This was a dreadful movie, overrated, and now hardly anyone ever remembers for all the folderoll that went on about it.  But it did give me a somewhat frisson of premonition.   All I can say is this:  when the actor who really fell for the heroine stabbed her in the back because he loved his ambition more, and she was sitting there knowing she had been betrayed; and he was sitting on his private plane flying back with his movie moguls having accomplished his goal, and thinking about what he had done to her, cringed in shame, I was left with this question:  who would you rather be:  the successful actor who stabbed an innocent in the back to further this career, or the innocent who was betrayed.  And I knew I would prefer to be the innocent because she has never sunk to the depths of his betrayal. Egos, egos.  So I guess I just want to ask you now.  Did you let her read my letters that had phrases like traveling by your own personal velocity, and the my mother smiling at me was like seeing the sun….or did you just write all of her crap for her?  Just sayin’, you know.

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