Hello, everyone. This is Brian Cox. I am 76 years old, I play Logan Roy on Succession, and I am writing to ask if someone can please take me to the circus.
Please? Can I please go there now? I want to go. I have to go. It is the only thing I care about anymore.
I am currently on the set of Succession so I will need someone to come pick me up and drive me to the circus. It does not matter to me which circus we go to. I am so sick of being here and yelling at my fake sons. All day I stand around saying “fuck you” and “fuck off” and “business”—enough! I want to be under the great striped tent where I can smell the popcorn and watch the elephants and the clowns and the sick freaks in leotards who jump around on the trapeze. Don’t you think I deserve that? I do what I am supposed to do. I scream at Shiv. I wear my suits. I am a very old man and all I am asking is that someone please take me to see the carnival of delights that Barnum and Bailey and the Ringling Brothers and all the rest have created for me to enjoy. I am begging!
Next time I am going to have them put it in my contract: “Let me go to the big top. I want to see the show.”
Just yesterday when Kieran Culkin was in hair and makeup, I came in and asked him if he would drive me to the circus, even just for half an hour—and he laughed. He thought I was making a joke. I told him, “You’re a good boy, Kieran, I know that, but let’s get out of here for just a while and go to the big top. I think you will like the circus. Some people there can eat fire.” He laughed again, and said, “Get out of here, you old joker.” Well, the walk back to my trailer was one of the saddest of my career. I asked a security guard if I could have his golf cart, and he said no. And anyways, I do not even know where the circus is, so I don’t need a golf cart—I need someone to take me there. I need the ringmaster to show me to my seat and say, “Brian, are you ready for the best evening of your life?”
If you bring me to the circus, I can buy you a cotton candy. I have plenty of money.
Every day I’m in this office building. It’s so cold. They want me to pretend to have another heart attack. Do you know how hard that is? Do you realize that when I sink to the ground in anguish and say, “Kendall, help me,” all I’m thinking about are the man who can balance a chair on his chin and the woman who can put her head behind her legs? I am dying to see them in person. I am dying to go to the circus. Please? Please, please, will someone take me? Take me with you to the circus, please.
