Christopher Walken: âIâm a very normal personâ
The enigmatic star talks to Adam White about sexuality, psychopaths and â??Severanceâ?? â?? and why Madonna and Sean Pennâ??s wedding was the noisiest heâ??s ever attended
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Everyone thinks they can do the Christopher Walken voice. That New York lilt. That round, honeyed purr, like a cat with plans. Try it yourself. Go on. Speak from the back of your throat. Elongate those vowels. What you shouldnât do, though, is try it in front of him.
âPeople come up to me in the street and they impersonate me to my face,â Walken says. âYou know, they speak the way I speak.â The actor, 81 and spry, looks knowingly down the lens of his Zoom camera. âAnd Iâm never sure what theyâre doing at first. I think, âWhy is he talking that way?â But then I realise.â He lets out an ambivalent whine. This sounds a little cruel, I tell him, while fully aware that I was speaking pure Walkenese to a colleague mere minutes before our interview. âOh, it happens all the time,â he sighs.
Put aside the invasiveness, though, and I suppose itâs a compliment. Abstruse, eerie, often impossible to pin down, Walken has existed outside of regular olâ superstardom for decades now â today heâs, what, myth? A voice to be emulated. An image in a rap lyric. A dancer in a Fatboy Slim video. On-screen, he can be cool, psychotic, slippery, wise. An offbeat talker; a light mover. Heâs played an emperor in Dune, an ant in Antz, and murderers in many things. He was the King of New York. Few actors can say they feature in some of the greatest films of all time (Pulp Fiction; Annie Hall; The Deer Hunter) and some of the worst (Gigli; Kangaroo Jack; that one where Kevin Spacey turned into a cat). But then few are Christopher Walken. Except for on TV. Where, up until very recently, there were two.
In Severance, the Apple TV+ Rubikâs cube thatâs currently in the midst of its second, head-spinning season, employees of a mysterious biotech company have their lives split in half: one side of themselves exists in the world as we know it, with families, loved ones and hobbies; the other exists only within the walls of the workplace. Neâer the twain shall meet â or even remember anything from the otherâs space. But for ostensibly platonic colleagues Burt and Irving (played with such sweet, mature longing by Walken and John Turturro, both of whom received Emmy nominations for their work in 2022), something ambiguous hangs between them â either a romantic attraction that already exists on the outside, or something they want to make real on the inside.
âJohn and I â weâre not unlike a married couple in real life,â Walken laughs. The pair have known each other for close to four decades, first meeting at a party for the Yale Drama School sometime in the early Eighties (Turturro had just graduated; Walken was passing through). Theyâve worked on films together, too â usually scrappy little comedies such as 1995âs Search and Destroy or The Jesus Rolls, Turturroâs strange quasi-sequel to The Big Lebowski from 2019. But even though Severance often keeps them apart â Burt retired at the end of season one, meaning his two lives have been reduced to one â itâs the most theyâve worked together so far. âWeâve had our ups and downs together,â Walken continues. âAnd when you can finish off each otherâs sentences or laugh at each otherâs jokes, it counts for a lot when youâre playing parts like these.â He smiles. âYou can tell when people like each other.â
Walken is talking to me from New York, dressed in a black blazer and navy shirt, his hair grey, coiffed and tall, like heâs been electrocuted. Weâre speaking before Christmas, our conversation taking place more or less with an Apple-branded dart blaster aimed at us: Iâve seen five episodes of the long-in-the-works second season at this point but have been forbidden to talk about their specifics. Today, viewers will know that Burt has been largely absent since the showâs return, existing solely in the real world following his retirement. Irving, meanwhile, has been left heartbroken in the wake of discovering that Burtâs âoutieâ â as opposed to his workplace âinnieâ â is married to a man who isnât him. Theyâve been kept apart until this weekâs episode, which saw the pair finally meeting in the real world and Burt inviting Irving to eat dinner with him and his husband (a cryptic John Noble). It was a lovely reunion, albeit with strings attached. Their scenes remain some of the showâs best: tender, romantic, unexpectedly, well, erotic.
He brought Tarantino over. And I remember he was kind of shy and he looked about 12
âItâs been different for me,â Walken says. âUsually Iâm up to no good in movies, but now Iâm playing a nice, romantic person.â And gay, which is a first. Not that itâs a big deal, he says. âThe truth is that I donât really make a distinction there. Straight? Gay? Thatâs never been very interesting to me. People love each other.â He shrugs.
Itâs the âniceâ part that he finds most surprising. âBecause itâs much more up my alley than all those other parts Iâve played,â he says. Meaning the psychopaths. Remember when he pushed Michelle Pfeiffer out of a high-rise window in Batman Returns, or played the Headless Horseman in Sleepy Hollow? And thatâs just two of many. âOh, it started way back,â he laughs. âOne of the first things I did was Annie Hall, where I played this guy who wants to drive into traffic. Then I made The Deer Hunter, where I shot myself in the head. And then I just got identified with, you know, people who are troubled⦠to say the least.â Deeply unlike him, he insists. âThe facts of my life are that Iâve been married for over 50 years, I pay my bills, and I live in a house. Iâm a very normal person.â
âWeâre not unlike a married couple in real lifeâ: Walken and John Turturro in âSeveranceâ ( Apple TV+)
He doesnât even get upset very often. Especially when heâs on set. âItâs rare to work with someone you donât like,â he explains. âItâs happened once or twice, but itâs rare. Actors tend to get along. Weâre like a tribe, a family. Every once in a while thereâs somebody youâd like to push down the stairs, butâ¦â Now thereâs a bit of classic Walken villainy, I tell him. âI swear itâs only ever a passing thought.â
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Spend just a little time with him and you find yourself wanting to crack the Walken code. Not because heâs got walls up, but because no one else is really like him â heâs otherworldly, surprising, a little mystical. Sean Penn once remarked that attempting to define Christopher Walken is akin to âtrying to define a cloudâ. And the privacy only adds to that. Heâs been a pop culture staple since the Seventies, but he retains a degree of mystery. Did you know that his nameâs not even Christopher? âItâs a Severance kind of thing,â he laughs. âIâm Christopher, but to a small group of people, Iâm Ronnie.â Those people include his closest friends and his wife, the former casting director Georgianne Walken, whom he married in 1969.
