The Middlest Child

Dear Kate Winslet,

First and foremost, congratulations on your Oscar win last night. As an avid member of the Academy-watching community, let me say that I fully support the conspiracy that led to you being nominated for Best Actress and by default snubbing both your husband and Leo for Rev Road. Congrats.

By the way, I liked your dad’s hat. Were you raised on a pirate ship? Nevermind. That was a silly question. Of course you were.

I digress. The real reason I’m writing this letter, Kate, is not to congratulate you on your swashbuckling ancestry or your award for having Nazi sex with a teenage boy, but to tell you that life is worth living, Kate. As I’m sure you saw last night, the world is a bright, happy place full of melodrama, political agenda, and Indian people.

Speechless? I know it must be hard. But it’s about time someone came out like the cast and crew of Milk and said something…so here it is: You need to stop trying to kill yourself in all your movies. Sometimes you even succeed, and it’s only a matter of time before your acting becomes reality. We’re worried, Kate.

Case in point:

Your violent tendencies begin in 1994, where you murder your best friend in Heavenly Creatures.

In 1995, you were in Sense and Sensibility, in which you managed to stay alive but generally Jane Austen makes me want to kill myself and therefore I’m counting it.

In 1996, you played Ophelia in Hamlet. Bam, suicide.

Titanic was in 1997, where you were ready to jump off the back of a large ship and had to be talked down by Leo. Suicide attempt, though failed due to teen hottie interference.

In 2000, you were apparently in a movie called Quills. You were murdered.

In 2004, you played Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, wherein you did drugs and drove drunk. If you cared about your life, you wouldn’t do such things.

2004 also brought Finding Neverland. Guess what? YOU DIED.

In 2006, I thought I was home free with the romantic comedy, The Holiday. But no…you had to go ahead and have a breakdown and start inhaling stove gas. Not dead, but attempted.

Then, in 2008, you pulled out the big guns. First, you commit suicide via self-induced botched abortion in Revolutionary Road (Leo couldn’t stop you this time).

…And then you go ahead and old-fashioned hang yourself in The Reader.

It’s not your fault, Kate. You don’t have to live like this. When life gets tough, remember that there are people out there in India choreographing dances on train platforms, and that Mickey Rourke is in a dumpster somewhere writing a movie about his dog. Suicide is not the answer, Kate. Just cool it for a while.

Although, if I may congratulate you on something else, I state this as fact:
No one dies on film like Kate Winslet.
  

Sincerely,

KG
Concerned Fan