My goal in life is to become so famous that the mere suggestion I should or even could try harder would be like slapping God across His face.

Some Came Running, Can-Can, Ocean’s 11

There are many ways to give your audience a good performance. Trying, for instance. You could try. That usually works. But what if you don’t want to try? Furthermore, what if – and we’re purely in the realm of speculation, here – you also happen to be Frank Sinatra? It’s a grim situation, but one we must confront.

Movie stars coast all the time. That’s fine. If I could act like Al Pacino or Parker Posey I’d set it to autopilot occasionally, too, secure in the knowledge that even when I’m taking a breather the audience is still in for a good time. But Frank Sinatra doesn’t just coast – he decomposes, shits himself like a bored toddler. It’s upsetting.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so annoyed to be in a movie. Sinatra’s the cinematic equivalent of the old money crowd, appalled at the very notion someone would do something in order to remain famous. Those filthy hogs shouldn’t have to be reminded of who I am. They should just know.

This philosophical opposition to effort as a concept seems to take a toll on Sinatra’s supporting cast, too, in the same way that being forced to drag an extremely lazy member of your team up the side of Mount Everest is bound to make everyone a bit snippy. The other actors are all going harder than they’d probably like because they have to compensate for the fact that they’re acting opposite a corpse. Ol’ Blue Eyes isn’t here in any meaningful sense, gang. He’s thinking about whiskey and yearning for death.

The End

About halfway through Can-Can, Frank Sinatra tries to pull a single grape from a cluster. He accidentally yanks the entire thing off the table, and it lands on the floor with a thud. Sinatra notices this mistake, pauses for a moment, realizes he doesn’t care, and then continues with the scene.

Jesus Christ, Frank.

Pick up the fucking grapes.