Sunday Times Interview with Viggo Mortensen: Broadsheet or Loose Women?

Viggo Mortensen on Times magazine cover

I read an interview with Viggo Mortensen in the Sunday Times supplement and immediately realised the reason for his somewhat queasy smile on the cover. He looks like he’s trying to smile while someone pulls his fingernails out. Charlotte Edwardes sets about this actor who takes his work seriously as if she were on Loose Women ribaldly joking with Peter Andre.

First, she feels the need to bone up on (cue giggles from Ms Edwardes – this is her level) his films so is evidently unacquainted with them – though how you could miss some of them I don't know. All she’s gleaned from her research though is the fact that he ‘gets his kit off’ a lot. She hasn’t recognised his integrity or commitment. It’s obvious that he’s completely bemused by her gambit, perhaps believing that a paper like this might send someone who had some interest in or understanding of his oeuvre rather than a frivolous girl who’s preoccupied with things that are irrelevant to him and I venture, the rest of us.

She could have talked a little more about his choice of roles – from A Walk on the Moon (with Diane Lane), a personal favourite of mine, through The Lord of the Rings (perfectly cast as Aragorn) to the Cormac McCarthy tale, The Road, his rapport with animals, his co-stars, his other talents but no, she went through and counted how many films he took his clothes off in and asked why so many, as if this were his decision and had nothing to do with the nature of the film, the character, the director, the story. As if he were this rampant exhibitionist who just couldn’t resist stripping off.

The article is even billed on the Contents page as: ‘Viggo Mortensen, 57, tells Charlotte Edwardes why nudity is no big deal’ as if this is what he chose to discuss. The tagline has 'his roles require nudity with unusual regularity' and the cover calls him 'Hollywood's hottest silver fox', a description that I'm sure must leave him cold.

When she finally does broach the subject of his ‘Method’ approach, how, if his character didn’t get a chance to wash, he wouldn’t either, the asinine question that results is ‘Is he really quite smelly?’ I’m sure he must find her shallow, ignorant, maybe even insulting.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no fan of pretentious luvvies bleating on about their craft but this whole approach seems disrespectful and if this is representative of respectable journalism these days, it’s very depressing. I appreciate that everyone is dumbing down as education standards plummet but for some reason I didn’t expect it of the Sunday Times quite yet. Congratulations, guys, you’re ahead of the game. It reminds me of an episode of The One Show, the one and only time I watched it, when the idiot presenters thought it would be hilarious to interview Elvis Costello while wearing huge versions of his original glasses. What’s he going to be remembered for – his songwriting and singing talent or his glasses? No contest as far as these twerps were concerned. They thought it was hilarious.

Mortensen as Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings

TV Series: Versailles on BBC2

Louis XIV in front of his palace at Versailles

Found myself seduced by the trailer and the incredibly apposite choice of an Adam and the Ants song, 'Kings of the Wild Frontier' ('A new royal family, a wild nobility'), a song that still sounds so fresh and alive. It made me think that the series creators, Simon Mirren (Helen's nephew) and David Wolstencroft, might have an interesting slant on their subject matter.

Gorgeous interior, pretty cast, great hair

'Appearance is everything' (Louis XIV)

Many have compared Versailles unfavourably with Wolf Hall. I found the latter turgid in the extreme, in plot, dialogue, character, action. Its whole ambience was drab and dark and I was left thinking that there was no budget for anything but obscure interiors, whereas Versailles is like a glitterball, its many bright facets attracting my attention: its undeniably pretty cast, the sumptuous costumes, magnificent settings and the stunning, beautifully crafted opening credit sequence, which has deservedly won awards, with its perfect marriage of images, music, typeface (just the way the title comes together makes my heart beat a little faster) - every time it comes on I have to turn the volume up. Every time. Louis XIV is often shown being dressed by his entourage, occasionally seeming mesmerised by his own reflection. But the whole shebang is an essay in grandiloquence, worthy of Louis himself, with the first season reportedly costing £20 million.

Then there's the adroit characterisation and fantastic acting from the leads (George Blagden, one minute masterful, the next vulnerable, plus he can sashay in a sash, as Louis XIV; Alexander Vlahos as his petulant brother, Philippe; and Evan Williams's turn as the saucy, mischief-making Chevalier). So I agree that Versailles is no Wolf Hall. And all the better for that. It's way more engaging and much more fun.

