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6 degrees of Johnny Flynn
Apr. 12th, 2020 11:44 pmMy most recent obsess of desire is Johnny Flynn. And obsessions are particularly virulent paired with quarantine.
So I turn to near anonymity to excise my compulsive thinking. In no particular order:
In my particular crush history, Johnny treads in the steps of River Phoenix, James Spader late 80s/early 90s. Preternaturally youthful, mesmerising gaze and layers of intelligence, mischief, darkness combined with weapons grade sex appeal.
So much so that I spent a pleasant Easter hour casting a remake of sex,lies and videotape. Johnny as Graham of course. Idris Elba as John. Dervla Kirwin would rock Cynthia. And Jessie Buckley as Ann. In Belfast instead of Baton Rouge. Mmm.
Oh Jessie and Johnny. Oh Beast. 2 years after being blown away by their explosive chemistry, I still am transported by it. Quite simply the best portrayal of falling in love since Before Sunrise, encased in a most fairy tale headfuck. James Dean Johnny and Red Riding Hood. Unbelievably, it was the director's first film, and Jessie's too.
There will never be a more hilarious title for a show than Scrotal Recall, made even funnier by how sweet and friendly the comedy inside is, without gross out antics or malice. Johnny as Dylan is as floppy as a catnip ragdoll, and as potent, turning everyone who encounters him, including many viewers - ahem - into tripping kittens. I fear Netflix, but even so, them making 2 more series and rechristening as Lovesick was some excellent decision-making.
The recent version of Vanity Fair was splendid for its venomously glorious anti-heroine, Michael Palin openings and fab Isabel Waller Bridge score with hilarious cover versions on end credits, and Johnny Flynn subverting Dobbin from ostensible hero to the self-righteous, vengeful prick I'd always found him to be on the page. The best period drama of the decade, up there with Alex Kingston's Moll Flanders of yesteryear.
And demonstrating classy judgment now that he is in the privileged position of being able to pick his own roles, and continued great fortune at having such a plum of a role to choose, Johnny becomes to Mr Knightley what Colin Firth became to Mr Darcy: definitive for a generation. Landing an even more amazing first time director than Beast in Autumn de Wilde, who bottles the lightning to create the perfect ensemble across every aspect of production and performance. Then to cap it, they create a love interest of aching vulnerability but shimmering heat. I love how screenwriter Eleanor Catton (also first time!) has used the original text almost verbatim, but slanted it to transform a Higgins and Eliza dynamic (which I find distasteful) into a wholly Beatrice and Benedick vibe. Which defines romance.
In fact, though my gateway drug was Johnny, my 2020 obsession has mutated / expanded into an Emma fixation. And I can't blame pandemics because I saw it every week for a month at the cinema, a cinema I had nearly stopped visiting.
So, those are the topmost of my recent whirring thoughts. Rest now.
So I turn to near anonymity to excise my compulsive thinking. In no particular order:
In my particular crush history, Johnny treads in the steps of River Phoenix, James Spader late 80s/early 90s. Preternaturally youthful, mesmerising gaze and layers of intelligence, mischief, darkness combined with weapons grade sex appeal.
So much so that I spent a pleasant Easter hour casting a remake of sex,lies and videotape. Johnny as Graham of course. Idris Elba as John. Dervla Kirwin would rock Cynthia. And Jessie Buckley as Ann. In Belfast instead of Baton Rouge. Mmm.
Oh Jessie and Johnny. Oh Beast. 2 years after being blown away by their explosive chemistry, I still am transported by it. Quite simply the best portrayal of falling in love since Before Sunrise, encased in a most fairy tale headfuck. James Dean Johnny and Red Riding Hood. Unbelievably, it was the director's first film, and Jessie's too.
There will never be a more hilarious title for a show than Scrotal Recall, made even funnier by how sweet and friendly the comedy inside is, without gross out antics or malice. Johnny as Dylan is as floppy as a catnip ragdoll, and as potent, turning everyone who encounters him, including many viewers - ahem - into tripping kittens. I fear Netflix, but even so, them making 2 more series and rechristening as Lovesick was some excellent decision-making.
The recent version of Vanity Fair was splendid for its venomously glorious anti-heroine, Michael Palin openings and fab Isabel Waller Bridge score with hilarious cover versions on end credits, and Johnny Flynn subverting Dobbin from ostensible hero to the self-righteous, vengeful prick I'd always found him to be on the page. The best period drama of the decade, up there with Alex Kingston's Moll Flanders of yesteryear.
And demonstrating classy judgment now that he is in the privileged position of being able to pick his own roles, and continued great fortune at having such a plum of a role to choose, Johnny becomes to Mr Knightley what Colin Firth became to Mr Darcy: definitive for a generation. Landing an even more amazing first time director than Beast in Autumn de Wilde, who bottles the lightning to create the perfect ensemble across every aspect of production and performance. Then to cap it, they create a love interest of aching vulnerability but shimmering heat. I love how screenwriter Eleanor Catton (also first time!) has used the original text almost verbatim, but slanted it to transform a Higgins and Eliza dynamic (which I find distasteful) into a wholly Beatrice and Benedick vibe. Which defines romance.
In fact, though my gateway drug was Johnny, my 2020 obsession has mutated / expanded into an Emma fixation. And I can't blame pandemics because I saw it every week for a month at the cinema, a cinema I had nearly stopped visiting.
So, those are the topmost of my recent whirring thoughts. Rest now.
