Happy Birthday Viggo-Works!

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Happy Birthday Viggo-Works!


Categories: Viggo-Works








Can you believe that it's been 12 years? Yes it has been. Twelve years ago today, we opened the doors at Viggo-Works for the first time.
What a great time we have all had conversing with each other ever since!
Our thanks to all of you for making us what we are today ... the ONLY place to get all of the Viggo news
and chat with each other about it, and to laugh and enjoy the pleasure of each other's company.

Gotta LOVE that Viggo!
Here's to 12 more years!

Happy Birthday Viggo-Works!

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More Matt and Viggo in Cannes


Source: Cannes 2016.
Found By: ollie


Thanks to ollie for the find. Another great video from Cannes.





© Cannes 2016.

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Iolanthe's Quotable Viggo


Found By: Iolanthe
Categories: Media Quotable Viggo


Between football, bags of yerba mate, confusing passports and turning up with an assortment of gifts, Airport Security must go into overdrive every time Viggo turns up to catch a flight. Imagine my quotable delight when this week's Esquire interview turned up two new airport anecdotes. Any excuse to turn out all my travel favourites with no apologies for length...





Viggo Mortensen has come bearing pancake mix. We are curbside at the tiny airport in Syracuse, New York, on a truly dreary day (even by Syracuse standards), and within seconds of hopping into his rented Ford Fusion, I learn two things about him: He's the kind of guy who picks you up at the airport, and he's the kind of guy who brings presents. Pancake mix is a delicacy in upstate New York. "Do you like maple syrup?" Because he brought me some of that, too. He's prepared a gift bag.

Why Viggo Mortensen Is Off the Grid
By Lisa DePaulo
Esquire
25 May 2016



Half an hour from our departure from the Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C., I'm watching the game against Newell's on my laptop close to the departure gate for our plane. And suddenly Romagnoli makes magic, running down the left wing and gives one last opportunity to Gigliotti, who had failed at two clear opportunities to win this incredible game. I shout:

GOOOOOOOOOOOLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

with my whole soul, and I start jumping everywhere like a panicked deer among the passengers and their luggage.

!!!!!!PIPI!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!PIPI!!!! ¡¡¡¡PIPIIII!!!!

People don't understand what's happening. They don't understand why I'm shouting and jumping. They don't know if yelling "Pipi!" over and over means that I've pissed myself or if I've hurt myself somehow. A gentleman with a U.S. Army military uniform, probably recently returned from Iraq or Afghanistan, gets up and approaches me quickly, saying, "Cool it, man! Easy now...what's wrong, what happened???..." "Never mind" - I say shouting the goal. "CALM DOWN SIR!"

Viggo Mortensen
They Want To Throw Me Out Of The Airport
By Viggo Mortensen - translated by Ollie, Rio and Zoe
Club Atlético San Lorenzo de Almagro
28 May 2012




"Sir, what is WRONG with you???"

Airport security get a taste of Viggo the football fan
They Want To Throw Me Out Of The Airport
By Viggo Mortensen - translated by Ollie, Rio and Zoe
Club Atlético San Lorenzo de Almagro
28 May 2012




"He is so kind and playful and funny off set. He's almost like a hippie. We picked him up at the airport one time, and he wasn't wearing shoes. I still have no idea how he got through the airport barefoot."

Fran Walsh
On 'The Road' And Off, Viggo Mortensen Walks The Walk
By Scott Bowles
USA Today
3 December 2009




"It's true that they've checked my luggage more than once because of the yerba maté; they don't know what it is, it looks like a pipe. I once carried a kilo of yerba in a bag, and that was the problem... It looked like a kilo of something else!," commented this maté fan about the unpleasant moments he has had to go through when he has been held back at several airports.

A Hollywood Star in RSM
Translation by Graciela
Infobae.com
10 October 2008




The press conference before the [Good] premiere turned out to be a bit chaotic, a two act play...

A few minutes before the announced starting time we were told that Viggo Mortensen and the producer had missed their plane, they would land in Vienna an hour late, and would drive from there to the hotel in Budapest. By this time Jason Isaacs (Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies) was already giving enthusiastic interviews in the room next door and it looked like we would have to make do with him. Mr. Mortensen was to join us upon arrival.

Our disappointment only lasted until the conversation started because it soon turned out that Mr. Isaacs isn't considered by many to be the most lovable British actor by accident.... Referring to Viggo Mortensen's tardiness in his first sentences, he asked those present to please make Mr. Mortensen uncomfortable, and to stop him no matter what he said, telling him that they'd already heard that today. He also asked us to ask Mr. Mortensen what his breakfast was like at the airport, because the long breakfast was one of the reasons why he missed his plane. He also spoke with him on the phone twice, and conveyed to us that Viggo was so upset over being late that he could only growl, and he said that he would be happy to have even a hundredth of the talent that Jason Isaacs has. At the end Mr. Isaacs reassured Viggo that he didn't have to hurry because he (Mr. Isaacs) could do this press conference for another three or four hours with no problem.

