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Saturday

Mad Men's Jon Hamm: Suited & Booted

Don Draper aka Jon Hamm talks


Anyone familiar with Mad Men will know by now that Jon Hamm is as at home in a suit as a fish in water. As the philandering, cigarette-puffing ad man, Don Draper, he's got to wear some of the sharpest duds on any recent TV show, turning him into a fashion icon. Even Hamm, though, is at the limits of what he can pull off, when he arrives for our interview on a rooftop terrace in Cannes, rocking a cream-coloured Salvatore Ferragamo two-piece. The Cote d'Azur setting gives it context, but only just.

This would matter more if Hamm were just simply a clothes horse, but he's proven himself to be much more. Since breaking through with Mad Men, in 2007, the actor has resisted many offers to play “guys in suits, in the 60s,” and shown impressive versatility in dramatic roles in movies such as Howl, The Town, and The Day the Earth Stood Still, while his work on Tina Fey's 30 Rock and Saturday Night Live has highlighted his comic chops.

This week he gives his womanising image from Mad Men a hilarious spin, playing an “unrepentant douchebag”, in the Judd Apatow-produced comedy, Bridesmaids, half of whose cast, including the brilliant Kristen Wiig, will be reunited in an independent feature written and directed by Hamm's partner of 14 years, Jennifer Westfeldt - they've come to Cannes together to talk it up - called Friends with Kids.

If Hamm's life seems enviable today, it hasn't always been so. His childhood in St. Louis, Missouri, was blighted by the divorce of his parents, at age two, followed eight years later by the loss of his mother to cancer. He then moved in with his father and grandmother, both of whom died during his first two terms at the University of Texas. Eventually, Hamm headed to LA, where he was taken on by the prestigious William Morris Agency, because, he recalls, they thought he looked like “a guy who could work.” However, when Hamm failed to land a single acting job in three years, he was dropped. This was a tough break for someone who had already battled chronic depression. So did he consider giving up wanting to act? Of course, says Hamm.

"There were a hundred moments like that. The majority of your time is being like, 'What am I doing here?' It's vast stretches of doubt followed by very brief flashes of encouragement. It's not unlike golf,” he says, mentioning one of his favourite past-times. “You can hit 30 bad shots and then you'll hit one and it's like, 'I got it! I figured it out!' Which, of course, you didn't. You just got lucky. Which is a very similar analogy to acting. You just happen to get lucky every now and again. And perseverance pays off.”

Westfeldt suggests that part of the problem was that he always looked older than his years. “He was sort of 30 when he was 20, and 40 when he was 23,” she says. “The gorgeous guy who also happens to be dark and tortured and complicated and a comedy geek, I don't think anyone knew what to do with him at 25.”

Slowly, the tide started to turn in his favour. Hamm scored a 19-episode run on the TV show Providence, which led to parts on programmes such as Point Pleasant and The Unit, and a role in Mel Gibson's Vietnam-era vanity project, We Were Soldiers. When he read the script for the pilot of Mad Men, it was “one of the best pieces of writing I had ever had the chance to read,” he says. He didn't think, as an unknown face, that he would get the role of Don Draper. But somewhere during the seven-audition process, the series' creator, Matt Weiner, decided Hamm would be perfect, and he was cast.

The show has become not merely successful, but a full-blown cultural phenomenon. If traders on Wall Street once wanted to be Gordon Gekko, these days people in advertising aspire to be like Draper, despite his less than savoury behaviour. “It's a terrific compliment that, regardless of the nefarious dealings of my character, people relate to the show,” says Hamm. For him, playing Draper has been one of the most challenging experiences of his career to date, because “unlike a lot of experiences I've had in television,” he says, “it can be tremendously exhilarating one day and tremendously devastating the next.” This is what he thinks makes the show appealing for a lot of people: that you never know what you're going to get from week to week.

Hamm says he could talk for hours about why he thinks Mad Men has caught the imaginations of audiences around the world, but mostly he thinks it is down to its take on the Sixties and the cool period detail. “I think people find a vicarious thrill of living in a different time that represented for a lot of people a better time. But the ironic part is that it wasn't better at all for a tremendous part of society. If you were white, wealthy and male, it was awesome. If you were not in any of those categories, it was not as good. And I think that's the myth that the show tries to explode. And the fact that it sets it in this tremendously stylish, tremendously creative, tremendously intellectual, tremendously volatile time - not just for America but elsewhere, too - adds to the ironic impact, to the dramatic impact, to the cultural impact, to the resonance of the landscape.”

