Truly Madly Disappointed

And so my Alan Rickman devotion draws to a sudden and disappointed close. It's been a long and passionate haul, starting with Truly Madly Deeply. While other mid-90's gals would moon over Hugh, Bono, Keanu, River, Kurt, and Jason Donovan (you know who you are), I was- a brief Dean Cain infatuation notwithstanding- always truly, madly, Alan's. I stuck with him through the well-crafted, the hilarious, the underrated, the unfortunate. As he matured in age, so did my affection- last year I even endured the cobblers that was "Love Actually" (doesn't deserve a link) just for a few brief moments in his celluloid company. (And, in fairness, for an always-pleasurable glimpse at Mr. Firth.)

The neon lights of dodgy taste should have already been flashing when I read that he apparently asked to appear in that Texas video a while back, but I still forgave him. I'm very forgiving. Accordingly, I chose to ignore the rumours that he was putting together a play about ISM Activist Rachel Corrie, whose tragic death has become fodder for propagandists from all sides of the spectrum. Why, of all people, would Alan, my Alan, be driven to create a performance based upon her diary entries? Where would he find the time for such a worthy labour of heart and soul? Did he have such a hefty gap in his schedule, what with all those Harry Potter installments, arthouse flicks and whatever else he does with his days?

While some people will doubtless point the anti-semite finger, I would never: I'll give Mr. Rickman the benefit of the doubt: that he presumes that his latest project is an optimum way for him to utilise his many talents for the greater good of the world. I get that, I do. I just think he is somewhat misguided. If I were able, I might try to raise the issue with him for prolonged discussion, but I imagine he would not be interested in talking to some two-bit blogger in Jerusalem (especially now that she no longer aspires to wed him.) Likely he would not even credit me as a worthy discussion partner by dint of my voluntary residence in this country: he might well assume, as many do upon hearing the word "Israeli", that I am fired up to occupation and national struggle, as opposed to fired up at the discovery that I can successfully manage to boil quinoa in a Tesco Value Wok (the only Passover-friendly cooking device in my current possession.)

Back to the grim reality.Melanie comments on this and other slightly scary developments in the UK, the gist of which I fear would be lost on the many thousand AUT members (who clearly didn't bother to read my blog entry last week before they took that dubious motion to the vote.) Thankfully, this Observer leader stops me from banging my head against the wall and wailing "Why is our plight different from all other plights?" in an overtly pathetic manner.

Festival of freedom indeed: well, that is a whole other post in itself. And meanwhile, I have been redeemed- from a 13-year crush! Which might actually be a good thing, but still. What a shame it had to end this way.