Santa Brought Us Viggo Mortensen
By Lavicska Zsuzsanna - translated by Zee
Film Klub
7 December 2008




I have to tell you...what an awful combination it is to have a US passport and a Buenos Aires accent when you arrive at the Chile airport. A pretty long delay… my friends that had Spanish passports had already gone through (customs), and they were waiting… and the guy kept checking, very kindly, but he wasn't letting me go anywhere, and he talks to me in a pretty tortured English, and so I tell him: "I speak Spanish, you can talk to me in Spanish". And so he gave me a long look, and then I realized I had f***** up, really, because the combination of the accent and the passport… I was going straight to jail, or so it looked. And so another customs officer comes and says, "No, no, he is the Lord of the Rings", and so..."Welcome to Chile" and (pam, pam – sound of passport getting stamped) "Here you go…go ahead".

Viggo on Radio Cooperativa, Chile
By - transcribed/translated by Graciela
Radio Cooperativa
27 March 2007




Since I grew up travelling a lot, flying is almost like being at home for me, and a plane is like my second mother. I always liked airports and everything that goes along with getting ready for a trip - even now, when everything has changed so much because of the new security that we have after the terrorist attack in Manhattan on Sept. 11, 2001. I continue to enjoy watching people from everywhere walking through the terminals, waiting, looking for their gates - each person with their own destination, their dreams, their belongings, their preoccupations. And being in the sky during those hours when you feel as though you've escaped from linear time always seemed like an opportunity for reflection to me.

Viggo Mortensen
Knowing How To Travel
By Viggo Mortensen and Fabián Casas - translated by Ollie, Rio and Zoe
Sobrevueloscuervos.com
30 March 2013




The following morning he flew towards Buenos Aires. At night, he left for the USA; he had to start working on the character of his next movie. "I'll come back," he said before taking the airport escalator. I began to lose sight of him. He had a bombilla in his back pocket, a white plastic bag, and a San Lorenzo flag wrapped around his shoulders.

A Trip With Viggo Mortensen Through The Heart Of The Province
By Robustiano Pinedo - translated by Graciela
Source: El Tribuno Salta
El Tribuno Salta
14 May 2007




Ninety minutes later, we pull up to the departure gates at the airport. I begin to say goodbye. But no, Mortensen is coming in with me. Way earlier in the day, in our first ten minutes together, I mentioned that I forgot my driver's license and that some drama ensued at LaGuardia Airport. He's coming in with me to make sure I get on my flight. He thinks maybe he'll know one of the TSA agents, but when we get to security, he knows no one. Nor do they know him.

The TSA cop wants to know what I was doing in Syracuse for just eight hours. She thinks I'm a drug dealer. At this, Viggo starts to laugh. I tell her I'm a writer and had to interview someone. "Huh." She looks Mortensen up and down. "Are you famous or something?"

On the other side of the security rope, Mortensen couldn't be happier.

On the other side of the security rope, Mortensen couldn't be happier
Why Viggo Mortensen Is Off the Grid
By Lisa DePaulo
Esquire
25 May 2016



You will find all previous Quotables here.


© Viggo-Works/Iolanthe. Images © unknown.

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Viggo Mortensen in Real Life Is Even Better Than Viggo Mortensen Fan Fiction


Source: New York Magazine


A nice intro to the Esquire article at New York Magazine.

Quote:

gratuitous male objectification

001nymc.jpg
Image Ian Gavan.
© Getty.
By Gabriella Paiella

Okay, let's just get into it: Viggo Mortensen is hot. He has impeccably chiseled features, and he has received just enough commercial success that we know who he is, but we don't know enough about him to ruin his artistic appeal. Oh, and he has a chin dimple that would make Tom Brady weep.

I've thought Mortensen was hot since he played Aragorn in Lord of the Rings; I was an awkward preteen and watching him onscreen was the first time I realized that I was a sexual being. (Gross!) Many years later, he's on the cover of Esquire's June-July issue and I'm pleased to report to the masses that, yes, he's still hot.

Beyond Mortensen's physical appeal, the opening of Lisa DePaulo's profile, which involves the actor picking her up in a Ford Fusion (!), is so inherently sexy, it may as well be Viggo Mortensen fan fiction (a genre with which I am keenly familiar). But no, Viggo Mortensen in the flesh and fan-fiction Viggo Mortensen have finally become one:

© New York Magazine. Images © Getty.

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Why Viggo Mortensen Is Off the Grid


Source: Esquire


A great new piece on Viggo from Esquire Magazine.


Quote:

Multiple blockbusters, an Oscar nomination, piercing blue eyes–who's that guy again?​

001esq16.jpg
Image Marc Hom.
© Esquire.
By Lisa DePaulo and Photographs by Marc Hom May 25, 2016

This summer, the quintessentially un-Hollywood Viggo Mortensen stars in a film about a father of six who rejects the world to raise his kids completely off the grid. How much does this character resemble the actor himself? Let's start with his flip phone.

