If You Ask Me To

Clouseau: Does Yer Dewg Bite? Inn Keeper: No Clouseau: Nice Doggy (bends Down To Pet A Dachshund - It Snarls And Bites Him) I Thought You Said Yer Dewg Did Not Bite! Inn Keeper: Zat . . . Iz Not My Dog!

I Feel Ghostly Unreal Until I Become Somebody Else Again On The Screen.

It Won't Be Easy, That Is Why I Have Always Failed Where Others Have Succeeded.

Criticism Should Be Done By Critics, And A Critic Should Have Some Training And Some Love Of The Medium He Is Discussing. But These Days, Gossip-columnist Training Seems To Be Enough Qualification. I Suppose An Ability To Stand On Your Feet Through Interminable Cocktail Parties And Swig Interminable Gins In Between Devouring Masses Of Fried Prawns May Just Possibly Help You To Understand And Appreciate What A Director Is Getting At, But For The Life Of Me I Can't See How.

If You Ask Me To Play Myself, I Will Not Know What To Do. I Do Not Know Who Or What I Am.