Can I call you Gene? I know we never met, but after wearing through two DVDs of Singing’ in the Rain I feel like I know you. Feel free to call me Polly. Hell, you can call me Steve for all I care as long as you’re calling!
I just wanted to take a moment and thank you for all the joy you’ve brought me through the years. I fall for you over and over again each time you (as dashing Don Lockwood) recall your struggles as a young Broadway hoofer turned Hollywood heartthrob, and I laugh each time you pull the curtain up on that bitch Lina. Not to mention your duets with Ol’ Blue Eyes in On the Town! And who but you, dear Gene, could do justice to George’s music in An American in Paris?
Maybe it’s a little sketchy that you left behind a widow 47 years your junior. Or maybe that just means there is hope for Harrison and me after all! Either way, you were a beautiful man and you leave behind a beautiful legacy. Were it not for you, rainy first kisses wouldn’t be romantic, they’d mostly just be uncomfortable and kind of chilly. Hormonal high schoolers everywhere are eternally grateful.
Your lasting suaveness will not be forgotten.