Your makeup skills are awful, they're bottom of the barrel! Three whole times I've trusted you, and three whole times you've gone and defiled my handsome face! God! I should never have called the number on that poster, should never have believed you. 'Wrankwood's Future Number One Makeup Artist' my ass, you're renting out a basement for a studio. Does Wrankwood even mean anything to you? I know, you don't have to tell me, I'm past my prime as an actor. But I just need to turn things around. I'm done being cast as the mayor's bodyguard just to get shot in the head. Done with being the cop they kill off in a shootout. Why else would I even come to you?! At least I've still got my bottom line as a performer. What bottom line? A perfect face, that's what my bottom line is! Everyone wants to see a perfect face! In Wrankwood, they'll keep both our wallets stuffed as long as you can faithfully show off my good looks! Simple, right? But what did you do? The first time, I asked you to make me a heroic and honest young laborer, and you turned me into a miner who'd just crawled out of a pit. Second time, I wanted be a Pioneer leader, but you dumped half a bag of sand over my head and covered me in sticky-ass paint. Security at the shoot thought I was a tramp and almost escorted me out! And then you started lecturing me on how creators have their own artistic pursuits, and the need to have fidelity to reality, and how fine work always shines. Sure! I'll give you that, I was a dumbass who went and believed your crazy talk again, which is why I let you stick that freakish machine on my face again! I emphasized that this was a horror movie, and you promised you'd give me the scariest look of all. And what did you give me? Plasma smears? Leaking ulcers? Fangs? Not a single element to catch the eye, but a hell of a lot of causes for concern! And worst of all, I spend just a single moment by a heater, and the cameraman yells my face is melting once they start rolling! I give it a wipe and there's fake teeth and glass eyeballs falling off, all of it! FALLING OFF! If the producer didn't see how much my role cost, he would've kicked me straight off the goddamn set! So, you understand? I'm not coming to you anymore. You can rent your goddamn basement for the rest of your goddamn life! Hello? Yes, speaking. Sir?! 'The Man With No Face'? Oh, the director changed the name, no doubt. Yes, I starred. What? The premiere was a hit? Full house? Does this mean I'm... back on track? Hold on? No, sir... I want to know right now—My makeup artist? She's right next to me. Huh? Right, the film exec's asking for you. Wait, wait, Roberta, how did you manage to make it in Wrankwood this fast? Whatever your secret is, you've got to tell me... —I never once changed. ...... So this is Wrankwood, huh, sir.