As he readies himself for the start of filming on the fifth series, and for his first time in the director's chair on episode three, Hamm still can't wrap his head around the fame (long overdue, in Westfeldt's opinion) that Mad Men has brought him. “It feels kind of ridiculous and crazy, because, in my mind, I'm literally the same person I was since I've been cogniscant as a human being, which is a goofy little kid from St, Louis, Missouri,” he laughs. “It's very exciting, but it's also very surreal.”

His connection with Mad Men will continue for the foreseeable future, but while Weiner will definitely be with the series for three more seasons, Hamm says he “hasn't necessarily” yet committed to three more years. “I'm very happy with being a part of the story until the story is finished. And I think I very wisely put my trust in Mr Weiner and his ability to not only tell a story, but also to know when to end a story . . . And it's better when things have both ends rather than continue on until people get resentful.”

In the meantime, the actors' popularity looks set to continue to grow thanks to his comedy sex scenes with Kristen Wiig in the opening scenes of Bridesmaids, which has already broken through the all-important $100 million box office barrier. The movie has been described as a “female Hangover”. He thinks this is unfair though, because it "resonates". "For all of its hilarious laughs and hugely funny sequences,” Hamm says, “Bridesmaids has an emotional resonance that is literally tearjerking. I cried both times I've seen it, I will admit it.”

© Stephen Applebaum, 2012

From The Big Issue

Friday

Agnieszka Holland: In Darkness

In Darkness “tries to recreate the horrors without being superficial”Director Agnieszka Holland is striving for reality and honesty in her film about Polish Jews hiding from the Nazis

By Stephen Applebaum, March 8, 2012

It is late January and two days since Agnieszka Holland's tough Holocaust film, In Darkness, was nominated for the foreign-language film Oscar. She has been in this position before, but 2012 is the first time that the 63-year-old director has represented her homeland: Poland. On the night, the prize will go to Iran's A Separation. For now, though, Holland feels like she is carrying the weight of the Polish people on her shoulders.

The Long Road Home

How Yaacov Weksler-Waszkinel reconciled his Polish upbringing with his Jewish roots

 

What makes a Jew? This was one of the questions at the heart of Israeli filmmaker Ronit Kerstner's documentary Torn, which screened as part of the 10th Kinoteka Polish Film Festival in partnership with UK Jewish Film last week.

A moving and thought-provoking study of a man struggling for recognition as a Jew, the film follows Romuald-Jakub Weksler-Waszkinel (now known as Yaacov Weksler-Waszkinel) - a Polish Catholic priest who, 12 years after his ordination, discovered that he was the son of Jews killed in the Holocaust - as he tries to settle in Israel under the Law of Return.

The statute doesn't recognise Jews practicing other religions, however, and the Ministry of Internal Affairs rejects his application for citizenship. Instead, he is granted temporary residency on a religious worker's visa. He tries to join Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu to study Hebrew and Judaism, but has a request that initially dumbfounds its leaders: he wants to be able to leave on Sundays to observe Mass at a nearby monastary.

A compromise is found allowing him to worship privately in his room. But one kibbutznik still wants to know: “Who are you, Yaacov? Are you a Jew? Are you a Christian?”

Although the question has haunted him for most of his life, sitting in a small screening room at the Everyman cinema in Hampstead it seems clear that the gentle 69 year old is a man at peace with himself, having reconciled his seemingly irreconcilable Christian and Jewish identities through the love of his adoptive and murdered parents.

“The only reason I cannot say no to my Polish parents is their love for me,” he says. “The only reason that, for the rest of my days, I am going to shout that I am Jewish, is my love for my Jewish parents. The rest is the Holocaust. My only fault is to be born at the wrong time, and to survive.”

Circumstance has made him a Jew who cannot deny Jesus, the Jew he believes plucked him to safety, but he doesn't feel torn. It is the world that wants to tear him apart, he insists, “because people like to have clear and strong divisions . . . I simply want to be both. My life has formed me in this way and I believe I can't be otherwise. Without my Jewish parents I would have no life. Without my Polish parents, my life would have perished.”

