Emil Jannings in Berlin. Creative Commons photo Bundesarchiv, Bild 102-07770.
Metteur En Scene
The camera obscures my face from hers thankfully. The last time I saw those curves was when they walked out of our fleapit apartment on 25th and Main. Bringing the curtain down on a romance forged by a casting director and his notion of “chemistry”.
Chemistry that inevitably became biology. Each night in bed we mirrored the lovers we played on stage.
Romeo and Juliet.
Till her finest performance, the “its not you its me” eulogy. Fluttering eyelashes, damp eyes, masking the truth that her ambition to be a star had outgrown us.
Bags packed she moved on, seeking that lucky break. Never getting it in a city stacked with sirens.
Still you got to admire her. Muscling to the front, hugging the guy in the uniform. Working the lens with a face no picture editor could resist.
My Juliet, rolling the dice on finding fame.
I gently pan the camera ten degrees to the left.