Maggie Gyllenhaal‘s Bride of Frankenstein is angry, seething, appalled…naturally. But like every assertive, defiant, hoping-to-be-liberated woman made from odd body parts, she wants to be known, heard and recognized for who she is deep down, and not for being…you know, the bride of this or that dude or hulking creature or whatever.
And so she asks at one point, “What’s my name?” And then chuckles cynically at the silence that greets her. Men…men! Beasts! Egoistic assholes!
Who thought up that splattered inkwell tattoo that extends out of the right corner of Jessie Buckley‘s mouth and onto her right cheek?
Makeup guy to Maggie Gyllenhaal: “Whaddaya think? Maybe…?” Gyllenhaal to Makeup Guy: “I like it. I like it a lot.”
Imagine a momemt as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is just starting to be filmed. Imagine director George Roy Hill taking the moustachioed Robert Redford aside and showing him a pencil sketch that closely resembles the below photo of Buckley’s hissing, screaming bride, and saying “look at this, Bob…are you digging that scowling, tumultuous rage? That angry-rattlesnake expression on her face? That’s what I want from you, Bob…I want the Sundance Kid to be fucking feral. Forget that internal, implacable, cool-cat gunslinger thing that you do so well. I want snarling reptilian rage in almost every scene…can you give me that?”