The latter were devout Catholics who showered him with love. He had no reason to think he wasn't their offspring, although he did sometimes wonder why he didn't share their Slavic features. So did other people. “I had black curly hair and on the street they called me 'Yid',” he says. “Children would say, 'Who are your parents?' It was a big problem.”

He asked his doting mother, Emilia, what a Jew was because he had never met one (and wouldn't until the anti-Zionist purges in 1968, the same year he found out about the Holocaust), but waited decades before asking her if he was one himself. “I was afraid,” he says candidly. “When I went to church all I heard was bad things about Jews, like Jews murdered Christ. And when I went to my religion lessons, the sister who was teaching us showed us pictures by Bosch with all kinds of frightening types that Hitler, apparently, had used to portray Jews. I didn't want to be somebody like that.”

He would often search for evidence of his father in his face in the mirror. One day he thought he'd spotted something. “I shouted, 'Mum, look, I am similar to Dad, aren't I?'” His mother didn't reply. “Because of that silence I said, 'If I am a Jew, you will see what I am going to do to myself.' When I looked in the mirror, I saw tears in my mother's eyes.”

It was a profound moment that years later, on 23rd February, 1978, when he finally confronted the ailing Emilia about his origins, she said was the reason why she'd kept the truth from him for so long. “She told me, 'What, do you think that we don't love you? How could we tell you if we knew that you could take your life?'” Yaacov understands: “I really believe that if I had been told earlier, today I would be in a psychiatric ward, because it was too strong an experience for me.”

Emilia could only tell him that he was born in the ghetto in Swieciany and that his father was a tailor; she didn't know his biological parents' names. These were revealed in 1992, when Klara Jaroszynska, a Polish nun who had helped Jews during the war, went to Israel and met survivors from Swieciany who knew that the town's only tailor was called Jacob Weksler (he died in the Stutthoff concentration camp). He then discovered that his mother was Batia, a Zionist, and that he had an older brother, Samuel – they both died at or on the transport to Sobibor. When he was shown a photograph of Batia, “I found the first person who I was similar to,” he says tearfully.

There were living relatives too – an uncle and an aunt - who'd escaped through Russia and were living in Israel. They knew nothing about him. When they met, his uncle wanted to know how, as a priest, Yaacov could “cope with carrying the hatred of 2000 years”? “I burst out crying,” he says, “because there is no answer to that. No words can express the hurt that Christianity has caused Jews for 2000 years. But one answer sprang into my head: 'But, darling Uncle, I am not 2000 years old, I am only 49, and I love you. And it's me who has found you, not you who has found me.'”

Returning to Poland, Yaacov became more and more aware of the antisemitism that was still being preached from pulpits by Catholic priests. He felt isolated and lonely, and as his retirement as a philosophy professor at the Catholic University of Lublin approached, he decided to move to Israel.

Today he is a permanent resident and works at Yad Vashem, who've named his Polish parents Righteous Gentiles.

"Yad Vashem is not my place of work it's my home,” he says, “because I am both an exhibit and a researcher. I belong in that time and everything that I find there is not about the fate of some nation or something, it is the fate of me and my parents.”

 
A shorter version of this story appeared in The Jewish Chronicle, 23rd March, 2012

Thursday

DAVID CRONENBERG:A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE

Irresistible Force
Source: The Australian
 

Dwindling box-office returns mean moviemakers with unique and challenging voices are finding it harder to get their visions on to the screen. When Canadian David Cronenberg made Spider, starring Ralph Fiennes as a mentally ill loner in 1950s London, for instance, the money kept disappearing. It was agony, says the outre auteur. To avoid more pain, he climbed into bed with US studio New Line Cinema for his follow-up, A History of Violence. But if that sounds as if Cronenberg compromised his artistic autonomy for a foothold in the marketplace, the film says otherwise.

Despite hoovering up critics' awards in the US,
A History of Violencehas been dubbed Cronenberg lite by some hardcore fans; however, it is only ostensibly mainstream. Though more accessible than some of his previous films, it is, in fact, a subversive and provocative work whose simple plot belies complex subtexts and a familiarly Cronenbergian fascination with themes such as identity, transformation and sex.

