You caught my eye across the crowded space,
The music blared in the subdued glow.
I found myself beside you by good grace,
What bid me to converse, I do not know.
Fast friends we became as we shot the breeze,
At closing time, you offered me a lift.
Graciously, I accepted, if you please,
A pleasant drive home, O, it was so swift.
Before parting, I turned your cheek to peck,
What a surprise! You gave a tender kiss.
You went no farther; I gave due respect,
We conspired to meet anew, O, what bliss.
Friends and lovers, we became so true,
Partnered, no, but our friendship does ensue.

Neville, you are my friend and colleague. You are a God-fearing and rational man. Our friendship goes back many years. As my friend and one who shares my faith in Christ and the Church, I want to talk to you about something deeply personal and troubling for me. In sharing what I say, I risk betraying another's confidence. A student in my course on Thomistic philosophy called on me during office hours. He wanted to go over a point I raised in a lecture. As we discussed it, I noticed he was distracted; something was bothering him. I asked if he was alright, and he hastily told me everything was fine. Unconvinced, I pressed him gently and Socratically for the truth. Eventually, he broke down and confided in me that he had an experience that defied a rational explanation. I assured him that what he shared with me would be kept confidential. He then related to me his experience. I was shaken to the core. What he described was virtually identical to the experience I had in my first year in the seminary.

Can I have a glass of sherry? Thank you. I was eighteen years old and in my first year in the seminary. I was sure of my Vocation; the priesthood was my calling. One evening, it was hot and humid as I reviewed my notes from a lecture on Aristotlean logic. I had stripped down to my Bermuda shorts. Suddenly, a feeling came over me like nothing I experienced before. It was like I was caught in a whirlwind and an altered state of consciousness. I felt a sensation of agony and euphoria at the same time. I felt that my heart would give out. As I was suspended in that state of consciousness, I saw the Five Holy Wounds appear on my body. As quickly as the feeling came over me, it vanished, and I was left trembling and gasping for breath on the floor of my room. I was terrified. I could not explain what happened and feared I may have had a psychotic break from reality or the first symptom of schizophrenia. I am familiar with the hagiographies of various saints who were said to have had such experiences but maintained a healthy skepticism. I feared that no one would believe me if I told anyone what had happened. Worse, I feared that my Vocation might be called into question.

I buried the memory of the event in the following years as I completed my studies in the seminary, where I excelled academically. As you know, the Archdiocese sponsored me to continue my studies, and I earned a Doctorate in Thomistic Studies. I have been on the faculty for thirty years and have published many books and articles. My faith is secure despite being rocked by the scandals of the 1980s and 1990s in the institutional Church. I am dedicated to scholarship and the education of young minds. In that regard, I want to talk to you about the young man whose confidence I took. His name is Atticus Park. He comes from a Catholic family, and while his Vocation is not in taking a Holy Order, he is a faithful and gifted student in philosophy and theological studies. He has excellent potential as a Catholic scholar. Atticus is troubled as he can neither explain nor understand what happened to him, just as I could not when it occurred to me as a young man. I am at a loss as to what to tell him. I am reaching out to you because of your expertise in Catholic mysticism and the fact that you have taken part in investigations into these types of religious experiences for the Archdiocese. I would appreciate any insight you can offer.

John, would you like another sherry? I will have one, too. Yes, I studied Catholic mysticism extensively and have participated in investigations into the kinds of religious experiences you and your student were involved in. I understand how distressing it was for you both. I can testify to your character and sanity as your friend and colleague. From what you told me about your student, it is doubtful that he has a mental disorder. Yes, his reputation as a sharp student precedes him. In my inquiries into claims of visions, locutions, the stigmata, Marian apparitions and the like, I concluded that none were authentic. The claimants either made them up in seeking attention or needed psychiatric care. That is not to say there may not be genuine instances of such phenomena. Catholic teachings hold that we strive for spiritual progress toward an ever more intimate union with Christ. I do not doubt you experienced something profoundly intimate and challenging to comprehend. "The Lord works in mysterious ways," goes the adage. The two of you share a bond in your related experiences. You see something of yourself in Atticus, his devotion and academic prowess. You were right to keep your experiences to yourselves and rest assured that what we discussed here today will remain with us. No, you did not betray his confidence. It may signify that you are meant to guide him in his spiritual development and academic career. Honestly, there is nothing to worry about.

Thank you, Neville. It is such a relief to release that burden. Yes, yes, I will talk with Atticus and ask if he would consider being my protege. Thank you for the sherry and your insight. Clarity goes a long way, and I trust your wisdom and judgement.

