TildaSwinton Tagged Articles at Cinematical

Wonders never cease... At an early age, I got used to the strange looks from my friends when I listed the actors and stars I was most attracted to -- especially once I saw Dead Zone and became enamored with Christopher Walken. From then on, I steered clear of discussions about hot stars, or prepared for the horror-filled recoil if I did pipe in. It's gotten better over the years, but was never fully defeated until now.

I'm not sure how it's happened, but Nerve compiled a list of the "twenty sexiest ugly people alive" -- those people with unusual features who still have oodles of lusty charisma -- and none of my faves are on there. No Walken, Eric Roberts, Gary Oldman, Elias Koteas... I must be losing my touch. Instead, their picks in the movie world include Danny McBride, Danny Trejo, Tilda Swinton, John C. Reilly, Steve Buscemi, and Mickey Rourke -- with the massacred face. Some of the guys I'm right there with, but man, Swinton? Not only did she make the list, but she's the only actress on there (excluding Sandra Bernhard's acting stints and Courtney Love's fleeting gigs). Ouch.

Do you agree with their picks? Better yet -- who are the names that hit you right to the core while passerby look on with confusion? And why? For years, I couldn't discern my own taste until a friend said: "You love larger than life men." And that was just it. When that charisma seeps out of the screen, no scar or sneer can fight it.

Do you have a favorite sexy ugly star, or are you purely a fan of the perfectly hot and symmetrical?

If an alcoholic wreck ever looks you in the eye and says, "Trust me," one word of advice: Don't, especially if her name is Julia Harris. Even if that clear-eyed glint appears genuinely sincere, and a wave of empathy impulsively washes over you for the magnificent woman who may still be residing deep within her soul, try to resist, because Julia will let you down every single time, the same way she's let herself down for her entire life.

Of course, when Julia is careening out of control in the person of Tilda Swinton, it's a much dicier proposition to turn your back on her. Swinton gives another odd, strangely magnetic performance in Julia, directed by Erick Zonca (The Dreamlife of Angels), which opened yesterday in New York. She's alternately a repulsive leech and a charming sexual creature, driven by her primal desires. She resembles a giant bug with corrosive acid running through her veins, like the Queen in Aliens; instead of defending her young, she's defending herself and her own warped view of priorities.

"Wreck" is an apt description for her character: her physical appearance is ravaged by neglect and alcoholism; her mental capacity is damaged to the point she can barely think straight; and her emotional stability is fried as though she were in a high-speed collision, bleeding out on the highway with all her parts scattered to the wind.

So why does she inspire such a strong impulse to embrace her warmly?

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe and orders two espressos in separate cups. A flock of birds gently take flight. A helicopter briefly whirls overhead. The man sips espresso. Silence. Calm.

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe and orders two espressos in separate cups. A flock of birds gently take flight. A helicopter briefly whirls overhead. The man sips espresso. Silence. Calm. He is approached by another person, who sits down. The other person says "You don't speak Spanish, right?" The other person says something more, in Spanish or in another language. The man removes a matchbox from his pocket. The other person places a matchbox with the same design, but a different color, on the table. The matchboxes are exchanged. The other person says something more, and leaves. The man opens the newly-exchanged matchbox, takes out a tiny piece of paper, unfolds it, reads the coded, hand-written message on it, puts it in his mouth, and swallows it along with another sip of espresso.

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe ...

So goes Jim Jarmusch's The Limits of Control, the perfect summer movie for people who prefer museums to amusement parks. Wearing a multitude of enigmas on its well-coifed sleeve, the film is cool, dark, mysterious, and altogether refreshing. Isaach De Bankolé plays The Man With No Name (actually identified as "Lone Man" in the credits), and if that moniker calls forth memories of Clint Eastwood in Sergio Leone's Spaghetti Westerns, so much the better, though Lone Man's espressos, matchboxes, and chastity place him firmly within the realm of post-modern masculinity.

