Mr. Rickman, You Had Me At Earl Grey

There I was, five minutes before I should've been leaving for school with my kids, watching this video of Alan Rickman (your kids know him as Professor Snape). 

I couldn't look away; I dare you to try.

Original video from "Portraits in Dramatic Time" by David Michalek
Music from movie Inception - Mind Heist

How did the phone call go when Michalek tried to set this up?

 MICHALEK: "Uh, Mr. Rickman? Uh, yeah, I had this idea. Maybe you could come into the studio tomorrow morning? Could you maybe wear your new silver Armani suit, the one that makes you look like James Bond? Then, well, uh, I could make a 15-second video of you maybe, uh, making a cup of tea, then stirring it? After that, you can just go ahead and do what feels natural."

The results are epic. And, it makes me wonder how I might approach, say, unloading the dishwasher differently if I had a tune like that playing in the background:

Portraits in Dramatic Domesticity: Time to Unload the Dishwasher

She slowly grabs her bread knife, and looks at it with a cocked eyebrow as the stainless steel catches the light in the morning sun. A plate is released from her hand, spinning noiselessly into space before landing perfectly on the stack of dinnerware in the cabinet.

And then—a glass. Slowly, she brings it up to her face, and peers through it. She blinks, each eyelash apparent as she closes, and then reopens her eyes. And suddenly, she sees it—a spot! Her juice glasses are not clean!

Her face slowly transforms from mild-mannered housewife … to pouting domestic diva … to enraged Mistress of Evil.

She can not believe it; in slow motion, she shakes her head, her lips silently forming the word "Noooooo" and her knuckles turn white from the exertion of clenching her fist around the culpable glass.

Turning, she hurls the glass in disgust, and her fingers unclench to release it into the air. It spins and flips almost with the precision and grace of a ballerina until it meets its demise, smashing spectacularly against the kitchen cabinet. Splinters of glass fly everywhere, backlit by glistening sunlight streaming through the window.

She stands, panting, taking in the sight of the shards of glass scattering on the floor. One hand rests on her apron-clad hip, the other clenches in an angry fist, shaking in the air.

[Fade to black]