Welcome to a Summer of Margot Robbie

July 6, 2016 - accent chair

The review finally came around to Tarzan. For a final several
years of his life, a good bearish movie writer Jerry Weintraub, who
died while a film was in postproduction, had been perplexing to get Tarzan
back to a large screen. Tarzan, a classical of Jerry’s outer-borough
youth, a dim theaters of a Bronx, a jungle cry and swinging
vines. It was a aged man’s white whale, a holy grail resplendent during the
end of a dream, on and off a rails, as he chased scripts, directors,
and film stars of a correct magnitude. “George Burns played God,” he
said during one point, “but this is Tarzan!” For a impulse Jerry believed
he’d found Tarzan in Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps. It was all Jerry
talked about. “It’s going to be like Johnny Weissmuller,” Jerry told
me. “All a reporters are going to say, ‘Weintraub found a new
Johnny Weissmuller!’ ” At that point, Jerry had never seen Phelps do
anything though get in and out of a pool. Then, as if arranged, a swimmer
hosted Saturday Night Live. As this went on past Jerry’s bedtime, he
asked his partner to record it. we was operative with Jerry on his memoir
at a time, a plan that grew out of a 2008 Vanity Fair profile, and so sat beside him a subsequent morning in his vital room in Beverly Hills,
identical breakfasts on matching trays set before us, my portions
slightly smaller. As he watched Phelps’s monologue, we watched him, his
mood changeable from vehement to perturbed, immature to red. Two mins in,
Jerry incited to his partner and shouted, “This isn’t Tarzan! This
isn’t Johnny Weissmuller! He’s a goon! Why didn’t anyone tell me he’s a
goon? Turn it off. Goddammit, spin it off.”

That was a center of a hunt that finally led to Alexander Skarsgård
as Tarzan and Robbie as Jane. Jerry spoke of a singer in a tinge he
reserved for a large stars, a certain things, a Clooneys and Pitts,
those whose bulk seems old-fashioned. “When we consider of Margot
Robbie, a singular word comes to mind,” Jerry said. “Audrey Hepburn.”
In comparing Robbie to a classical film stars, Jerry Weintraub meant
that she is big-time, bankable, elegant.

I would see a film a few days later. It’s fascinating. Here is a tale
in that a really grounds is problematic: a white baby is forsaken into
darkest Africa, a puzzling Congo, and, within a generation, is king.
Years later, absolutely situated in elegant England, he must
return to giveaway African slaves. It’s a setup that tacks tough into the
wind of so many stream taboos. There are moments when your heart is in
your mouth and we wheeze to yourself, Oh please, God, let them make it
safely by a dim night of Twitter. Most of a film was shot in
England, in a mistake jungle of greenscreen. The gorillas demeanour so many like
the gorillas in Planet of a Apes, we half design a ape liberator
to start articulate directly to Bright Eyes.

Each era has a possess Tarzan. Mine was Christopher Lambert in
Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of a Apes. Jerry’s was
Weissmuller, a strange Tarzan from a 30s and 40s. For Robbie,
Tarzan was a impression in a Sunday-morning cartoon.

Did we go behind and watch a aged Tarzans?, we asked.

“No, we didn’t wish to have any preconceived notions on how we should
play it,” she said. “It would disaster with my head.”

She suspicion for a moment, afterwards said, “I only saw a screening of our
Tarzan. It was unhappy to watch it, meaningful that Jerry won’t get to see it.
It sucks . . . it’s a thing he always wanted to do. That’s what he
said: ‘I’ve been wanting to make this for so long.’ ”

This finished me feel secluded and sad. The idea that a chairman like Jerry
Weintraub can only disappear from a earth, that he can be private like a
piece from a chessboard, and a diversion goes on—it’s so ludicrous,
such a vicious cake in a face of humanity, it’s improved we don’t even talk
about it. Of course, we could not stop meditative about him. In his red
silk robe, with his dark legs and ankles, fibbing atop his bed in Beverly
Hills, his German shepherd, Sonny, during his side, celebration a vodka or
saying a request or job by a intercom for Susie Ekins, his
significant other and a writer on Tarzan—Soozie. Sooz. Soozie. Sooz.

I looked during Robbie in a new way, attempted to see her as she contingency have
looked to Jerry. An echo, a throwback. “A singular word: Audrey
Hepburn.” From another place, another time. In her, Jerry might have seen
a kind of mislaid purity, what we’ve given adult for a fad of a
crass, freewheeling, sex-saturated culture. It’s a series suggested
by dual points in a Margot Robbie oeuvre. It’s how Pan Am, a anticipation of
jet-age America, where Bryn Mawr girls took to a skies in hunt of
husbands, becomes Jordan Belfort’s Wall Street, where a Duchess stands
nude in a doorway, branch slowly, like a Ferrari on a showroom
platform, a tellurian being remade by a late 20th century, coked up,
cashed out, and hung on a wall like a trophy.

I asked Robbie about a sex scenes. In Wolf, she partakes in some of
the many striking on-screen shenanigans I’ve ever seen, famously
short-skirted in one scene, pulling a crawling DiCaprio divided with the
toe of her engineer shoe, saying, “Mommy is only so ill and sleepy of
wearing panties.”

“In that initial low-budget film we did in Australia, we had a shower
scene,” she told me. “So we was most exposed there as well, though it
wasn’t anywhere as many as in Wolf, though it was still . . .”

She paused a moment, afterwards went on.

“Actually, we hadn’t finished a correct sex stage before. I’d finished scenes
where it’s heading into sex or sex has only finished, though we hadn’t done
a start-to-finish sex stage like we did in Wolf. That was my first.”

“Is there any approach to prepare?”

“No. Tons of people are examination you.”

“Were we disturbed we were not going to be means to do it?”

“There isn’t an option. It’s only like, This is what we need to
do—get on with it. The earlier we do it, a earlier we can stop doing
it.”

“It only seems really awkward.”

“It’s so awkward.”

We sat for a impulse in silence. She was meditative of something; we was
thinking of something else. Then she stood, pronounced good-bye, and went to
see a crony opposite a room. Jerry was right. She looked only like
Audrey Hepburn going away.

Video: Behind a Scenes of Margot Robbie’s Cover Shoot

source ⦿ http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2016/07/margot-robbie-cover-story

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