В преддверии выхода 24 фильма о Джеймсе Бонде "Спектр", активизировались различные англоязычные издания и приготовили свои камеры фотохудожники. В июле, после съемок фильма в Риме, фотограф журнала DuJour Дэвид Бейли (David Bailey) сделал несколько кадров с Дэниелом Крейгом. А вот уже британский журнал Esquire решил пойти дальше и сделали не просто фотосет с Крейгом, но уже в 4 раз взяли у него интервью, которое появилось в октябрьском номере. Беседа состоялась на последнем этаже лофта в Западном Лондоне. Журналист Алекс Билмс (Alex Bilmes) расспросил актера о том, чем его нынешний Бонд отличается от прошлых воплощений, какие планы у Крейга на следующие фильмы и будет ли он смотреть фильм в кинотеатре или дома. Фотосет для Esquire снимал фотограф Грег Уильямс, стиль подобрал Гарет Скотфилд (Gareth Scourfield). Фото и интервью смотрим и читаем (увы, на английском языке) под катом
ДЭНИЕЛ КРЕЙГ / DANIEL CRAIG
DUJOUR (by David Bailey) [СЕНТЯБРЬ 2015]
Дэниел Крэйг на фотосессии для осеннего номера журнала «DuJour».
Фото снято в Июле 2015 г. Фотограф: David Bailey
ESQUIRE (by Greg Williams) [ОКТЯБРЬ 2015]
Дэниел Крэйг на фотосессии для октябрьского номера британского издания журнала «Esquire». Фотограф: Greg Williams
Daniel Craig on His Decade as 007 and Why Spectre Might Be His Last Bond
Daniel Craig would like a beer.
A cigarette, too. Not, he says, that he's back on the fags full-time, but a man can cut himself some slack now and then. It's a Wednesday afternoon in July. Craig filmed his last scene for Spectre, the new James Bond film, the previous Saturday, on a lake in Bray, in Berkshire. ("A bit of an anti-climax," he concedes.)
Since then he's been knuckling down to his publicity duties. He went straight from the wrap party into three days of PR: posing for the movie poster, mugging for promotional photos that will be packaged and sent out to the global media, divvied up between rival broadcasters and papers and websites and magazines less fortunate than our own. Tomorrow he sits for an all-day junket at a central London hotel: round-table interviews and brief one-on-ones (some as long as 10 whole minutes) with reporters from around the world.
No one who has worked with Craig before–me included–would mistake him for someone who revels in the marketing of movies. He does it with good grace but it remains a necessary evil, something to be endured rather than embraced. So now, unwinding from a day of it, he figures he's earned a lager and a smoke.
We are sitting, he and I, on plastic chairs at a wooden table on an otherwise empty roof terrace in East London. Beneath us, the trendy loft apartment hired for the afternoon as the location for the Esquire shoot. As luck – by which I really mean cunning, my own cunning – would have it, there are cold beers in the fridge, and Craig's publicist has a pack of Marlboro Lights she's happy for us to pilfer.
So I flip the lids from two bottles of Peroni, he offers me his lighter–encased in a spent bullet shell from the set of a 007 gunfight–and we ash in a bucket. It's warm out but the sky is glowering, threatening rain. When it comes, almost as light as air, we sit through it, neither of us acknowledging it's falling. Soon we call down for more beers and more beers are brought, fags are lit, and Craig leans back in his chair and talks.
I don't think I've known him this relaxed before. Not in an interview, certainly.
I've met Craig on a number of previous occasions. And this is the third time he's talked to me for an
Esquire cover story, in four years. (Beat that, The Economist.) He's always courteous and cooperative and professional. He's always thoughtful and considered and drily funny. But he has a stern countenance and there is a steeliness to him that discourages flippancy. Though not, happily, caustic wit: my favourite Craig line from an interview I did with him came in 2011, when he was promoting a film called Cowboys & Aliens and I'd had the temerity to ask him what it was about: "It's about cowboys and fucking aliens, what do you think it's about?" OK, fair enough; stupid fucking question. But did I mention that he's drily funny?
It's 10 years since Daniel Craig was announced as the sixth official screen incarnation of Britain's least secret agent, following, as every schoolboy knows, Connery, Lazenby, Moore, Dalton and Brosnan. It's fair to say the news of his casting did not occasion impromptu street parties up and down the nation, or thousands of British parents naming their first-born sons Daniel (or, indeed, Craig) in his honour.
By almost universal consent, Craig was too young, too blond (too blond!) and not nearly suave – or, perhaps, glib–enough. The man himself seemed somewhat discomfited, too. He had spent the previous two decades building a career for himself as an actor of ferocious intensity, a specialist in wounded masculinity on stage and screen, in the kind of plays–A Number –and films–Sylvia (2003), The Mother (2003), Enduring Love (2004)–that most fans of big budget stunts-and-shunts movies hadn't necessarily seen, lacking both opportunity and inclination, and perhaps imagination.
Even Sam Mendes, Bond aficionado and director of Skyfall and Spectre, recently admitted he originally felt the casting of Craig could have been a mistake. Crazily, in retrospect, the feeling was he was too serious an actor, too searching, too saturnine. Our expectations of Bond, after decades of increasingly preposterous hijinks and larky one-liners, were hardly stratospheric. The franchise, once seen as cool, even sophisticated – though never, until recently, cerebral – had become a corny joke.
"Austin Powers fucked it," was Craig's typically bald appraisal of the situation pre-2006, when I talked to him about it last time. In other words, the films had gone beyond parody. "By the time we did
Casino Royale, [Mike Myers] had blown every joke apart. We were in a situation where you couldn't send things up. It had gone so far post-modern it wasn't funny any more."
Craig changed all that. His Bond is hard but not cold. He's haunted by a traumatic childhood. He is not inured to violence; cut Craig's 007 and he bleeds. And he loves and loses, in spectacular fashion.
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