by James Tuttle
Living in L.A., I get to do a lot of fun things that aren’t exactly common in many other cities around the world and going to premieres is near the top of that list. First of all, they’re free. And that goes for the popcorn and soft drinks, too. Second, if you’ve taken a few minutes to fix your damn hair, the fans thronging the red carpet try to take your picture because they think you must be someone famous. Finally, there’s a great party with an open bar and dinner after the screening to say, I guess, “thank you for coming to watch our movie…for free!” How cool is that?
I remember my first big premiere at the Egyptian Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, which is incidentally where the tradition originated in 1922 with Douglas Fairbanks’ Robin Hood, but the one I’m talking about was many years later. I know I look young for my age but that would be pushing it.
THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | REVIEW
by James Killough
I started on a riff about Game of Thrones yesterday, bouncing off the subject of British accents and how they can make a film seem foreign to the ears of American plebs—i.e., the people who keep flocking to Hollywood dreck and thereby supporting the Great Crap Machine—even if it’s in English. Including the riff meant the Attack The Block review grew to be two reviews in one, and at around three thousand words became seriously tangential and messy, even for a PFC post. So it’s been broken into two.
And now, part deux:
Peter Dinklage (not Greg Kinnear) as Tyrion Lannister. If you've got a title, money and a cunning tongue, who cares if you're a... um, if you have a bad dye job?
The nuances of British accents are used to pleasing effect—albeit in an esoteric way pleasing to Anglophiles—in HBO’s TV adaptation of Thrones. It’s doubtful that most American viewers, even the non-plebs who can afford premium cable, understand the fact that the dour northern Stark of Winterfell clan and its supporters speak with Mancunian/Liverpudlian accents from the north of England, while the louche, venal southerners from Kings Landing and Castlery Rock speak with ‘received pronunciation’ (RP) accents, or the so-called posh tones of BBC news readers, the royal family and the regions around London, not including thugs in council estates and the like.
THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES
by James Killough
In a mild twist of fate, I auditioned for a role on an HBO series yesterday. This is no early Meryl Streep character that is going to require me hours of dialogue training to nail an East Prussian accent. I doubt I’ll have to insist that all crew members call me by my character’s name so that my precarious Method balance is maintained. If I get the role, and it is a real long shot that I will, I would basically be playing me.
James Killough's new headshot, which will launch a sneak attack on HBO. Photo: Sebastian Artz.
I’m sure there are hundreds of actors out there who can play a middle-aged Ghey from the West Village, which is what this is. And I’m sure we all sound alike in the end; these are lines I would actually say. I really felt this dialogue was written with me in mind, which is why I keep my hopes up, even though as someone who habitually sits on the deciding side of the casting couch I know better.
What concerns me is the script describes my character as wearing a kimono. Maybe the writer is savvy enough to know that I would indeed wear a man’s antique shibori resist-dyed kimono in a heartbeat, but I think she might have something more flamboyant in mind. And therein lies the challenge.
I mentioned to my associate Tyler that I was concerned they probably wanted an old-school extravaganza Ghey, the kind who, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, is coming back in vogue thanks to that little Nellie in Glee. Tyler encouragingly replied, “Nah, you’ll be like the transvestite Liev Schreiber played in Taking Woodstock. He looked totally out of place in a dress, but it was really funny.” I twisted my ankle the other day stepping out of Tyler’s Ford Explorer, so the thought of slipping into a dress and heels isn’t very appealing right now. But trying to convince the costume department to outfit me in an antique men’s shibori resist-dyed kimono rather than Haute Golden Girls Nightwear is an exciting challenge. Continue reading