Jeffrey Lynn Goldblum, age 65, of West Homestead, Pennsylvania, has not spent a second of his life doubting that he is incredibly attractive. Known for his baritone voice, freely associative monologues and award-winning roles as Professor Brody in Cats & Dogs (2001) and Milton Krampf in Mortdecai (2015)*, Goldblum has rightfully spent the past four decades in the public eye swaggering into rooms dick-first. In recent months, however, he has found himself at the heart of a movement which has not only recognised his splendour, but adopted him as a “manic pixie dream uncle”.
It is March 2018. Lounging, somehow, in a hard-backed chair, Mr. Goldblum reads out “Hilarious Thirst Tweets” for local news publication BuzzFeed Celeb’s YouTube channel. His glasses, perhaps stolen decades ago from the rhinion of existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, perch like an avian familiar upon his marble forehead. “I would like Jeff Goldblum to [redacted] my [redacted]”, he reads, his voice a paian to long-lost gods. Beaming like a bronze statue come to life, Goldblum leans even further back. “You can fill in your own redactions,” he intones, nodding wisely. “Wow … she’s…” – his voice trails off, into the recesses of the Universe. To Goldblum, this moment is but the first chime of a cosmic glockenspiel whose melody he has long awaited. It is the first worshipper approaching an altar which he never asked for, but to which he must, at some point, have vaguely sauntered up, shrugging as he beheld a statue in his likeness, knowing that this was rightfully his. Now, finally, years after he stood before a pile of dinosaur excrements while clad in black and stated the obvious (“that is one big pile of shit”), the general public is doing the same: we have sauntered up, shrouded in mourning for the years spent overlooking his presence, and have accepted the evidence, embraced His beauty.
It is May 2018. Jeff Goldblum regularly trends on Twitter. Not for any particular reason; this is simply how we worship. Best of all, Goldblum is a kind deity. In March, He spake unto Nick Schager of The Daily Beast, “If I have anything to say about it, I’m going to rip my clothes off at the drop of a hat, yes! When you look like this, you gotta flaunt it!” Now, but two months later, He provides the first tasters, but droplets of manna. “sorry bout it!!!” He apologizes, mercifully, as He posts a picture of Himself in eveningwear to His Instagram stories, the primary outlet for His gospel. Jeffrey Goldblum knows we, His acolytes, will lap this up. He smiles down upon us impishly, showering us with gifts, mere morsels from a seemingly bottomless cornucopia of avuncular charm. He knows that He is, ultimately, one of us. For we are all united, in the end, by one simple fact of life: We all love Jeff Goldblum.
*Mr. Goldblum, though a Saturn Award® winner for Best Actor, and an Academy Award® nominee for Best Live Action Short Film, has not received any accolades for either of these remarkable films.