(Source: vanitycrime)
In Straw Dogs, there’s a scene where Marsden, who plays a nebbishy screenwriter but still possesses the physique of the Versace model he once was, rams up against Skarsgard’s bare-chested villain. It’s like watching a cocker spaniel run into a glass door. He bounces right off him. Talking to Skarsgard is a similar experience. When I ask him what he reads, “Everything from fiction to nonfiction” was his non-answer, and when I pressed, he resisted elaboration for a full three minutes. “I just think I have very eclectic taste, from like, fucking Nabokov to Tom Friedman, his stuff, Hot Flat and Crowded or something.” Silence, piercing stare.
Skarsgard has either figured out a way to avoid falling into the trap actors all say they want to avoid—where their personality overpowers the characters they play—or maybe he’s just kind of empty. As I’m pondering this, another long silence falls across the table. Then he breaks it with a chuckle. “You feel like you know me now?” he asks.
Not really, I say, no.
“Good,” he says with a fangless grin. “Then I have succeeded!”
(Source: “Nordic Track” by New York Magazine (Sept. 11, 2011), Full Article here)
(via zayac)
(via heyasssbutt)
Photoset: Some gorgeous shots of Alexander Skarsgard at the Toronto Film Festival’s premiere of Melancholia (September 10, 2011).
(Source: The Superficial)
(via a-skarsgardsf)
This is Eric Fuckin’ Northman
