Уважаемые новые члены сообщества и желающие к ним примкнуться!
К сожалению, мы были вынуждены ввести премодерацию вступления в сообщество, поскольку были атаки спам-ботов.
Если в вашем журнале нет записей, вам будет направлено сообщение от модератора, на которое просим ответить.
При этом мы понимаем, что большинство приславших запросы на встпуление - люди адекватные и в подобных хулиганствах не замечены. Также надеемся, что премодерация - это временное явление.
Если остались какие-то вопросы, можно оставить их в комментариях к этой записи.
И да - всем добро пожаловать в сообщество! :)


Объявлена дата премьеры "Космических чистильщиков"

Премьера южнокорейского фантастического фильма "Космические чистильщики", где Ричард снялся в одной из "международных" ролей, состоится на Netflix сразу в 190 странах 5 февраля.

Также вышли новый постер и новый официальный тизер. Ричарда опять не видно, в основном, показывают команду корабля. ;)

[+ постер]

Слоган на постере: "Начинается зачистка космоса теми, о ком никогда не слышали и не видели!"

Интервью Ричарда "The Times"

What I’ve learnt: Richard Armitage
Leicester-born actor Richard Armitage, 49, made his name playing Lucas North in the BBC drama Spooks and – despite being 6ft 2in – the dwarf prince Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit. Most recently he played Astrov in Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya in the West End. He lives in New York.

Actors are quite well prepared for lockdown. When I left drama school, I had nearly 18 months of not working and me wondering: how do I get up every day and feel like I’m actually a human being that has a vocation?
I’m quite a socially distant person by nature. If I walk past a busy bar, I run a mile. If I walk into a restaurant and it’s empty, I think, oh, thank God, I can sit in the corner. I much prefer small groups of people or one on one.

I can never understand it when actors have reputation for being difficult. What is there to be about? You are driven around, you are wrapped in cotton wool, and you’re complaining? Go and work at Amszon, packing boxes. Because I’ve done that. I’ve pulled pints in a bar. Actors really don’t have anything to complain about.
I haven’t decided against having a family – I think there’s always and means. But I also feel like, at 49, is it fair? I wouldn’t be able to run round the football pitch. Maybe I’ll start with a little dog.
The best way to get a job is to book and pay for a holiday that is non-refundable. You will immediately get it.
I’m an optimist, and I get that from my mum. She always made the best of a bad situation, while my dad is a bit of a pessimist. He was a nuclear engineer, so we used to go on sightseeing holidays to all the British nuclear power stations. But he is fit as a fiddle at 82, plays golf several timts a week and wakls faster than me.
I haven’t done very many live chat shows and that’s not by accident. I can’t just sit on your sofa and be funny – it’s not in my toolkit. When you’re standing at a premiere with your face on a massive screen in front of 1000 fans and they put a micrjphone in your hand and it’s being beamed into two screens and you’re having to talk about your experience on The Hobbit, I’m not equipped for that.
I lived in squalor for so long as a student and I refuse to go back there. I’m fastidious about organising where I live. When I get home, before I even go to the loo, I unpack my suitcase and put it back in the wardrobe.
To be faced with a pandemic that is so unkown has put us in a vulnerable place that we’ve never experienced in our lives. It’s given Uncle Vanya a whole new meaning. Most of the words that come out of my character’s mouthe’s a doctor – are about the environment and sickness.
When you’re younger, all you can see is the destination. As you get past a certain age you start to realise the destination’s never goihg to come. The destination is death, in fact. So it’s the journey, for all its ups and downs, that you have to enjoy.

"Близко к совершенству" Статья о фильме-спектакле

The days blur together, money is a constant nagging anxiety, drinking kills time and numbs the pain – and every morning the ghastly waking nightmare begins again. Like all great works of art, Chekhov’s sorrowful family drama always confronts us with our own reflection; right now, its depiction of stifling, isolated domestic life and fear of the future feels agonisingly immediate.
Ian Rickson’s production opened in January, its run cut short by lockdown. In August, it was remounted and filmed at the otherwise closed and deserted Harold Pinter Theatre.
A cinematic prologue and epilogue capture the process with delicate melancholy. The cast members arrive at the theatre in the rain, dress in their costumes and wait in the wings. The camera glances across the dully gleaming stage floorboards, the untouched props, the uninhabited set, the empty auditorium. It is eerie, elegiac. After the final bows, smoke from snuffed-out candles drifts into the air, pale and ghostly.
In between, Chekhov’s drama of love, loss and despair is handled with skill and sensitivity by Rickson, master of tone and texture. Conor McPherson’s adaptation has an ease and unobtrusive modernity, and screen director Ross MacGibbon swoops in close on the actors’ faces.
We can see every twitch in the jaw of Richard Armitage’s Doctor Astrov, as he frets over his lost youth, or bites back rage at the hypochondriacal selfishness of Roger Allam’s spoilt, poisonous Serebryakov. There’s rheum and weary wisdom in the eyes of Anna Calder-Marshall’s watchful old retainer, Nana. Radiance drains out of Aimee Lou Wood’s earnest young Sonya, as Astrov tramples her heart with unwitting, careless cruelty.
Above all, we witness the bilious frustration and hopeless yearning of Toby Jones’ Vanya, and the tiny, telltale symptoms of his erotic fascination with Serebryakov’s wife, Yelena (Rosalind Eleazar): the rueful, self-mocking desire to please, the gaze that roams over her body like a caress. His adoration infuriates and smothers her but sometimes, if only out of vanity, boredom or emptiness, she responds to it – an indolent, discontented cat craving strokes.
More discreetly poignant are Peter Wight as lonely, gentle neighbour Telegin, resigned to being the butt of every joke for the sake of being included; and Dearbhla Molloy as Vanya’s mother, a woman long thwarted by inadequate men, all wasted potential and pseudo-intellectual posturing.
What we miss, probably inevitably, is a full sense of the organic theatrical whole: of the way in which live experience and spectacle enhance the wider themes (the rhythms and subtleties of ensemble playing, or the overarching symbolism of the crumbling house, foliage snaking through its cracks).
It takes a while, too, to adjust to the echoey acoustic. But Rickson’s production is piercingly close to perfection. And mournful though it is, there’s priceless comfort in that

