An Open Letter To Paul Rudd

Hey Paul,

I’m going to be honest with you. I thought you would have been a great Heeb cover. We asked your agent and/or manager about hooking something up and, well, they said you didn’t have the time and that maybe you were busy doing a cameo or being a co-star or something. Total bummer. But anyway, I was just at a LaGuardia airport newsstand looking over the magazine stacks and I couldn’t help but notice your agent and/or manager’s decision to make time for a Paul Rudd Men’s Journal magazine cover. And here’s when it hit me. You need a new agent and/or manager.

Let’s face it, Paul, neither you nor I know anyone who reads Men’s Journal. It’s not your demographic. It’s Hugh Jackman’s demographic. It’s Lance Armstrong’s demographic. Guys looking for the country’s best fishing spots or those fellows in the market for a new musky cologne that doubles as the aromatic equivalent of a three-day stubble read that publication (granted, I’ve never actually opened an issue of Men’s Journal but whatever. This is a blog. It’s not like I needed to research this). We New York Jews look at a Men’s Journal and think, Man, that thing is so gentile. It doesn’t speak to us. It’s not supposed to.

And on that cover of the June 2007 edition, you’re sitting on a beach and there are waves crashing behind you and you look like you’re enjoying it. Reality check. You were born in Passaic, New Jersey, you live in the East Village, and guest-starred in Friends. What about you says, “active lifestyle with a focus on adventure, travel, equipment, sports, fitness, health, style, ideas?”

And then I thought about it some more because, Paul, I care. I see a little of myself in you. So don’t be mad when I tell you that I thought about your career, about how you’re 38-years-old and always just on the cusp of being a star. The cusp, Paul, is like Jersey City to Manhattan. So close, but so, so, so smelly. And chicks dig you, man. They think you’re sensitive, intellectual, funny, charming and unpretentious. I know this because I’ve asked some of them. They were all vocally pro-Rudd. Only one confused you with Ben Stiller but she knows nothing about pop culture. Your agent and/or manager is aiming too low. Will Ferrell gets his own movies and so should you. Steve Carrell is now a movie star, not a movie co-star. Hell, Stiller–who looks nothing like you, by the way—has been cruising on the same one-note character for nearly a decade. You, my friend, you have range. You can do drama (P.S.), black comedy, (The Shape of Things), straight comedy (Anchorman), and even terribly offensive television (again, Friends). Where’s your breakout role? Where’s your Hotel Rwanda? Your Entourage? Your movie about Truman Capote that starred the other guy who wasn’t Philip Seymour Hoffman? Shoot something that really blows up your star factor like a summer blockbuster superhero movie. The Blue Beetle is totally up your alley: look him up. A totally underrated character, kinda just like you. Or even take a stab at Thor before Owen Wilson gets it. But whatever, man. Let’s raise that bar just a bit higher than your 5’8-self. Call your agent and/or manager and demand a Judd Apatow buddy film where you’re not just the buddy. Because you, my friend, are so much more than that. You’re Paul Rudd, goshdarnit, and, well, you should be where you belong. And in this instance, it was on the cover of Heeb.

Peace out, home-slice,
Arye Dworken

What do you think?