I recently revisited the Martin Scorsese film King of Comedy. I saw it in its original run in the early 1980s, and it was and is a difficult film to watch. What struck me in King of Comedy was the uncompromising attitude of Rupert Pupkin, the aspiring comic who thought an appearance on the Jerry Langford Show was his ticket to stardom. Despite Langford telling him when they met by chance that you only get onto a network television show when you have experience, Rupert was convinced that did not apply to him. He was sure of himself and his standup act, having practiced in his mother's basement for years, that he was ready for the big time. The Langford Show's producers listened to Rupert's audition tape and told him he had "a good potential" and to call them back when he had experience, and they would consider having him on the show. There is no free lunch in any industry, least of all in entertainment. If you want to succeed, you have to start at the bottom and apply yourself. Even then, nothing is guaranteed. Indeed, it helps if you are talented, but as David Niven famously observed, what you need more than anything to succeed as an actor is "luck." Luck plays a big part, but it is reasonable to think that with training and experience, you can succeed in the entertainment industry.

It is painful to watch Rupert Pupkin's ill-fated efforts to start at the top as a comic because he misread Jerry Langford's intentions so egregiously. Langford told him to call his office, only to get rid of him as a pest. Rupert took him at his word and tried calling Langford's office, but the calls were not returned. A reasonable person would understand and accept that they were uninterested and let it go. I remember when I started stage acting, there was a theatre company I wanted to join. I contacted the artistic director, expressing my interest in joining the company. He responded, offering me the opportunity to help construct the set for a production. I jumped at the opportunity. It was my chance to impress them and receive an offer of membership in the company--so I thought. I toiled away diligently, helping build the set. Following the completion, the company entered a theatre challenge. I asked if I could participate and was told that they had already chosen their team, and they thanked me for my interest in their company as they cut me loose. I served my purpose in helping build the set, and I was no longer useful to them. I misread their intentions and was left with egg on my face. It was a disappointment. However, I got the message and moved on—other opportunities followed in the years ahead.

In the last two years, before retiring from my job in a university library, I enrolled in night classes for a screen acting course. Upon graduation from the screen acting program and with the sponsorship of the artistic director, I got representation with a talent agency. I continue training as an actor and look for auditions as my agent pitches for me and the other actors on the roster. I work on film projects for no pay for the chance to gain experience in front of the camera. I audition, hoping for the booking, and know not to take it personally when rejected. Sure, there are times when I doubt my ability as an actor. It is easy to fall into the trap of all or nothing. My sister calls it the "You're Brad Pitt or you're nothing," a pessimistic outlook. Compare and despair plagues me as much as I try not to let it get me down. It is hard not to feel I failed when I see younger actors enjoying success that I have not achieved. But I remember the praise from acting instructors and film directors for my talent. It is a competitive business, and you are edged out repeatedly in auditions by other actors. It does not mean you are not a good actor. If you want to achieve, you must press on, go to auditions, and get bookings when possible. That way, you are an actor, a part of the culture and the industry, and will leave your mark.

Anton Lesser is a mature English actor I admire. I see in him a kindred spirit. He is in his early seventies and still acting. I am in my sixties. He and I find common ground in our character types. He shines in roles as the mature father figure. His sensitive portrayal of Chief Superintendent Reginald Bright in the crime drama Endeavour is spell-bounding. The character is a mature authority figure. At face value, he is genial, soft-spoken, someone you would see as a nice guy. However, there is an edge to Chief Superintendent Bright. He came up through the ranks when corruption was rife in the police force. He has skeletons in his closet. In the twilight of his career, he tries to set things right before he retires. Bright is an antihero. He is a good and decent man but has a checkered past. It is hard for the viewer not to sympathize with him.

I am suited to the same character type. I am well cast in roles where I play the mature father figure, a father figure who can be a pleasant or likeable man or a man with a sinister side to his character. To date, my screen roles included being a respected newspaper editor and mentor to a journalism student. Beneath his good-natured outward appearance, the editor was a serial killer. He was a tragic antagonist. In a feature horror film, I played a timid, harmless older man who suffered the misfortune of crossing paths with a demon god. The demon god possessed the formerly nervous man and compelled him to commit several murders.

In contrast to these characters, in another part, I played an Orthodox Christian priest, a kind man who operates a youth ministry. His goodness shone through; he was a good and decent man who cared for his parishioners' spiritual and material welfare. Like Anton Lesser, I bring the nice guy feeling to my characters (the mature father type) even when the role has an edge. I am at my best in such roles. In the future, I hope to get more bookings in such parts.

John Carlson, the character I played in the Film Truth in Journalism, is a tragic antagonist. John Carlson tried desperately to preserve his reputation, only to destroy it. John Carlson was the editor of a newspaper. He learned the trade and rose through the ranks in the analog era. But, unfortunately, his skills and experience became obsolete, old fashioned. Still, he was successful in the newspaper business, and he could have accepted retirement and rested on his laurels. But instead, he feared becoming a has-been and forgotten so much that he resorted to manufacturing a narrative around suspicious deaths. Finally, he turned to murder to cover up his wrongdoing. Yes, the editor did it. The fear of losing his reputation was his undoing. Tragically, the fear became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ultimately, all that remained of him and his identity as a newspaper editor was a brief entry in Murderpedia—something in the internet's dark corners for curiosity seekers preoccupied with macabre crime stories to find and read.

