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Hayden
The leading man strikes back. PLUS: Watch our exclusive video with the galaxy’s greatest snowmobiling, light-saber-wielding sex symbol.
When we last saw Hayden Christensen, he was armless, legless, and being burned alive in a pit of lava. His wife was about to die in childbirth and his former best friend had left him for dead. He—or at least his best-known character, Anakin Skywalker—was about to don the black robes of Darth Vader and unleash one of the goofiest bellows in cinematic history, hollering “Nooooooooo!” and shaking his gloved fists at the universe. In short, Skywalker had completed a three-film journey and become one of the galaxy’s—and pop culture’s—most notorious villains.
But what became of Hayden Christensen?
If you’re looking for him now, you might start in the middle of nowhere. The closest town is a hamlet called Zephyr, which sounds like you need a half-orc guide in order to find it, although it turns out to be just a couple of hours north of Toronto. Christensen’s retreat is a simple brick 19th-century farmhouse with a brand-new wooden deck. (A power saw rests nearby, next to some freshly cut timber.) Two cars sit buried under thick snow. Christensen answers the screen door in slim jeans, stocking feet, and a loose flannel shirt. He has several days’ worth of chin scruff, but, at 26, he still looks like he couldn’t grow a full beard if he tried. Given the buried vehicles and the whiskers, it seems that he’s been camped out here awhile.
He offers me tea. He has quite a selection. Two black potbellied pigs snort underfoot. “That’s Buddy and Petunia,” he says. He got them not long ago. “I’m not a vegetarian, but since I’ve gotten these guys, I can’t eat pork anymore. It’s killing me. I especially love prosciutto.”
Christensen hasn’t, despite the off-the-grid location, gone into hiding, or early retirement. In fact, he’s spent the better part of the past year and a half making the movie he hopes will help the world see beyond Anakin Skywalker. The film is Jumper, about a young man who’s able to teleport anywhere at will. It has traveled a rocky road to theaters. Christensen stepped in to replace the original lead, Tom Sturridge, just two weeks before filming started in August 2006. With a reported budget of $75 million, the production traveled from Tokyo to New York to Paris to Rome, where the crew had unprecedented access to the Colosseum for filming. While in Toronto, one technician was killed and another seriously injured when a piece of a set they were dismantling fell on them. And the cast was repeatedly called back for reshoots, which is typical of director Doug Liman, who’s known in the industry both for delivering quality blockbusters (The Bourne Identity, Mr. & Mrs. Smith) and for helming epically chaotic film sets.
“Everyone was forewarned,” Christensen says. “You’re going to be filming until the day it comes out. His process is uniquely his process.” When I apologize to Christensen for not having seen Jumper yet, he laughs and says, “Don’t worry. Neither have I.”
magine you’re a 20-year-old Canadian (born in Vancouver, raised in Thornhill, Ontario) who’s not long out of high school (Unionville High, just outside Toronto). You’re a former athlete (provincially ranked in tennis) who has starred in a Canadian teen drama and a few small indie films, one of which (Life as a House) earned you some critical notice, including a Golden Globe nomination for best supporting actor in 2002.
Now imagine that one day, after an open-call audition, you find out that George Lucas wants to cast you as the lead in two of his three new Star Wars films—prequels to the original triptych, which were among the most lucrative movies in history.
Do you choose to accept the part, and run the risk that you’ll forever be typecast as Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi-knight-errant with a quick temper, deft saber, and gnarly rattail? Or do you say “Thanks but no thanks” to George Lucas, instant stardom, and an immediate payday? “There was no ‘Should I or shouldn’t I?’” Christensen says. “I was fresh out of high school. I was worried where the next paycheck was coming from. And here was this amazing opportunity. It obviously came with a lot of baggage. I wasn’t naïve about that. But there wasn’t any part of me that was going to say, ‘Nah, I think I’ll wait for the next one.’”
The benefits of that decision are all around us: For starters, this cozy farmhouse. The 200 acres of farmland. The enormous flat-screen TV. And—nerd alert!—he keeps an official Anakin Skywalker, Dark Lord of the Sith-issue lightsaber close at hand, in a clear box on the bookshelf like a trophy, near copies of Robert Frost’s poems and Wayne Gretzky’s autobiography.
Most young actors patiently stalk fame, but Christensen had fame handed to him on a platter. Because whether they turned out to be triumphs or flops, successes or stinkers, one thing was dead certain about Lucas’ prequels: They would make Christensen a household name. The obvious question when he was cast was whether he would be the next Harrison Ford (international superstar)—or the next Mark Hamill (forever limited in the public’s mind to a single, star-crossed role). Three years after the final Star Wars opened, you could say the jury’s still out. Millions of people know the name Hayden Christensen. But none of them know it because they saw him in Factory Girl.
“It took me a while to get used to people staring,” he says, then offers, by way of comic understatement, “You know, the Star Wars movies have a huge following.”
And there are drawbacks, like people you don’t know starting to wonder whom you’re sleeping with—though Christensen’s been relatively lucky in this regard, mostly sidestepping invasive scrutiny. He’s been linked in the press, routinely and predictably, with whatever costar he’s currently filming with (Natalie Portman in Revenge of the Sith [he denies having dated her], Rachel Bilson in Jumpers), in the kinds of couplings that always carry a whiff of P.R. brimstone—and just as reliably dissolve shortly after opening weekend. He’s also, just as predictably, been the subject of speculation that he’s gay. He’s said on the record that he’s not. He’s also said he doesn’t mind people’s thinking he is. He knows they’ll talk either way.
