal of fictional characters in front of lenses and lights. Pretending to be someone they’re not. So many chances afforded to get a line right, to rephrase and rethink a scene, to re-enact and replay a role to which they are better suited. We make them into gods and goddesses, heroes of our lifetime and place them in the upper echelons of stardom where the common mere mortal man may never exist. We shower these souls with accolades and rewards, fame and notoriety, worship and  adoration. They almost seem…beyond human.

Ah, but we forget. It is NOT the few who portray falseness as if it were fact and live in dreamworlds where consequence is of no consequence. No, look around. One is surrounded by actors and actresses! The masks are on and the play begun and the world, as William once said, is indeed our stage. No lenses nor lights here to accent or enhance. The reality of our fakeness shines through every line we deliver. We create our fiction with every breath we breathe and return to reality when nobody’s watching and the lights go down.

Everyone around you is playing their role. They play it well. No-one to see the hurt. No-one to see the pain. No-one to see what life is really like for the actor imbibing their character (or is it the other way around?). Yes, William, all the world is a stage!

I say “Oscars all round!”

Bravo! You great pretender!

…for the remarkable portrayal of fictitious, fanatical, superficial and superfluous characters by those of us who refuse to be real. The masks worn by the dancers reveal the sad true state of the human condition in a world of disproportionate relationality. We’ve gathered who we really are and swept truth under the carpet of lies. We present ourselves as actors of amazing ability to be someone that we’re not. We’re all imposters, delivering our lines behind smiles of disdain while we laugh with emptiness, longing for someone to take off our mask and see us for who we really are without the lines, the makeup, the script, the pretense.


Oscars all round for you, the actors of countless generations whose true selves we’ll never know.

© The Drummer Poet
Written : 14/05/2012

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