Open Letter to Matthew MacFadyen

Dear Matthew MacFadyen,

I hope this finds you well. This is a formal letter of complaint. I believe it's always better to be well before receiving such a letter. It helps digestion.

I have been reflecting in the past few days upon the true power of cinema; Even though you have been alive all of your existence, I assume, and are well-known among your countrymen, I had been totally unaware of your being until very recently. I had to wonder: "Where have I been all your life?" The answer seems to be: - mostly North America.

I sat to watch Pride and Prejudice without the least inkling that I was in any danger. Being very fond of Mr. Firth's Darcy, I was totally unprepared for what followed.




I hear you protesting already. "“Blame the director!" you will say, "Blame the cinematographer!" I am sorry Sir, but for all their very real talent, these two individuals did not make me fall in love with Keira Knightley, and not for lack of trying. The fact that I am female doesn't enter into it. Stranger things have happened.

No, I blame you, and partly Jane Austen, may she rest in peace even though she never finished "The Watsons". I sat down, innocent as a lamb, thinking about my income tax and a disquieting noise my car makes when breaking.…The rest...is history. It is inconceivable how someone can legally and wholeheartedly seduce you within the course of an hour and a half. You, Sir, have bewitched me. It is false representation. You could be conceited, you could be greedy, you could be coarse. None of it matters because of your eyes and the depth of feelings you are able to convey even as you remain silent. Never has being drenched like a poodle looked this appealing.

How dare you, Sir, burst into my life in such a fashion, only to leave me alone, stepping into freezing puddles of melted snow in a dreary parking lot, alone with a car that still makes a funny noise when I break? Caught behind an octogenarian thinking that safety resides in driving at thirty miles per hour on the highway, all I could desperately wish for was to be called Elisabeth Bennet, in order to be blessed with such interaction with you. Reality struck very hard indeed.

Sir, you have invaded my dreams, my imagination, the romantic soul that lives in every unfortunate female. I hold you entirely responsible and accountable for that and will have my lawyers contact yours for unrequited seduction. The fact that this conspiracy was actually shot in 2004 and that my blessed innocence was thus prolonged by another two years only adds insult to injury.

I will only add…God bless you. All my best to Keely*.

Brigitte

* Note to my many Southern Chinese readers : That’s his wife.