"He's a lotta man and women can smell that kind of virility. All he needs to do, according to this guy, is stop popping home. While going through Von Sydow's cuttings, I discover an article from way back the Sixties, in which an industry insider gushes that he could be the most "exciting screen hero" since Brando. In fact, it's a little more complicated than that. And, according to Von Sydow, what this involved was being asked to play the "foreign baddie" (Nazis etc) over and over again. He and his wife moved to LA with their two young sons in 1965, so that he could have "an international career". This is truest of all in relation to his work. Where others might relish the opportunity to bring themselves into the story, Von Sydow seems to enjoy making himself sound peripheral, overlooked. And I can't help thinking of AA Milne's mournful anti-hero, Eeyore. Von Sydow has a gift for letting a sweet anecdote dribble into a sour one. So those I got to hear over and over again." Whenever we went to parties, the children would gather round 'Uncle Wilhelm' and he would tell them his favourites. "No, my father had favourites that he'd like to tell. He especially loved Irish ones, and went over there and taught himself Gaelic and translated these stories – stories that no one else in the world knew about – and would read them to me at night."ĭid he have a favourite? He shrugs, and fiddles with his cardigan button. My father was a professor, and he studied them at the university. "But I have always loved legends, especially British ones. It's just gone to Michael Caine.") But what really puzzles me is that both parts he lusted after were in films that are basically fairy tales. "And the same thing happened with The Lord of the Rings," he notes sadly, "I rang my agent, but they had to be British actors." It does seem unfair that the Brits have such a monopoly on old-geezer parts (I have a mental image of Von Sydow ringing to inquire about an Ingmar Bergman biopic, set in the wild archipelagos of Sweden, and being told, "Oh, bad luck, Mr Von Sydow. He rang her again a few months later, and she told him all the parts were going to British actors. She had not heard of the book, said she would make inquiries, but didn't ring back. "Yes, that is true." It turns out that, well before the hype, he read an article in Time magazine about Harry, and, rather perspicaciously, rang up his British agent to ask if there would be a part for an older wizard. "The Harry Potter film," she says, "you saw that first, didn't you, Max, and you rang your agent, because you wanted a part." Another sigh from Von Sydow. no, I don't think so") is quickly unravelled by his wife. I ask another question (are there any parts in the last few years that he has coveted?), and sure enough his answer ("Hmm.
I realise that Catherine is doing a much better job of interviewing him than me. "No, no, no!" he bellows, like an adult trying to restore order at a children's party, "no sequels!" But then, when Catherine starts giggling madly ("Ah yes, more chess!") he frowns. Forcing a chuckle, he says that maybe they could do a sequel to The Seventh Seal, with a new Death ("Death has died," he says, referring to the passing away of actor Bengt Ekerot). Looking just the slightest bit peeved, Von Sydow agrees that yes, this is indeed the case – that it's a sequel to Scenes From A Marriage. But, points out Catherine, he has made another film, which he's showing at Cannes this year. I ask if they'll ever make another film together, and he quickly goes into a woebegone chant, the gist of which is that Bergman will never make another film again. It's the same when I bring up his old collaborator, Bergman.
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