Last week, I went to see a play at Toronto's Passe Muraille Theatre. And at this particular establishment, a poster of Keanu Reeves from a 1984 production is prominently on display. The friend I was with pointed out that nothing about him has changed.
Twenty four years ago, Keanu looked like Keanu: a stoic, expressionless, chiseled-featured thespian destined for inexplicable success. And while actresses of his age are now subjecting themselves to toxin injections and surgical pain to slow the hands of time, Keanu remains suspended in some sort of timeless vortex.
Then it dawned on me.
While critics and fans alike were reviling/adoring his stiff and emotionally monotonous performances, Keanu was strategically protecting his face from expression lines. Even his Neo glasses smartly prevented him from having to squint. His acting is his beauty secret.
From the "Whoa" in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure to the "Whoa" in The Matrix ten years later, the face remained the same. His tears in The Lake House (a brief moment of forced emotion) made me uncomfortable, as I wasn't sure what to do with a Keanu face that wasn't in neutral. Fast-forward to today and he's still a creaseless phenomenon.
I walked away from that theater a changed woman. Zoolander has "Blue Steel." Nicole Kidman (though she unconvincingly denies it) has Botox. And from now on, I have "The Keanu."
Nadine Bells
on her toes
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