Click image below to view full poster

Cinematical has just received this exclusive poster for The Limits of Control, which premiered a bizarre-yet-intriguing trailer the other day and comes from acclaimed director Jim Jarmusch (Stranger Than Paradise, Broken Flowers, Ghost Dog). Starring Isaach De Bankolé, Tilda Swinton, Bill Murray, Gael Garcia Bernal and John Hurt (not a bad cast if you ask me), The Limits of Control follows a mysterious loner (and criminal) who's in the process of completing a job. Not a whole lot to go on there, but the best kept secrets are the ones that are, well, best kept secret.

Also, the music in the film is getting a lot of buzz; the Japanese trip Boris wrote and performed most of the songs, while Jarmusch wrote and performed -- along with Carter Logan (drums, percussion) and Shane Stoneback (carillon, organ) -- the music in the trailer. (Read more about that here.) The film marks the fourth time Jarmusch has collaborated with De Bankolé, not to mention the other cast members who've found themselves drifting through a Jarmusch flick at some point. Really looking forward to this one; the film hits theaters on May 22. Check out the full poster by clicking the image below.

I regret to say that I don't feel that I've seen enough of Jim Jarmusch's work to determine whether or not I'm a capital-f Fan, but I do know that I do like what I have seen -- namely, Broken Flowers, much of Coffee and Cigarettes, and Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai.

That last title seems to be the one to which his new film, The Limits of Control, merits the most comparison, if this new trailer (watch at Apple or below) is any indication. This time, though, our stoic assassin (Isaach De Bankole) has a bit more of an ensemble to work with on the streets of Spain, including Tilda Swinton, John Hurt, Gael Garcia Bernal and melonfarmin' Bill Murray.

Normally, I'd be put off by the hipper-than-thou fortune-cookie banter we're treated to here, but I've got a feeling that there might be more than meets the eye (namely, the other 98 minutes of the movie), and speaking of 'meets the eye,' it certainly never hurts when cinematographer Christopher Doyle (Hero) is lensing your latest.

The Limits of Control goes into limited release on May 1st.

I saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button weeks ago, and yet every time I tried to think about it -- whether it was to contemplate a decision in David Fincher's direction, a deviation from F. Scott Fitzgerald's story, a moment in Eric Roth's script or a note in the performances of Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett -- I would soon find myself, invariably, distracted from the large-scale visions and moments of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and instead contemplating the smaller-scale moments of my own life. This was at best annoying; what did it say about the film that I couldn't hold it in my attention? What did it say about my attention that I couldn't even focus it on a film? But Zen gives us the parable of the master who points to the moon, and the student who looks at the master's finger. Fincher, Roth, Pitt and Blanchett have all, in their way, made a film of true sincerity and (ironically enough in light of its technical achievements) real simplicity; resting your gaze on the film, without directing it onto the things it encourages you to look at, seems like staring at the pointing finger.

Fitzgerald's tale is a brief fantasia, the story of Benjamin Button, a man who, born old, ages backward; at the same time, the slenderest books often become the best films, the lush drapery of moviemaking lending their slight grace weight, the stark simplicity of the plot a place for a director's vision to find purchase and grow. Within moments -- as an old woman lies dying in a modern New Orleans hospital, slate-gray rain battering the windows, her daughter (Julia Ormond) paging through her diaries and scrapbooks as the old woman fades in and out of consciousness, flickering between past memory and present reality -- we know we're not in the world established in Fitzgerald's 1922 short story. The woman's diaries are not just hers, and as the daughter reads, we learn about the birth and exile of Benjamin Button, born old in New Orleans in 1918 just after the Great War. ...

When the worlds of Washington, DC political intrigue, infidelity, fitness centers and internet dating intersect and collide in a darkly hilarious fashion, you must be watching a film by the Coen brothers. Burn After Reading, Joel and Ethan Coen's follow-up to last year's critically lauded award winner, No Country for Old Men, was actually written by the duo as they were adapting No Country, but the two films couldn't be more different.