In it, the past appears to catch up with Viggo Mortensen's mild-mannered diner owner, Tom Stall, when he dramatically slaughters two thugs who are threatening his customers. Overnight he becomes a reluctant hero and media celebrity. His notoriety draws the attention of a scar-faced hoodlum (Ed Harris) who claims that Stall is actually a sadistic killer with a blood-drenched past.


The Stalls' Rockwellian midwestern idyll disintegrates: Tom changes into a creature of a different kind and his timid son takes a leaf out of dad's book and beats a school bully to a grisly pulp. Mum is shocked to discover dark sexual undercurrents within herself.


Before signing on, Mortensen wanted to know why Cronenberg was making the film. "I thought this was a script that could be, in the hands of someone like him, a very interesting movie, or it could be a very uninteresting movie, maybe at the most an exploitation movie with some graphic violence, and so what?" he says. "But because he is truly interested in human behaviour and in the uncomfortable things that we experience as an audience when people reveal themselves in different ways, I felt this could be very interesting, and it turned out to be that way."


Stall's sudden elevation to celebrity rang bells with Mortensen, who had been working steadily in movies for 22 years, sometimes making a living, sometimes not, when his life was turned upside down by the role of Aragorn in
The Lord of the Rings. A private man, he finds some of the effects of fame unwelcome.

"It wasn't like I was thinking, 'I wish I was more famous; I wish people would stop me on the street.' I was just doing my job. After
The Lord of the Rings, suddenly it was different.

"If I'm in a small town in Spain [where he has been filming the historical epic
Alatriste], now I think: 'Do I really want to go outside? Do I really need to get the newspaper now or do I wait until two in the morning?'"

He is not ungrateful for the attention, just ambivalent. "On the one hand it's an honour and it's nice that people like your work," he concedes. "But on the other hand it's obviously an invasion of your privacy. So it's weird."


And despite its accessibility, so is
A History of Violence. Cronenberg makes the violence quick, brutal and gruesome, just like in real life, and for an American movie the sex is surprisingly frank and ambiguous. And what are we to make of that title? Whose history of violence is the film talking about? Tom's? Mankind's? Is the film specifically a comment on America's fascination with violence?

"All those levels are in there," says Cronenberg, "take it as you will." Mortensen says: "I think it is the easy way out for a journalist - it's up to you, you can do whatever you want - to say this is about America."


"All artists," pitches in Cronenberg, "want to believe that their work has universal significance, and in order to be universal, you have to be specific.


"Having said that, it is specifically about a mythology of America, which is a western mythology, which is also a cinema mythology, of a man standing alone, defending his family with a gun against other men with guns. And that's very, very American.


"One could say that the Bush administration has adopted that mythology as its foreign policy. You know, 'We were attacked and so anything we do to defend ourselves is justified.'" He pauses. "It's a very dangerous thing to base your foreign policy on old movies. So to that extent it is a criticism of America now. But at the same time violence is a universal human fact, and a very complex one."


Superficially, the film is a departure for Cronenberg, but closer inspection reveals old preoccupations, such as a character wrestling with his identity, and the notion of transformation. Tom may be the quiet man he claims to be, but this does not rule out also being the vicious killer the men from Philadelphia say he is. Identity, believes Cronenberg, is not, like the colour of our eyes, a product of genetics, but something we determine for ourselves.


People in the US are recreating themselves all the time, so the setting for
A History of Violence could not be more apt. But, as Cronenberg says, redefining oneself is not easy.

"There is a lot of will involved in the creation of an identity, and in
Spider I was examining what happens when there is not the will to hold the identity together. But I do think, though, that it is possible to become somebody else. Really, you can become someone else through force of will, but it is difficult.

"I guess you have to see how much you value the truth," he says. "If you are in a relationship with someone who is very intense, and even after 20 years you don't know them, do you want to know them? Do you want to have a relationship based on a true understanding of every aspect of that person?


"That could be a very exciting thing and a more complete and complex thing, but maybe not so comfortable. But comfort is only valuable to a certain extent, you know? It's the same in art. You want comfort but you don't want too much comfort."


Cronenberg, of course, has never opted for comfort. Not even when he makes a film that looks like his version of a mainstream movie. And he does not intend to change. But what drives this soft-spoken, seemingly normal man to make films that feature sex and car wrecks (
Crash), gynaecological horror (Dead Ringers) and exploding heads (Scanners)?