Mark Rylance in Wolf Hall

Where Wolf Hall had the lugubrious, dour (or badly constipated) Mark Rylance barely altering his expression throughout (watch it for yourself), in Versailles, Louis XIV's face is never the same, each subtle nuance of emotion registered in a sometimes infinitesimal alteration, only fleetingly visible. Blagden conveys more in one scene than Rylance did in a whole series, from a demure tilt of the head to a melancholy glance, a forgiving smile to a sudden rousing of rage.

Louis looks down

And then up, prettily

'You haven’t seen the shoes'

'Are you with me, brother?'
The dynamic between him and Philippe is complex and intriguing. They strike sparks off each other, their exchanges flare up like fireworks and are as suddenly extinguished but come replete with arch looks and sometimes not-so-subtle innuendo about exposed flanks and well-timed thrusts. More of a seesaw than a power struggle as they peacock around the court, with Philippe, when rebuked for his excessive expenditure, retorting: 'You build your palace. I wear my clothes.' And called to account for his shoes in particular, he explains 'You haven’t seen the shoes.' Even when he's sent to war, there's time to agonise over his outfit: 'How does one dress for war?'

Machinating

Conflict is rife as both brothers are imperious, impetuous and believe they're entitled to behave as they like, which often translates as badly (Louis is obliged to consider his position longer because he's King, as he's fond of reminding everyone although mostly to no avail). He randomly wields his power like an omnipotent toddler. Louis' affair with Philippe's wife doesn't help. Then there's the war, the striking builders (it's France after all), the discontented nobility, the whingeing mistresses, mysterious masked conspirators, not to mention the seditious machinations of Chevalier. Poor Louis. He feels benighted and doesn't know who to trust.

To top it all, his wife has given birth to a black baby. She has a pet blackamoor. This exchange follows:
Doctor: There is an explanation.
Louis, icily sardonic: I cannot wait to hear it.
Doctor: ... He gave her a look of such force that it served to corrupt the royal womb with darkness.
Louis, icily sardonic again: It must have been a very penetrating look.

Vlahos is superb as Philippe, who does an awful lot of stomping in and storming out like a teenager in a tantrum, even on a coach trip - we're not talking Ebdons - appearing at the window to ask 'Are we there yet? I'm bored.' But he is steadfastly loyal to his brother, despite the latter continually playing the King card every time they argue. And Louis can depend on him, when beset by nightmares or inadequacy, crying out 'Make them go away.' Philippe takes charge, merely commanding 'Leave us.' It's as easy as that.

Boy on boy tongue action

'It's all about sex' ...
As my English teacher (Mr Wells) was wont to say. In Versailles, there's not exactly a homoerotic subtext. Everything else is subtext to the homoeroticism. The relationship between Philippe and Chevalier is fascinating, its chemistry so palpable that it's spawned a number of inventive YouTube tributes. Plus, it's the first series to depict realistic kissing between men - yes, truly (better than Queer as Folk). There's some defiant cross-dressing and I'm sure Conchita would approve. Philippe seems determined to provoke a reaction but when he gets one, turns, let's say 'aggressive' although 'murderous' might be more apt, so we're left wondering if this was his original aim - to be given an excuse to vent his fury.

Louis: Have you lost your mind?

The court is decadent, Louis is promiscuous. Philippe is bi. Chevalier is easy. It's possible to extrapolate innuendo from relatively harmless-sounding dialogue. Louis is conversing with a friend from his youth. They admire his mistress-in-waiting (with Louis flattery will get you everywhere and she's wise to this) and Louis warns: 'She you do not touch' then 'I have a position in mind for you' and we have to wonder if he's suggesting a threesome.

Louis maintains 'A little death is good for you', a reference to orgasm (cf John Donne, William Shakespeare) and he certainly abides by this creed. Culture creeps in now and then.

Sophie (Maddison Jaizani)

Maddison Jaizani has fun as Sophie, the teenage girl in court, unwittingly being groomed by her Mother for a role as the King's mistress. She's more eye candy for Louis's wandering eye to feast upon. Thus far he hasn't noticed her, even though she looks like a young Liz Taylor. Oh and a special mention to Anna Brewster for her performance as Mme DeMontespan - she has the best lines.

So, are there too many sex scenes? It is racy and raunchy but that reflects the real relationships in the court, ramped up for the purposes of the drama. And a little controversy can't really hurt. But, let's face it, it's British TV, it ain't that explicit.

Which filter should I use?

The past reimagined via the present
It's a vision of the past tempered by a lens from the present. There's evidence of a postmodern self-awareness in a shot of the ever fashion-conscious Philippe checking himself out in a mirror before he begins his battle charge. It looks, deliberately I'm sure, exactly as if he were taking a selfie.



