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A Letter to Keira Knightley
Peter Tatara - January 8, 2008

Dear Keira,

I first saw you in Love Actually, and the first moment I saw you, my mind could conceive of only one thought. It was one word. It was perfection. And every time I've seen you on screen since, that same thought has returned to me. You are stunning, radiant, and assembled by The Almighty Himself. I've assumed, too, with your work in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise that you're pretty well off. So, I must ask you a question.

I just saw Domino over the weekend. Why?

Why, Keira? Why? I had no clue the movie even existed before I saw it displayed in my girlfriend's father's DVD collection between Reign of Fire and Flyboys, and once the movie started playing, it took me a moment to realize it was actually you. I've always thought of you as respectful and proper. With your looks, your talent, and your accent, you could and should carve out a high-class career filled with prestige pieces and period dramas. You didn't need to do Domino. So, why'd you take the part?

Was it the nunchaku training? (Which was admittedly pretty awesome.) Was it your chance to be a bad girl on camera? (Which I didn't actually see as my girlfriend wouldn't let me watch your lapdance or nude scene.) Was it some third, legitimate reason that remains an invisible phantom to me?

You've been rightfully compared to a young Audrey Hepburn, but you know who else has, too? Miss Natalie Portman. Now, I've had a crush on Natalie since my high school days, and I've tried to force myself over and over again to believe Natalie's made smart decisions with her career, but let's honestly and frankly look at Miss Portman's most recent motion picture, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium.

Keira, I don't want Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium II to happen to you. I know you've stumbled in the past with the occasional King Arthur and -- what prompted me to write this letter -- Domino, but let's try not to repeat these hiccups, okay? You can do amazing things, Keira, and there's no reason not to.

Your fan,

PS: Unless there's nunchaku.

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