Most unfortunately for Christensen, it turns out that starring in a three-part space opera is a really good way to convince the world you’re a terrible actor. He earned back some fans in 2003 with his smart portrait of journalistic fabulist Stephen Glass in Shattered Glass, but how many people saw that, compared with Star Wars? Anakin Skywalker is what moviegoers remember. “How those movies are made is very specific, as far as what our jobs are,” he says, with a bit of a shrug. “George isn’t looking for us to come in and have sсript meetings with him and talk about characters.”
In other words, Hayden Christensen wants you to know he can do better. Starting with Jumper. Sure, it’s a sci-fi, pseudo-superhero film too, but it’s got heart. And Liman has an impressive track record when it comes to what he does for actors: Before The Bourne Identity, few people thought of Matt Damon as an ass-whupping stud. If Jumper does well, we may see a Bourne-like trilogy.
Of course Christensen is grateful to Star Wars. If he could go back and do it all over, he wouldn’t change a thing. Just don’t ask him to do it all again. “It wasn’t necessarily anything you could feel good about creatively, as far as ‘This is why I became an actor,’” he says of his work in Star Wars. He puffs on a cigarette. “It’s not why you become an actor, to do stuff like that.”
But enough about George Lucas: Let’s talk about kitchen cabinets. There’s a new set in the house, which Christensen just refinished himself. “You put down a coat of black, then a coat of this special crackle finish, then a coat of white over that,” he says, explaining how he got the shabby-chic look. He has plenty of projects to keep him busy—he’s planting trees, clearing fields, moving earth. He’s hoping to plant some lavender fields. “It doesn’t require much maintenance, but apparently it’s a bitch to harvest, because you have to cut it all by hand,” he says. He’s even thinking of acquiring some livestock. “Start off with some cattle and horses, then get a little more inventive. Get some sheep, some goats. Maybe an alpaca.”
And when you’re young, and you make $7 million a picture, and you’ve got a little time on your hands, you can afford to have a little fun. We put on snowsuits and stomp through the snow to the shed next to Christensen’s place. He opens the door to reveal a playpen crammed with gadgets: a brand-new tractor, a few ATVs, and, most important for our purposes, two new snowmobiles.
A few minutes later we head out, with acres of virgin snow in front of us and just one problem: I’ve broken Hayden Christensen’s snowmobile. I don’t know what happened. It was running fine but then stalled. He swings back on his snowmobile, dismounts, and takes a look. Smoke billows from the front of my snowmobile. “Hmmmm,” he says. “Why don’t you just ride on mine?”
And off we go. My hands are clasped around Christensen’s waist (riding bitch, I believe the term is) as we skim and stutter over the snowy landscape. Now and then he shouts something above the roar of the engine. (“This is where I’m going to build the new house,” he says, “and maybe I’ll turn that other one into a guesthouse!”) It’s odd, and kind of exhilarating, and kind of enfeebling, to be riding over tundra with Anakin Skywalker; I feel, for better or worse, like a kid from the Make-a-Wish Foundation.
He can’t help but rev the motor and speed us recklessly over a rise. As we jolt forward, I console myself with the fact that Hayden Christensen has a lot more riding on keeping his face intact than I have invested in mine. Finally, he swings the snowmobile back toward his house. He has snow spray crusted just under his nose, and a big smile. He looks not unlike Luke back on Hoth. He strips off his goggles and lets loose a war whoop. “I try to do that at least once a day,” he says. I can see why—if only as a daily affirmation that out here, beyond the staring strangers and the worries about career moves and typecasting and what might come next, there are still a few basic benefits of choosing stardom—namely freedom, and acreage, and toys. If he needs further affirmation, he can always check above the crackled cabinets. Up there, he has a series of large metal letters that spell out a motto: ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM. “It was a saying among soldiers in World War II,” he explains. “It means ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down.’”
Оригинальная информация отсюда
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05.03.2008 в 19:53-
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05.03.2008 в 20:01-
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05.03.2008 в 20:31-
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05.03.2008 в 20:40Хейден - главный актер наносит ответный Удар
PLUS: смотрите наше эксклюзивное видео самым известным гонщиком по снегу, и лазерномечевым О_о сварщиком ....(это...эм...я простоничего умнее придумать на фразу не могу...что бы было так же смешно как в оригинале) и самое главное с секс символом. Когда мы последний раз лицезрели Хейдена, он был без рук и без ног и подгоревшим до костей в бурлящей лаве. Его жена вот вот должна была умереть при рождении детей а его лучший, но бывший друг оставил его там умирать....всмысле на Мустафаре. Он...или его известный...пожалуй самый известный персонаж - Анакин Скайвокер — вот вот собирался облачиться в черные доспехи великого Дарта Вейдера и и выпустить на волю одну из самых глупых фраз известных Голивуду, истошный “Нееееееет!” и сотрясти своими черными перчатками призывая силу впервые во вселенной. Короче, Скайвокер завершил трехфильмовое путешествие и стал самым популярным в поп культуре и самым великим из злодеев. Но, что же случилось после этого с Хейденом Кристенсеном?
пока это)))
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05.03.2008 в 20:52-
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05.03.2008 в 20:55