So, what's the caveat?
The dialogue is sometimes rather clunky and plain wrong. Here are some toe-curling examples:
Chevalier is described as 'beyond reproach' . Beyond reproach is the exact opposite of what Chevalier is. The writers mean 'beyond the pale'.
A visiting royal declares 'Versailles is more beautiful than I can imagine.' I think he must mean 'than I could have imagined.'

'Do you have my back?'

Then there's the use of modern-day vernacular such as 'Are you with me, brother? Do you have my back?', which reminds me of that line from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, 'Must you walk in back of me?' or the faut pas in Titanic when Kate Winslet gives someone the finger.  Some of it is meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but there's a general tendency to sacrifice authenticity for a quick quip. George Blagden shows a particular talent for delivering some of the dodgier lines, such as 'That's a lot of shit' when he sees a cartload of manure. He still  manages to emerge regal. Anyway, I volunteer to do a quick read-through of the script to avoid at least the first kind of mistake.

Then, not all the actors are as convincing as the leads. I won't mention names.

The series doesn't purport to be a history documentary but a drama derived from history or historical facts. As such, it's more than a tongue-in-cheek romp but less than an adaptation. It would suffer in comparison to Poldark, which derives from Winston Graham's brilliant novels (never short of wit themselves and intelligently scripted to retain the power of the original) and should never be reduced, as the press seems determined to do, to a showcase for Aidan Turner's physique (appealing as it is) because the writing, acting and visualisation are all superb.

But, for all that, Versailles is involving, beautifully realised and incredibly watchable, with irresistible tableaux and curiously appealing characters. I won't be missing an episode.

For more on George Blagden, see This Week's Passion on Vikings. For more on Versailles, see Do You Speak Olde Worlde?

Book: The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

The book

Everybody but everybody knows other people’s dreams are boring. Why didn’t anyone tell Doris Lessing? This book is full of descriptions of her dreams and convoluted flights of fancy, which might possibly be of interest to her therapist (the excuse for some of the endless detail about them) but are tedious in the extreme for the reader. They don’t ring true and are full of glaringly obvious symbolism. I was going to type out a section from one of these dreams but started to lose the will to live. They are mind-numbingly dull. There’s a really long, involved one about an encounter with a tiger near the end of the book. Read at your peril.

(Here’s a bit I copied from a file – it’s not as dull or long as most of them: “I stood looking down out of the window. The street seemed miles down. Suddenly I felt as if I'd flung myself out of the window. I could see myself lying on the pavement. Then I seemed to be standing by the body on the pavement. I was two people. Blood and brains were scattered everywhere. I knelt down and began licking up the blood and brains.” Need I say more?)

From the book: ‘How boring these emotions are that we're caught in and can't get free of, no matter how much we want to.’
You’re telling me. If you find them boring and they’re your emotions, how do you think we feel?

The word other reviewers have used is self-indulgent and I totally agree. The whole thing needs much more careful and extensive editing. Inside this tome, there is a slim volume of merit I’m sure but its traces are so rare and obscure that it isn’t worth reading for them. An editor needed to go through this with a scythe, or whatever tool would get rid of all the chaff.

Doris Lessing

What really offends me is any notion that this book has feminist credentials or is some kind of classic of any genre at all, eg ‘Widely regarded as Doris Lessing’s masterpiece and one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century, ‘The Golden Notebook’ is wry and perceptive, bold and indispensable.’

It’s the opposite of everything feminism stands for. The women in it are totally in thrall to whichever man chooses to sleep with them. They have little volition. Unless Doris Lessing is suggesting that the fact that they are ‘Free Women’ (admittedly this term has to be ironic) allows them to sleep with other women’s husbands while remaining stalwartly single themselves. It’s all pretty pathetic.

‘Anna discovered she was spending most of her time doing nothing at all; and decided the remedy for her condition was a man. She prescribed this for herself like a medicine.’
Guess what? It doesn’t work. And anybody who thinks this is feminist in any way is seriously deluded.

Lessing says: ‘Although no one will ever believe it, I was completely unconscious of writing a feminist book. I was simply writing about what I saw.’
I believe it, Doris.

The structure comes across as an attempt to do something different for the sake of it. It doesn’t work or add anything to the novel, merely obfuscates any point the author is trying to make although I’m not convinced there was any kind of point in the first place. The idea seems to be to demonstrate her failure to communicate anything to the reader but a deep and lasting ennui as we struggle to get through her stodgy prose and endless whingeing.

If this really was seen as a ‘landmark novel of the Sixties – a powerful account of a woman searching for her personal, political and professional identity’ or as representative of any kind of feminist value or stance, it’s a sad indictment of the era. And it won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2007!