Shooting on my second screen role wrapped yesterday at 4:00 pm. The film, a short called The City in Grey, will be screened at the next Kino Ottawa event later this month. It was my first gig with Deniz Berkin, an Ottawa filmmaker, and it was a pleasant experience--save for the moment I took a swig of bourbon, thinking it was apple juice. The role I played was the Mentor. There are two characters in the film, the Mentor and his Protégé. I played the Mentor, and the chemistry between my scene partner (the Protégé) and me was first-rate.

I wrote this backstory for the character. The Mentor, Alfred, is an ambitious man who succeeded in business. He came from a working-class background and applied his business acumen to build his empire. Along the way, he accepted that graft and corruption are a part of life in the business world. He had dealings with corrupt public officials and underworld figures. He succeeded in avoiding scandals--though wagging tongues claim that he indulged in shady business dealings on his way to the top. Alfred lives on his own terms; he does not care what others think. Alfred understands that it is a dog-eat-dog world, and if you are not careful, you end up on the inside looking out. He has no regrets.

His doctors advise that he is ill and has a short time to live. Given that reality, he decided to put his affairs in order and choose suicide. He will die the way he lived, on his terms. He selected a trusted associate to take the reins of his business interests. As a test of loyalty and her resolve, he made the offer of proprietorship of his business empire contingent on her assisting in his suicide. The day has come. He summoned her to meet him at the park where he sat, viewing the river, as he took stock of his life and legacy. She met him at the park and made their way to his apartment. There he poured a drink and handed her an envelope. He placed a letter of introduction for his lawyers for the reading of his will, plus the legal documents that transfer proprietorship of his business to her, and a note for his family. She handed him the gun he would use to take his life. They embraced before she left his apartment. Once she was on her way, she heard the shot.

I look forward to the next Kino Ottawa screening to see the City of Mist in its first public viewing.

I discovered an enchanting Netflix series, a drama called Young Royals, recently. I found it browsing titles with the keywords gay romance. The series is Swedish, the cast are Swedes, and the dialogue is in Swedish. The conversation is dubbed into English with subtitles inserted to translate text messages, emails, and the like. The premise of the series rests on the protagonist, Prince Wilhelm, the younger son of the Swedish Royal family and his desire to live an everyday life. His elder brother, Prince Erik, the Crown Prince, is heir to the throne and groomed for his role as King. Wilhelm is the spare. As much as he wants a normal life, his mother, Queen Kristina of Sweden, reminds him that his life as a prince is a privilege, not a burden.

On that premise, Prince Wilhelm tries to fit in at the posh boarding school he is sent to; he wants to be like the other students. But, at the same time, he has to keep up appearances and avoid bringing shame on his family and the institution of the monarchy. The plot thickens when Wilhelm is smitten by a classmate, Simon, a student of Swedish and South American ethnicity and a commoner. Simon returns his feelings, and a romance blossoms. Unfortunately, the untimely death of Crown Prince Erik in a car crash forces Wilhelm to step into the role of Crown Prince. That only tightens the restrictions on how he conducts his personal life. When a cousin clandestinely shoots a video of Wilhelm and Simon in bed together and uploads it to social media, the proverbial shit hits the fan.

Yes, the subplots deal with issues that are universal for humanity: namely, honour, shame, duty, class distinctions, love, friendship, betrayal, dysfunction, drug and alcohol addiction, and the lengths families will go to avoid scandal. For example, the royal family covers up the scandal of Crown Prince Wilhelm's romance with Simon with a disingenuous denial that it is Wilhelm in the video. Another student is sacrificed to keep the Crown Prince out of an incident involving illicit drug use at the school. Avoiding shame and maintaining personal honour are powerful motivations, not just for royals.

There is much to like about Young Royals. The casting is superb. What struck me is that they chose actors and actresses who did not have the perfect Nordic features. That is not to say they are unattractive; instead, they look like the people watching the series. One usually expects the cast in teen drama series to have perfect complexions and chiselled figures. Instead, the characters look like people you see in everyday life. The characters are not larger than life, as is the reality of royal families in continental Europe; Crown Prince Wilhelm and the rest of his extended family dress and carry themselves as middle-class Swedes. The actors and actresses play their roles superbly.

Season two of Young Royals starts in November. I eagerly anticipate watching new episodes. The idea of a Crown Prince who is gay and wants an everyday life, including his love affair with another boy, a commoner, confronting the realities of royal duties, including taking a wife and producing an heir to the throne, intrigues me. I hope the second season will maintain the quality established in the first six episodes of season one.