The rule everyone knows

I recently rewatched The Truman Show yesterday amidst all the chaos of the crazed media story that Jim Carrey was cloned. I give that rumor no credence to my own sensibilities, however, when I saw him in that French award ceremony, I had to do a double take. It wasn’t so much that I actually believed he was cloned or anything crazy like that, but, I had a weird gut reaction that made me think, “Someone or something got to him,” because he just doesn’t act like that in most celebrity or movie award ceremonies. You all saw must have seen those interviews where he made fun of Hollywood, being evil that is made to feel real but is really mocking us all. All that Illuminati talk. I was like, “That boy is going to get himself killed.”

Rewatching The Truman Show made me feel a sad, aching nostalgic feeling that drenched my brain. “I’m not going to make it,” Truman says to his reflection in the mirror. “You’re all going to have to make it without me.” I felt that, honey.

The feeling of knowing you’re being watched is something eerie because I’m sure everyone at some point or another has felt like they’re being watched. The Truman Show is a very special movie that tells us something we already know, “Everything is up for sale. Your whole life, your trauma, your love, your joy, your loss, everything. Nothing is sacred.” Cameras are everywhere, eyes are always open. I personally think that privacy is a myth. Much like me, Medusa.

Mass hysteria and changing tides can cause people to turn on you. The mass media machine loves to create chaos when a new star rises. It loves to create beauty and opportunity only to dig in its claws at the last second, eviscerate the image and spit it back out once again.

I was once a prominent liberal arts major who instructed students on and off of Broadway. I had studied under the best of the best, been able to become a leading actress and writer for some of the best stage productions the world has ever seen.

But my life was dramatically altered after that performance in Athens, Greece. The Temple of Athena was where we were shooting for a short film for a director I admired for his sheer audacity in filmmaking, Lanthimos.

“That flooring isn’t stable, we need to secure that before we start our final cuts…”

“Is the permit required for us to temporarily install anything on the grounds? Do we need any more special permission?”

“Don’t worry about that we need to start quickly and get those Abby Singer Shots in now. Not tomorrow. Not tonight. Now.”

“The Greek government usually has a liaison to assist with these things..”

The special effects sup was working with location manager but mainly arguing if everything was legal and that we were able to even film there. I was there mainly as the AD, or in layman terms, the Art Director. I was trying to figure out a few different aspects of what colors we were using in the coming scene and how the lighting itself would naturally compliment the painting of the piece we had prepared (it was like a statue that was custom made that could be malleable). But I couldn’t focus on much. This large piece we needed to work for the shot was feeling heavy in a way that was beyond its weight. A man that was an infamous executive producer was a renowned piece of Σκατά that I hated kept coming onto me too. But, I wanted this to be my pet project, not so much passion, but it was something I wanted. His hard eyes kept making me feel like I was falling over. I felt like stone.

I kept thinking of Jim in The Truman Show trying to sail away in the fake wind and the sea, feeling queasy and shaky from the trauma of seeing his fake father fake die in the fake sea, but I was seeing so much more than that. It calmed me down even in the moment. Water has always seemed to calm me down even in a panic.

As I molding the sculpture, I fell a little and scraped my face a little. Bleeding, I carried on.

“Gamóto!” I said under my breath, feeling the slice of flesh burn as I walked around the massive art piece.

During these intense moments before shooting is almost done, it’s impossible to even imagine saying you need a break, that you’re starving, thirsty or needing to take a piss. So I carried on bleeding.

I knew I was being watched. It’s odd. There is some weird sort of security and safety in knowing that there is always someone or something watching you, even if it’s nefarious. It almost is like the responsibility of reality is out of your hands.

But when I fainted, I didn’t realize I was underneath cold stone when I felt that same executive producer pressing against me. I couldn’t feel anything he was doing but I laid there, still feeling woozy and sweating. I felt as cold and as frozen as the stone we were laid on. I don’t know how I got here with him but now his penetrating eyes were all over me like red lava.

I felt a slither near my thigh when I noticed what it was, an adder snake. I recoiled and looked into its eyes. It had dark brown markings, which I knew meant it was a female. It winded along the crumbling secondary temple underneath the one on top. I saw its eyes, her eyes, glare into me. I suddenly felt safe again even as I knew it was poisonous.

The stupid executive producer that didn’t even see it, but as it crawled along my neck and up my face, he finally noticed and started to yell. Too late.

It’s body snapped back, pouncing on his fat head. She bit him twice on his neck and near his eye. He quivered, shook, then stopped, looking frozen.

It was all over the tabloids:

Gorgon AD turned exec. To STONE

Once famous Broadway writer and actress stoned an executive producer with a single venomous look

So, yeah, that was what everyone wrote about me. That I was some monster. Not the fact that I was raped, taken advantage of, or that he was actually attacked by a lone snake. It was all on me. I don’t understand. Even the Greek people and their government banned me from ever returning to Athena’s Temple.

Now I am in the dregs of society. I ran into Jim Carrey actually the other day.

He told me he was sorry for all that I was going through and how the whole world was changing, changing for the worse. How the mass media machine churns out its hysteria and cuts the heads off of the downtrodden, the innocent and the helpless. I told him I don’t think I’ll make it.

“You just smile. It hurts, but you do it anyway. Eventually, it starts feeling real even if everything around you is fake.”

His words burned into my mind, spilling like a clear waterfall on my heart.

We both smiled at each other, waving goodbye.