Terence Davies Wants Pecs
by Brandon Judell
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For decades, Terence Davies has been the king of gay, Catholic guilt.
His beautifully shot movies (The Long Day Closes, Distant
Voices, Still Lives), have recorded in minute detail his
violent, closeted, impoverished, at
times loving Liverpool
childhood with a true artist's touch.
Now with his adaptation of Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth,
one
of the superb American novels of the 20th century, Davies has stepped
outside
himself a bit.
But who better to take on this caustically tragic novel than Mr. Davies?
If
your main character is going to be dysfunctional, constantly destroying
all
her chances for happiness, call in a pro.
Davies has succeeded grandly, if you'll allow
his
casting choices, including Gillian Anderson as the muddled 29-year-old
femme
fatale whose legendary beauty can stop horses midtrot; Eric Stoltz
as a
perceptive yet deluded lawyer who chooses morality over love; and Dan
Aykroyd
as a sleazy aristocrat. Once you get past the idea of Aykroyd in
a
costume drama you'll understand why the New York Film Festival showcased
The
House of Mirth and why the British Independent Film Awards nominated
Davies
for Best Director.
PopcornQ hooked up with the white-haired British filmmaker, who's an
articulate, playful gent -- especially with two glasses of wine in him
-- at
Manhattan's
Essex Hotel.
PopcornQ: Someone familiar with your previous films would say,
"Oh, there he
goes
again. Why
couldn't he at last do a film with a happy ending?" [I take a copy of
The Art of Happiness out of my knapsack and
stand it on
the table.] This is a bestseller in America now. Do you think this book
by the Dalai Lama might
have
any positive effect on you?
TD: I doubt it. I've had all that hope knocked out of me.
PQ: But do you ever think if you were born Jewish, you might have
more
fun in
your films? Jews have often turned tragedy into comedy, while you deal
with
your Catholicism and your accompanying Catholic guilt by making one
tragedy
after another.
TD: No, you can't say what you might do if you were something
else. I'm
stuck with what I am. And I know I cannot justify what I'm about to
say
intellectually at all, but I can justify it emotionally because I'm
still
really in my delayed adolescence. I know if I was very good-looking, had
a
very good body, and was very stupid, I would be immensely happy. In the
next
life, that's what I'm going to be. Although knowing my luck, I'll come
back
as a hamburger, a small but tasty life.
I'll give you an example. My agent and his wife and I went to see
Annie Get
Your Gun last night. We're all seated, and this man came down the
aisle. One
of the most beautiful men I think I've ever seen in my life. Skin-tight
T-shirt, muscles, leather. I'd trade anything to be him because everyone
went
like this. [His eyes and mouth open wide.] He stood for a
long
time at the end of the aisle while everyone looked at him, and then he
took
his seat. I envy that so much. I really, really envy it.
PQ: But do you think he's experienced the joys of Chekhov? Also,
he needs
you
to admire him while you have your intellectual pursuits and your art.
You
can
be satisfied being alone in a room, while he might not be able to.
TD: I still would like to be him. It would be lovely for once.
I'd
settle for once to be able to walk into a public space and have
everyone
go [makes the face again]. Of course, I'm vain and shallow. [Laughs.]
PQ: So am I.
Now you've said something very funny: "Psychotherapy would be much
cheaper but a lot less fun."
TD: Now I'm confounded because I'm in psychotherapy and it's a
lot of fun. And I've achieved something I never thought I would achieve.
I was
walking through London one day, and I suddenly thought, "I don't hate my
father anymore." I don't forgive him for what he'd done because what he
did
was unforgivable, but I thought, I don't hate him anymore. And what a
release
it was! What a relief! Because it erodes you, hatred. It doesn't affect
the
other person, just erodes you. So I'm very pleased about that.
[My therapist] is a very
wise
and cultured man, so we talk about art and music. Very often when I go
there he's got something on the radio or on a CD, and he says, "What's
this?" And I tell him what it is. And he says, "One day I'll put
something on
and you won't know what it is." He's a very, very sweet man and has a
lovely house. It's got the most wonderful, calm atmosphere. Even his
cats
are
more well-adjusted than I am. That does piss me. [Laughs]
PQ: Does your shrink ever ask you why you think you're so
unattractive?
Who
are you comparing yourself to?
TD: There are two comparisons, really. One is my father and
brothers.
They
were all big men. And I was the weed or runt of the family. I'm built
like my
sisters. You know, thin, when what I wanted to be was big like everybody
else. And also, that has determined what I think a man should be: very
big,
very muscular, and I'm not.
PQ: If you wanted to, you could transform your body in one year.
TD: I've been training for six, and I'm still exactly the same.
PQ: Have you tried creatine?
TD: I've tried that.
PQ: And then?
TD: I've tried everything, including witchcraft, and nothing
works. [Laughs]
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