NICHOLAS UNCAGED

It’s not too surprising that Nicholas Cage, nee Coppola, is not too pleased by what he reads about himself (“Nicholas Cage Opens Up,” by Roderick Mann, Oct. 19). I wasn’t terribly impressed by Mann’s write-up either.

Are we to believe that Cage really thinks he “made it on his own” (after being cast in three of his uncle Francis’ movies in four years) because he took a pseudonym before auditioning for “Valley Girl”? He couldn’t possibly believe that casting directors are that stupid.

Are we to believe that he’s really “encouraged that the studios are now being run by young executives” (whom we presumably have to thank for tasteless “Porky’s” clones, endless splatter movies and mindless martial-arts junk cranked out like sausages--each indistinguishable from another)? He must have been quoted out of context.

I’m not too sure what to say about the picture of Cage, nee Coppola, holding his cat aloft by its tail. Now that does make him look like an unlovable lout. Perhaps Mann neglected to advise us that Cage’s cat Lewis is one of those rare breeds that really enjoys being lifted by its tail. If so, it was an omission tantamount to character assassination.

If I may, allow me to offer Cage a bit of friendly advice: Take the money and don’t do interviews; they make you look and sound like a self-deluding dolt.

ARVID HOLMBERG

Monrovia