The George Lucas Research Library. An amazing place, apparently. He bought up an old studio’s location files, decades of research on different places to film, plus historical costumes, everything a filmmaker could need. And then he hired somebody to put in a stained glass ceiling, and his wife ran off with the guy.
I imagine Mrs. L. catching sight of the stained glazier’s elegant, swan-like, Joseph Fiennes neck, and sighing longingly. Then frowning back at her husband George’s stubby, pathetic little non-neck, looking as if his spine could hardly be bothered to extend itself out of his torso. And the way he tried to sculpt a fake neck with that neatly trimmed beard, but really, he might as well scrawl the words “chin area” and “neck area” on his lower head/upper torso, he was fooling no one.
George has kept the stained glass ceiling in place ever since, and when he walks into his magnificent library, he cranes his head up to look at the coloured panes, the blushing crimsons and verdant greens, and tries to grow a neck.
Stop me, this is just mean. I will say that I was touched to read that, when their divorces became final, Spielberg and Lucas were spotted down at the beach, making sandcastles. I do think that’s genuinely sweet.
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