Театр висит на волоске


Richard Armitage: 'Theatre is hanging on by a thread'

As he returns in a new film version of Uncle Vanya, the star remembers when Covid shuttered the West End and reflects on the arts crisis

You were playing the doctor, Astrov, in Ian Rickson’s triumphant West End production of Uncle Vanya when the pandemic closed theatres. How did the last night feel?
We were lucky in that we’d completed the majority of the run – there was about six weeks left. We were quite surprised that our houses were full every night. Then Broadway went dark and you could feel the change in the atmosphere within our company that it was inevitable. The following week we came into work and were told it was all off. We sat on stage for a while, not knowing what to do, we all had a little drink with the crew and that was it – we were in lockdown.

As time progressed it became clear that we weren’t going back. Like most other commercial theatres, opening to a socially distanced audience is financially not possible but also logistically it’s really difficult for those old London theatres.

What was interesting for me in that last week was that so much of the play, from the doctor’s perspective, is talking about living with epidemics and the stress of life. It started to resonate in a different way. When Chekhov was writing the play he was dying of tuberculosis and they had just been through two epidemics. As a doctor, Chekhov had been on the front line. For Russians watching the play at the time, the idea of a disease that would definitely kill you was much more immediate. Suddenly within the last weeks of performance, the play felt so much more relevant. It was quite extraordinary.

The play’s environmental concerns also resonate with this pandemic year and our renewed appreciation of the natural world.
People thought the environmental elements of the play had been added on because it felt so contemporary – the conversations about deforestation and this one man’s efforts to replant the woodland. But it’s there in the original, probably in a slightly more detailed form as Conor McPherson was more economical with the language in this version.

After closing to the public, the actors returned to an empty theatre to film Uncle Vanya. Had a cinema version always been planned?
There was going to be an NT Live – they’d been in to do a scratch recording. So it was a huge disappointment but the fact we were finally able to make a film – and much more of a hybrid production than anything you’ve seen before – was really exciting. Hats off to [producer] Sonia Friedman who just took a leap of faith.

How is it different to other filmed plays, like the recording of The Crucible that you made at the Old Vic?
Usually when you’re capturing live performance, one of the benefits is that you include the audience on the night you shoot. We shot over a week and did an act a day using six cameras in various places in the auditorium with different lenses; the cameraman would also come on to the stage with a handheld and move around with us for some innovative, detailed shots that you’d never be able to capture without staging the play specifically to film it. Even audiences who came to see the play will get something more than the day they saw. There were certain moments in the play which in the rehearsal room we really wanted to be intimate but when you are performing to 800 people you have to open up the play. So we were able to bring it down into a much more intimate, claustrophobic place.

What was it like to perform in an empty theatre?
We were so enthused to get back on stage. Initially the camera team and crew felt like a sparse audience. Every day I’d stand there and remember watching the audience gathering. It was a real sense of nostalgia, sadness actually, wondering how long it will be until we can get a full audience again. It’s not a luxury but a natural instinct to want to gather in a room and watch something live – whether it’s standup in a pub or jazz in a basement bar. There’s just this human instinct to want to come together.

What do you think of the government’s response to the crisis in the arts?
The government is trying to spin many, many plates. Our industry is vulnerable – we can’t really go back to work without audiences. I do feel like the response has been late and there probably hasn’t been enough initiative in terms of how do we make it work. We could have done something for theatres like the “eat out to help out” scheme – if theatres could operate at 30% capacity, maybe the government could have subsidised to get them towards breaking even. That hasn’t happened. I suspect it’s because there’s too many industries in trouble. For some reason the arts is never seen as a critical industry. Everybody in the arts felt incredibly insulted by the idea that the arts aren’t viable. It does make money. If theatres die in small cities then the hub of the community is gone. You need a more long-term view in investing and keeping these places alive.

The Haymarket in your home town of Leicester was one of the first theatres to go out of business because of the pandemic.
I’d been there recently. My little nephew wants to be an actor and I’d seen him perform in an amateur production there. It was a great theatre space. Leicester is fortunate because it does have other venues. But there are some smaller towns that don’t have many arts hubs and when they’re gone, they’re gone. We’re kind of hanging on by a thread. The news of cinemas suffering is another nail in the coffin.

You’ve done a lot of voice work and recorded audio books – what’s the appeal in lending your voice to a project rather than your appearance?
I love reading. I think that’s what brought me into this profession. It wasn’t watching films and wishing I could be in them but reading books and, in my imagination, creating a mini movie out of them. An audio book is very similar to that. I get real satisfaction out of it. Very rarely have I found a book that I didn’t connect with. I read as if I’m reading to one person. It gets to the root of why I do what I do. I just love storytelling.