"You make the movie to find out why you wanted to make the movie," he says. "You really don't know at the beginning everything about it: what attracts you to it, why you wanted to make it. Part of the compulsion to finish it through all the difficulties is that you want to find out what it was that you were doing, why it was that you were doing this in the first place."

Wednesday

Insight: Kathryn Bolkovac, whistleblower






Former Nebraska police officer Kathryn Bolkovac joined the UN Police Task Force in post-war Bosnia in 1999 as an employee of the private military contractor DynCorp. She became a human rights investigator and discovered, to her horror, that people from the mission were involved in human trafficking. Bolkovac blew the whistle and was fired. Her story was the inspiration for the powerful thriller The Whistleblower.


When I signed to work for DynCorp, I hadn't heard anything good or bad about them. It was representing the US State Department, so how bad could it be? There was no rigorous selection procedure, though. You didn't get a personal interview, just a couple of telephone calls and a packet of information to fill out. It asked for references from friends and neighbours and if it checked out, you were in.

You then went to its training facility in Fort Worth, Texas, for a week, where you had to prove your fitness by running down a hill, do a drunk-driving test, and get some blood drawn. If you didn't have, I guess, drugs in your system, you were sent off to Bosnia. One evening, after class, this guy comes bounding in and says he knows where to find really nice 12- to 15-year-olds when we got there. I thought I must have missed something. But when I got to Bosnia, it was pretty clear what he was talking about. Those are the kind of people who were being recruited and put into posts by the US.

My first case of human trafficking was in [the city of] Zenica. I was working with a woman who had escaped, and she tipped me off about the Florida bar. I went there and found it empty. Behind the bar I discovered all kinds of passports of women from Eastern Europe, along with a lot of US dollars. On a second floor there was a locked room. I found seven women trapped inside. There were used condoms all over two mattresses on the floor, as if they'd been gang-raped there.

I didn't do too many more raids where I found conditions like that, but other monitors in the mission did. And many women described those same conditions when they escaped. One girl described how when she was dancing, a man known as the "Doctor" would put coin Deutschmarks into her vagina. To me, one of the worst examples of involvement by someone in the mission was a police officer from the US who told me how he'd purchased a young woman outside Sarajevo. How could anybody think it was OK to buy another human being when he had the power and authority to do something about it? That kind of mentality was appalling and made me think, "OK, how do we change this?"

Unfortunately, real investigations could never take place because they were basically shut down from the beginning. Once a person was implicated – especially if they were an international – then basic steps were taken to end that investigation. The person was, maybe, sent to another mission or sent back to their UN contributing country. If it was diplomats who were involved, steps were taken to cover their tracks. The victims, of course, the girls, were always repatriated or shipped out to somewhere else, and were never available for ultimate testimony or interview.

Eventually I decided, "Enough's enough. I've got to go outside the circle somehow." And that's when I wrote my email headed: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH OR A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. I addressed it to about 50 UN officials and DynCorp managers, and staff within the UN, to make sure at all levels that they knew what was going on.

I had a lot of good response emails from people within the mission, and one or two negative ones from DynCorp employees such as Michael Stiers. He was the deputy commissioner of the mission and got me demoted. It didn't stop me: they put me in a duty station position where I was privy to reports of every single raid that was done and every single victim who was transported. I made a further complaint to DynCorp, and this time I was called in and told, "Here's your walking papers."

I was fired for falsifying time sheets, which was completely untrue. I fought my case for two years in Southampton, in the Employment Tribunal, and used that as a tool to bring forward the real reasoning behind my termination, which, of course, was the involvement in human trafficking of both UN and DynCorp officials.

I can't say I was totally elated when I won. I was proud of what I had done and glad that I was able to win the case. But I was still very embarrassed for my country, because I do believe that DynCorp is a huge misrepresentation of what the US should be sending to these missions, and just sickened by the whole thing. It had tried to take my credibility away, it had taken my career away. Obviously I will never be a police officer internationally again.

People ask me where I got my strength from to do this, and I don't know. Maybe I'm stupid to try to push issues like I do. But I guess I do have a line that I don't want to cross and when I see others crossing it – especially law enforcement officers or politicians or diplomats – that really bothers me. What can I say? Right's right and wrong's wrong.

From The Independent, 19th January, 2012