The enigmatic Ronald Walken was born in Queens, New York, to a mother and father whoâd emigrated from Scotland and Germany, respectively. The facts of his biography are often so wild that they sound made up. But Walken was a child actor from the age of five, did run away to join the circus, did tame lions, and was advised to make Christopher his stage name by a nightclub dancer in the early Sixties. Theatre beckoned soon after, followed by a run of film hits in the Seventies: he played an artistic lothario in the comedy Next Stop, Greenwich Village; Diane Keatonâs unhinged brother in Annie Hall; the tragic Vietnam veteran of The Deer Hunter, for which he won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar in 1979. The latter propelled him to leading man status. He is marvellously haunted in the 1983 Stephen King adaptation The Dead Zone, as a schoolteacher struck by premonitions of the future, and a vision of paternal cruelty in the crime thriller At Close Range, released in 1986.
Some of the greatest Walken roles, though, are the supporting gigs or tiny cameos that rapidly became his bread and butter: the sleazy record exec in Wayneâs World 2, a sinister nightcrawler in Abel Ferraraâs vampire tale The Addiction, the cranky exterminator in Mousehunt. Thereâs a real softness to him at times, too. Look at Steven Spielbergâs Catch Me If You Can. Come for Walken as the slick, deceptive father to Leonardo DiCaprioâs fledgling conman, stay for the panicked vulnerability he lets peer out as the film goes on.
Oscar winner: Walken in the 1978 drama âThe Deer Hunterâ (Shutterstock )
âMy favourite part of being an actor, really, is the time I spend by myself, learning the scripts, studying them, learning lines,â he says. âIt takes me for ever to learn lines, so to stand in my kitchen with the script is kind of as good as it gets.â
Unlike Burt in Severance, Walkenâs not tempted by retirement himself. âActing is all I do,â he says. âIf I stop, what would I do? There are people who play golf, who write books. They travel, have kids and grandkids. I donât have any of that, so I go to work. But when you look at the history of movies and theatre, very few actors ever say theyâre done.â I tell him I can only think of Sean Connery who officially retired, packing it all in after a bad experience on a film. âBut he was a big golfer,â Walken says. âSo he had something to do.â He taps his chin, thinking. âI donât play golf.â
Directors sometimes retire, he adds. âQuentin said somewhere that he wasnât going to make any more movies, but I hope thatâs not true.â Heâs talking about Tarantino, who pledged a few years ago to make just one more film â bringing his filmography to a total of 10 movies â before throwing in the towel. The pair go back a while, Walken reciting two of Tarantinoâs most famous monologues on screen, first the speech about the Sicilian mafia in True Romance â which culminates in Walken blowing Dennis Hopperâs brains out â then the ludicrous, scatological backstory of a military manâs gold watch in Pulp Fiction. Thereâs an old quote from Tarantino, from around the time of True Romance, where he said he felt âembarrassedâ that Walken had spent months fastidiously learning his lines until they were note perfect. âIt was almost intimidating that such a terrific actor would take my work so seriously,â he said.
Walken remembers doing much the same for his Pulp Fiction role. âI had the speech for about four months, and I think it was eight pages long,â he says. âAnd no matter what else I was doing, I would spend an hour a day going over that speech and gradually learning it. And every time I got to the end of it, it would make me laugh. Because his dialogue is all there on the page.â
Big monologue: Walken in his solitary yet memorable scene in Quentin Tarantinoâs âPulp Fictionâ (Shutterstock)
They were introduced by a mutual friend, the actor Harvey Keitel. âI was staying at the Chateau Marmont at the time, and Harvey said to me, âThereâs this guy youâve got to meet, heâs brilliant,â and he brought Quentin over. And I remember he was kind of shy and he looked about 12.â Walken hoots. âAnd I thought, you know, Harvey had discovered this Orson Wellesian teenager. Anyway, heâs terrific.â
Heâs always had an eye for young talent. He bonded with Penn while filming At Close Range in 1985, and then his girlfriend at the time, a pop star supernova named Madonna. âI spent a lot of time with her because sheâd be on the set, and I liked her very much,â he says. Soon after, he attended the pairâs nuptials. âItâs the only wedding Iâve ever been to where people were jumping out of bushes with cameras and there were helicopters flying overhead,â he laughs. âIt was also the noisiest wedding Iâve ever been to.â
Years later, and long after she and Penn had split, Madonna called Walken up asking him to appear in one of her music videos. She had the perfect part for him to play.
âIt was the Angel of Death,â Walken smiles, wry and spooky.
âBecause who else?â
âSeveranceâ is streaming on Apple TV+, with new episodes released every Friday