Brian Cox tells about his last life on stage and screen

I’m such a fan of the HBO series “Succession,” about a large, morally corrupt media family, that I hum its theme song in the shower and dress up. command. So when I picked up “Putting the Rabbit in the Hat,” the new memoir of Brian Cox, who plays the tyrannical patriarch of the family, Logan Roy, I was desperate for little tidbits of news that would debunk me. during the long wait for Part 4.

Well, not much. Cox wrote brusquely about a new director on the show for Kieran Culkin, who plays his youngest son and was a trump card in compiling the script, noting for “slow down. “Now, this is an actor who has calibrated his character distribution models over the course of the last two seasons,” the author alludes to, or so I imagine (as Roy, he is a the one with the great thunder). “He won’t suddenly slow down just because you gave him a bill. “

Cox added that he wasn’t really involved in the “process” like Method that Jeremy Strong used to play Kendall, Logan’s middle son. Fans have known about Strong’s tactics since a profile His book in The New Yorker was rumoured for weeks after it was published in December. Some noticed. in Strong’s article on the working-class backgroundincluding an anonymous Yale classmate who marveled at his “careerist driveway.”

The lively discussion was fascinating and confusing. When does acting become difficult and aspirational? Wasn’t working-class background once a key factor in Hollywood’s success story – being discovered, discovered, and executed by an agent or studio executive savior? Think Cary Grant (born Archibald Leach, son of a tailor), Lana Turner (daughter of a miner), Ava Gardner (child of sharers) and all the other charming characters. of last year.

His humble origins don’t stand in the way of Cox, who has gone from leading man of the British stage to one of America’s most stable and prolific character actors – sometimes referred to as “a working actor”. do,” although he can now negotiate a private chauffeur, nice hotels and a two-wheeler. No one rescues Cox, the great gadget player. “I know it’s simply not my playground,” he shrugs, on the subject of Hollywood stars. “Besides, I’m too short.” He’s written two memoirs before that, one that followed him to Moscow to direct “The Crucible” and another about the challenges of “King Lear”. Get stock at 75, he’s not that much of a lion in the winter (indeed, he was fired as the voice of Aslan in the Narnia films) because of a stallion seasoned can finally enjoy a galloping victory.

Cox eloquently writes about his roots in Dundee, Scotland, as the youngest of five children who occasionally had to beg from local chip shops. His parents met at a discotheque; his mother was a spinner at a jute factory and suffered multiple miscarriages and mental illness; His father, a shop owner and socialist, died when Brian was 8 years old. So did the movies that followed, especially those like “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning” (1960), starring Albert Finney: “a movie is not all about the lives of the common people. luxury in the drawing room, or sublime struggle in the distance, wrote Cox. “It’s all about working-class people – people like us.” A kind teacher told him about a Go performance at the local theater and boom, he went home.

Cox went on to study at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art and performed in opulent halls such as the Royal Court, studying classics but also catching on to the rise of the boy. angry kids and kitchen realism led by playwright John Osborne, with whom he became friends. Before long, he worked with his gods, including Finney.

At a time when the theater, the wonderfully invalid play, besieged by a pandemic, is joyful and a little bittersweet when it is rekindled in all its tumultuous mid-century glory. Cox wears Lynn Redgrave’s confused wig; being touched by Princess Margaret backstage; narrowly escaped death in a plane crash on the way to auditioning for the role of Laurence Olivier. Years later, while Lear was in a wheelchair, he “thrown” his metal crown into the front row at the National Theatre, injuring an audience member. He once damaged his testicles during a nude yoga scene. During his leaner years, he ordered bikini waxes and lived with an army of cockroaches in a sublet. Have drunkenness; an actor who played a priest in “Hamlet” got too excited and fell in Ophelia’s grave.

Cox, who likes to drink marijuana, can be a little rambling. If he feels tired again sometimes, it’s easy to imagine him telling a bedtime story for a sleep app. He despises all idolatry. About Kevin Spacey: “A great talent, but a dumb, stupid guy.” About Steven Seagal: “In real life, he’s as grotesque as he appears on screen.” About Quentin Tarantino: “I find his work simple. All are surface. ” (Though he would join if offered.) He was gentler with Woody Allen, setting himself up for dating an 18-year-old when he was in his 40s. “It seems like everyone in this book are either dead or destroyed,” he noted with some comments. He is preoccupied with creating a “nice” death, cataloging his friends that ends with an almost clinically enjoyable illness (cancer, emphysema, suicide, a heart attack). heart large enough to throw the victim “clean on gravel”).

Like many actors, Cox glides more quickly across the board than in his personal life. He admits he wasn’t fully present for family tragedies, like his first wife’s stillborn twins and their daughter’s anorexia. “And that is my fault,” he declared. “It’s this absent trend, this need to disappear.” He loves the Logan part in part because, when there’s no thunder, he’s “contained and bottled.” But on this page, at least, he’s present, alive, and flowing, though hints of his distinctive signature might steer you toward audiobooks. Brian Cox tells about his last life on stage and screen

Fry Electronics Team

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