Film: Ferocious Planet or 'Don't Poke the Alien!'

The box says it all

This film had us in fits from start to finish. I don't think it’s deliberately funny, more just a touch tongue in cheek but it’s definitely worth watching for its comedic value. Not that it’s without a serious moral message. I’ll tell you this at the end.

A group of bigshots in a lab to observe an experiment are accidentally moved through time and space by a couple of Irish scientists to the eponymous Ferocious Planet.

Strolling through the woods

The planet bears an uncanny resemblance to a wood anywhere on Earth (with a few cheap special effects such as violet smoke and flashing lights) although this doesn’t stop one of the inadvertently intrepid travellers from taking cellphone photos of trees, mushrooms and other flora which look exactly the same as their Earthly equivalent, to document the experience, while continually failing to even attempt to capture on film any of the huge dinosaur-like creatures (unsubtly realised in CGI, not quite as lifelike as Harryhausen's Dynamation) that give chase to our merry band and we assume give the planet its moniker as the place itself is no more ferocious than Central Park. As with the latter, it’s the natives that are ferocious rather than the habitat.

There is quicksand though and two of the men get stuck in it. The woman says: ‘Don’t worry. I go to Pilates six days a week.’ Who knew that this would give her enough strength to pull two heavy blokes out of quicksand? I’m having words with my yoga teacher as I still struggle to carry a medium-sized suitcase.

A straight-talking type with a deep southern drawl (at least to begin with), identified as the Colonel, takes control, (the likeable Joe Flanigan doing a passable impression of Christian Kane), and points out the obvious: ‘We’re not safe here.’ Someone asks: ‘Where do you suggest we go?’ Colonel: ‘Somewhere where our asses aren’t sticking up in the middle of the air.’

Every now and then, it falls to a character to deliver some of the Colonel’s backstory, which is entirely unnecessary but is there to prove that, although he’s someone who’s been wrongly discredited, he is really an all-round good guy. The dialogue is horribly ‘on the nose’, so: ‘It wasn’t your fault that hospital was destroyed.’

Here’s an absolutely priceless comment from the female Irish scientist or voice of doom: ‘According to my calculations, we only have six hours before the aligned conjunction of this dimension with ours suffers quantum collapse. … Once the dimensions fall out of alignment, we’re stuck here forever.’

However, whenever the Colonel asks how long they have, which he does periodically, neither of the scientists is able to give him any idea, saying things like ‘Two hours? Three hours?’ or ‘Not long now’. They’re rather vague. I wouldn’t trust scientists that can't even read a wristwatch myself.

Ferocious? Moi?

Anyway, time is supposedly of the essence but the characters still take what can only be described as a desultory stroll through the woods as if they really were wandering in Central Park on an extra long lunch break. My sister comments ‘I’ve seen people move faster than this in Morrisons.’ If you’ve ever been in Morrisons, you’ll know that its shoppers are like zombies; they move at a snail’s pace.

Possibly the most hilarious sequence is when the two scientists communicate by scribbling hieroglyphics on a pad, after each scribble, saying stuff like: ‘Could it be?’ (more frantic writing such as 223-4(x) + å17³²) then ‘But’ (a few quick pencil scratches) or ‘What if’ (more frenetic scrawling) then ‘It’s theoretically impossible!’ and so on. This episode stands in for the need for any real scientific explanation of how they got in their current predicament and how they’re going to get out of it. Neat.

Some sample dialogue
Hapless Expendable No. 1 pokes the alien they’ve captured, which seems to be dead. This results in the death of Hapless Expendable No. 1.
Scientist: What the hell happened?
Hapless Expendable No. 2: He poked it with a pen and some black stuff shot out and hit him in the face.
Scientist (reprovingly): Don’t poke the alien. (This has to be one of the best lines in a sci-fi movie ever and surely a creed we need to adopt for life but it’s still not the moral of the tale.)

Am I starting to sound Irish to you?

Meanwhile, the Irish accent has proved contagious and has spread from the scientists to the rest of the cast. Even the Colonel is speaking with a slight Irish brogue.

So, the moral of this tale would be ‘Do not allow Irish people who can't tell the time to fiddle with the space-time continuum’ especially one who boasts ‘I’m one of the most intelligent people in the world.’

TV Series: Cold Case: Honor (# 3.8) (2005)

The Cold Case team

Before 'Honor', I could take or leave Cold Case. The stories were sometimes interesting but I didn't originally identify with the regular cast, finding Lil's (Kathryn Morris) unrealistic hair and unearthly pallor a bit irritating although I've come to appreciate her and Scotty (Danny Pino) over time. I loved the use of music from the era of the original crimes to set the scene, something which is particularly exquisite in this episode.

