© 2016 Patrick Kirkland
“That’s John Krasinski,” she mouthed to me. At least, I guess that’s what she mouthed to me, because with my 9th Grade lip reading skills, the words came to me as “I’m sin in the city.” Either way, I knew. It was on.
In 1940, when the rest of the world was gearing up for WWII, Charlie Chaplin wrote, directed and produced the film, “The Great Dictator.” Why?
“Hitler needs to be laughed at,” he said.
But we can’t. Not now. Not ever.
“I did it,” I thought. I had lived in New York, took advantage of everything I could, and left without regret. Ten days later, without any idea of who to call, or a calling card script to my name, or even a story that I loved and wanted to sell, my wife, my dogs and my feet set down in the Santa Monica sand.