The colliding worlds in Burn After Reading involve a CIA analyst named Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich), who's summoned to a top-secret meeting only to find out that the secret is he's being demoted due to his drinking problem. Cox blows a gasket and quits rather than taking the demotion, planning to spend his new-found spare time working on his memoirs and refining his drinking. Cox is married to Katie (Tilda Swinton), a icy pediatrician with the worst bedside manner imaginable, and she's less than sympathetic to her husband's life crisis.

Burn After Reading, the latest from the Coen Brothers, makes its North American debut this year, following last year's rapturous Toronto reception for the Oscar-winning success of the tense, terse No Country for Old Men. After making No Country for Old Men, in perverse Coen-logic, the timing is clearly right for a messy, mean-spirited, profane punchy comedy. Burn After Reading is built around a classic Coen plot -- there's a valuable something out there, and various ill-equipped, dimwitted people see it as the answer to all their problems -- and the pleasure of seeing the big ensemble cast bite down hard on small parts until the juice drips down their chin is dry, funny and rich. (Brad Pitt's work alone as a fitness trainer whose I.Q. is as immeasurably low as his body-fat percentage is, bluntly, inanely great -- full of verve and conviction, and deeply funny.)

The Coens make movies about desire -- the stuff of drama -- but they often choose to make them about idiocy -- the stuff of comedy -- as well; as various characters around Washington, D.C. pursue, posses or hope to profit from a lost CD of data that an ex-CIA man (John Malkovich, fussy and hilarious) has misplaced, the plot's in part just a canvas for Coen-syle, carefully-timed punchlines and comedy so dry it'll leave your lips chapped. There's also some great inside-baseball movie-joke stuff about the cliches of every techno-thriller -- the Taiko-drum scores, the lower-left-of-the-screen-type establishing place and time, the moody shots of shadowy figures who may or may not be following our heroes -- that work in a smart, sideways fashion, too. And every actor in Burn After Reading is playing someone having some kind of mid-to-late-life freakout, grabbing at chances to be happy, and failing while flailing and spitting out four-letter words as they go down; Kim will have her full review up later, but we laughed. A lot.

There may not be much footage that we haven't already seen in either the original red-band trailer or the international teaser for the Coen brothers' Burn After Reading, but I noted enough bits and pieces to feel these two new videos worthy of sharing. Plus, for those of you who have a preference, George or Brad, you now have a trailer that fits you best. Personally, I'm hoping that the ladies, Frances McDormand and Tilda Swinton, get their own character-centric trailers. And while Focus Features is at it, how about individual spots for John Malkovich? Heck, give Richard Jenkins, J.K. Simmons and David Rasche each their own, too. I'm that excited about this movie that I want more, more, more.

Fortunately, we've only got about a month until Burn After Reading opens on September 12.

Helena Bonham Carter gave a few hints on her surprising Terminator: Salvation role to Sci-Fi Wire -- and surprise surprise, it's not a cuddly one! "I kind of play a baddie, definitely a baddie. I don't know how much I'm allowed to say, but I'm a very bad person."

Now, I know there's readers out there who are more up on their Terminator mythology than I am (and it feels weird to even refer to it having a mythology), but were there bad humans? Turncoats who helped the machines? Evil scientists from Skynet? I feel certain this was discussed somewhere in a Kyle Reese monologue, but I may just be filling in gaps. Of course, Bonham Carter could be playing a Terminator (Summer Glau has proved you can be tiny and lethal), but I'm trying to keep all options open.

Given Bonham Carter's late in the game casting, it turns out she was replacing another actress -- Tilda Swinton, who I now want to pop up as a Terminator at some point. (I think I would instantly surrender.)

As for Bonham Carter's own interest, it turns out it was all due to her other half. "Tim [Burton] would have killed me if I hadn't done it, because he's such a Terminator fan. I've been in big movies before ... but I've never been in this kind of big popcorn action movie, a male one, an action one." And honestly, I like that she is in one. I continue to be amazed at the talent who has been attracted to this film, and like the rest of the world, I'm excited to see what becomes of it.

Terminator: Salvation opens May 22, 2009. We must try not to get overdosed on it ... and that's going to be really hard.