John Allsopp as Carl Burton

In fact, 'Honor' far surpassed the others I had seen in this and everything else, partly because of the nature of the tragedy and partly because of the faultless, immensely simpatico performance of John Allsopp as the damaged Vietnam vet, Carl Burton, heart-wrenching from the first notes of  Elton John's 'Rocket Man' as he tries to reconnect with a son who doesn't recognise him, to the last strains of Gordon Lightfoot's 'If You Could Read My Mind' (was music really better in the 70s?), the final, moving salute and Carl's incredibly sad eyes. Now I can't listen to that song without becoming emotional. But this is what good TV should do, be put together so perfectly that it can affect you in this way.

More on acting/performance from the Squirrel at secretsquirrelshorts.

Check out my reviews on IMDB and Amazon too.

TV Series: Law & Order: Skate or Die (#19.21) (2009)

Jonah Appelbaum

Loved this episode. Brian Gant as Jonah Appelbaum aka the Bipolar Roller, steals every scene he's in with a swift and wicked sleight of hand. Jeremy Sisto thinks he's got a handle on it, blinks and it's gone, folded and put away in the pocket of Jonah's purple striped hoodie. He's totally mesmerising, incredibly believable (if that's not oxymoronic) as the roller-skating, sweetly psychotic anti-hero of this piece, disarming his interrogators and viewers alike. The part is very well written and beautifully realised with a skill so consummate, it seems there's nothing as ordinary as acting involved.

Kudos to whoever plundered the rainbow to create Jonah's outfit, which can only be called an 'ensemble', manifesting such diligent attention to detail, from accessories (the gold lamé scarf and the jewellery), the aforementioned hoodie, resulting in an effect that perfectly complements Jonah's psychedelic trip of a personality.

Brian Gant

Gant invests Jonah with so much idiosyncratic charm, such gusto and unexpected athleticism as he alternates between intense focus and utter distraction, somehow making it all seem so natural that if the plot hadn't worked out the way it did, I would fully expect to see the Bipolar Roller next time I come to New York and perhaps items from the clothing line will be in the shops soon.

To see Jonah, go to Brian Gant's showreel, here. He's a few minutes in.

More on acting/performance from the Squirrel at secretsquirrelshorts. 

Check out my reviews on IMDB and Amazon too.

Book: Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman

I found The Ocean at the End of the Lane lyrical and moving so got this from the library when I saw Neil Gaiman’s name on the cover and didn’t look at the title till I got it home. Oh no, I thought, because I had tried to watch the movie and thought it clichéd and dull, with terribly uninteresting characterisation and a storyline that achieved the extraordinary feat of being bland, formulaic and unbelievable at the same time. Not to mention totally wasting the talents of Claire Danes.

Stardust

In Stardust, Gaiman, like the magpies he writes about, randomly purloins bits and bobs from all over the place, in his case, from other better fantasy writers (C. S. Lewis and J. R. R.Tolkien), in a ‘this might be good in my book’ way, cobbles them together like an inexpert seamstress (ending up with a badly darned sock of a book – well, I never met a magpie who was good at sewing), while failing to reinvent or develop them in any worthwhile manner. You don’t get a sense that there’s any thought behind his (or rather his take on other people’s) ideas whereas with Lewis and Tolkien’s worlds, you know and believe that there’s a whole mythology (or religion) underpinning them. Here, there’s a thin veneer, gold leaf (or rather gold-coloured leaf) over plastic. Scratch the surface and you get more surface. Gaiman’s novel is like an old-style Hollywood backlot – with only facades and no actual buildings, let alone any foundations. No depth. I assumed at first that this was because it was written for children although I think children actually deserve better.

Elijah Wood as Frodo

It takes so much and gives nothing back – a quest (ok that’s in everything); ‘Think of it as a fellowship’ - hmm, sounds familiar; talking trees - ditto; a witch queen; dwarves who mine and are silversmiths of great skill; a reluctant wanderer (‘Adventures are all very well in their place, he thought, but there’s a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain’ – remind you of any hobbit in particular?) None of this is expressed with any originality or flair.

The plot is derivative and unexciting and the characters at worst extremely irritating (think a book full of Tom Bombadils), at best uninvolving. The whole thing is fantasy-lite. I was prepared to think that the film-makers had done a poor job in adapting the book but that simply isn’t so. What’s incredible is that anyone thought it was worth turning this slight, shallow tale into a movie. My advice is to go read The Ocean at the End of the Lane instead.