Hilton Als just can’t stop watching Helen Mirren in “Prime Suspect”

I’m writing this on my iPhone. I’ve been in this room for 36 hours and I don’t see an exit. I don’t know how I got here or where I am, and I don’t know who put me in here. This room, it’s so white. So clean. I can’t breathe, it’s so white in here. Everything except for the television. That goddamn television. Forever playing the same goddamn thing. I’ve been watching Series 4 of Prime Suspect the whole 36 hours, but I don’t see a DVD player anywhere. Someone is out there controlling this, and it’s scaring the hell out of me.

And now Helen Mirren seems to be talking directly to me, except not even really to me in the way that most people talk to each other, no, she’s talking through me, Hilton Als, the theatre critic, just skipping that part like it’s nothing, like she couldn’t even be bothered with him, and instead she’s talking to the eternal soul inside me and I can understand her words but they don’t make sense to me, Hilton Als, and I can only assume they make sense to my eternal soul but I can’t be sure and it’s like they, Helen Mirren and my soul, are having this private conversation that I can hear but I’m totally excluded from it as if they were speaking Afrikaans or something and it’s driving me crazy because I can’t do anything but watch and sit or stand and weep. I haven’t been this distraught since I found out that I don’t have a Wikipedia page. If anyone is even reading this, first please try to get me out of here, but if you can’t. at least write me a Wikipedia page. At least a few sentences. I just want a Wikipedia page. I’ve earned it. Please. It doesn’t have to be fancy, like Helen Mirren’s. I’m not even asking for something like Lahr’s. Just a nice-sized, sensible Wikipedia page.

God damn this white room. All white. Except for those goddamn black curtains. There aren’t even any window, just terrible curtains.

(Actual post here)

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