Troy

So last night I sat down to watch the movie Troy. I put it on my NetFlix cue one day some months ago, and, as these things go, one day it arrived.

It’s the story of – y’know – Troy. Helen of Troy. Greeks and Greek gods and lust and war and such.

With Brad Pitt. I’ve never been a particular fan of Brad Pitt. Liked him in Thelma and Louise of course, couldn’t really name anything else he’s starred in. When he first came on the screen, his oily, lanky hair tumbling over his broad, manly shoulders, half dressed in sweat-stained leather, muscles bulging on his arms and legs, rolling his eyes mockingly and with disdain for the greatest power figures of his day, fighting with the strength of, well, Achilles (that was his character), and generally crusading for the good, young, righteous and virginal and having threesomes in his free time, I thought:

Hah. Not me, Hollywood. My sexuality is Complicated. Sophisticated. Not prone to your pathetic, obvious, pedestrian attempts to arouse. I am above such displays of physicality.  I am like Mrs. Robinson – cool, calculating, able to obtain the objects of my desires without ever giving in to them. I am in control.

As time passed and Brad weaved in and out of dozens of other scantily-clad men in leather, sweat dripping off their filthy bodies, I began to waiver.  By the half hour mark I was wondering how I could never have noticed him before?! Greek gods, they walk among us even today.

Take me, Brad. Take me now.