A Cry for Help

Dear Mr. Statham,

Why do you do this to yourself? Don't you understand how totally money you are? Who can forget the fantasticness that was Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels? Or, in the same tradition (pretty much literally), how great you were in Snatch? Hell, Handsome Rob, while not a big role, was as well-played as any in the fairly decent ensemble cast of The Italian Job.

But now, it seems, you have translated your success into what can only be seen as the onset of acute dementia. War? In the Name of the King? Revolver? Chaos? Who told you these were good ideas? Who told you that these were the scripts that were going to propel you stardom?

Ever heard of Jean-Claude van Damme?

Steven Seigal?

This is the territory you are journeying into.

While it might have been fine for you to make a film like The Transporter – with it's mix of low budget and good action, it was almost destined to be one of those cult-classics that guys are going to flock to (see Swayze and Road House) – that's what you do at the beginning of a burgeoning career. You don't keep making crap when you've already made good movies – at least, you don't consistently make crap. Don't you have a plan?

Perhaps you need to take a step back. Try saying “no” to a few offers. It's okay, try it. You might find it refreshing. Sure, your agent may feel jilted, the studio may be like “But you never say no,” but don't heed that nonsense. You can be your own man. Your own, beautifully bald, Britishy, bad-ass self.

Please, you're better than this. You are a good actor. You can make good movies.

So put that script down. Seriously, whatever it is, I'm positive it's terrible. If you can, take a lighter to it. Make sure you're in a well-ventilated room, so that the fumes from the burning shit doesn't render you incapable of making rational decisions. Such as reaching into the fire to save the script.

That's it. Walk away. Take a deep breath of clean air.

And remember that you are an actor.

Please.

Sincerely,

David