Viggo Mortensen has come bearing pancake mix. We are curbside at the tiny airport in Syracuse, New York, on a truly dreary day (even by Syracuse standards), and within seconds of hopping into his rented Ford Fusion, I learn two things about him: He's the kind of guy who picks you up at the airport, and he's the kind of guy who brings presents. Pancake mix is a delicacy in upstate New York. "Do you like maple syrup?" Because he brought me some of that, too. He's prepared a gift bag.

"You can smoke in the car," Mortensen says, gesturing with his own smoldering American Spirit. "There's an ashtray." It's a cardboard cup from the airport Best Western, where he got his coffee this morning, that he has filled with an inch of water. For us.

Is he always this chivalrous?

He smiles. "I try."

Clooney, I tell him, probably never picks anyone up at airports.

He laughs. "He's probably a lot busier than I am."

We're here to talk about Mortensen's new movie, a subversive and surprising family drama called Captain Fantastic, and we're here here, in upstate New York, because Mortensen has taken some time off from his life in Madrid to care for his dying father. To see him to the end, same as he did for his mother, Grace, who passed away a year ago. Grace was a saint. His father, also named Viggo Peter Mortensen, not so much. But you do what you have to do. The old man is in Watertown, an hour and a half from the Syracuse airport, where Mortensen went to high school and where we are headed now.

. . .

There are precisely two famous people ever to come out of Watertown. One of them is dead (the writer Frederick Exley), and the other one starred in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Two and a half hours into our journey, Mortensen and I stop for coffee at a joint he likes because his mother used to go there as a teenager. The place is packed with a lunchtime crowd. We sit at the bar, and no one seems to recognize him, not even the pretty bartendress he chats up about Syracuse basketball. This is a remarkable feat for someone who looks like he does. But he just doesn't scream "I'm famous." Plus, he's dressed like everyone around him, in a plaid flannel shirt, generic jeans (they're not even Levi's), and old black sneakers he got in Denmark a couple decades ago. (Mortensen doesn't go in much for trappings. He has a flip phone!) Finally, as we're walking out the door, we hear: "Hey! Ya comin' to the reunion?"

Mortensen turns around. "Hey, Robin," he says to the waitress. They went to high school together. "How's your family?" She tells him where the class reunion is. It's in July, their fortieth. He just might do that.

I ask Robin what Mortensen was like in high school. "He was very quiet," she tells me. "He was a blond, beautiful, that's what he was."

Mortensen has never been like the other boys and girls. He is not in Us Weekly leaving Starbucks with his hand over his face. Not at Lake Como with George and Amal. When he must go on the red carpet, you will not find him in a Dior tuxedo. (He mostly wears vintage. Once, when asked whom he was wearing, Mortensen provided a name—Bambino Veira—and watched in bemusement as members of the Hollywood press dutifully wrote it down. Veira was a soccer player in Argentina.) He lives in Madrid, and he works when he wants to work, doing whatever he feels like doing. Once, it was erroneously reported (and repeated and repeated, which pissed him off, and he is not a guy who gets pissed off, except about the war in Iraq) that he was giving up acting because he said he wanted to take a break. He just wanted to take a break. Give him a fucking break.

Mortensen is fifty-seven and has been at this drill since 1982—choosing to become an actor at age twenty-three after watching too many movies and thinking, I can do that. His previous careers included driving a truck, delivering flowers, and loading ships in Denmark. For years he lived from gig to gig, check to check, mostly broke. It probably didn't help that, on a whim, he left L. A. and moved to Idaho. He supported his acting career for years by bartending and waiting tables. Then he got a couple breaks. Woody Allen cast him in The Purple Rose of Cairo, but his performance was left on the cutting-room floor. Ditto for Swing Shift, with Goldie Hawn. Finally, he was cast as a young Amish man in Witness with Harrison Ford, and the public got to lay its eyes on him for the first time. But that was 1985. It would be another sixteen years and at least as many (mostly obscure) roles before he would acquire true fame. He was offered the Lord of the Rings role only when another actor, Stuart Townsend, was dropped at the last minute, and he took it only because his then-eleven-year-old son, Henry, had read (and loved) the Tolkien trilogy and convinced him to do it. Box-office smashes, all three of them, and they made him hugely famous (for a time) and rich.

Then he did something truly bizarre by Hollywood standards. He had the world by the balls, with his pick of roles—big studio stuff, Clooney kind of stuff, paycheck stuff. He turned all of it down, choosing instead to do what he wanted to do, little of which was lucrative. "I mean, how much fucking money do you need?" he asks. He used some of his Lord of the Rings loot to start a publishing company—yes, a publishing company; it's called Perceval Press, after one of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table—that would publish poets and other writers who might not otherwise get a book deal, and do so without having them "compromise." He could also afford to spend time on his other interests—writing poetry, taking photographs, painting.

. . .

Four hours into our journey, we stop at a waterfall, and the sun is breaking through an overcast sky.

"It's just beautiful, isn't it?" he says.

His flip phone rings. It's his dad's nurse.

Today is only the second time since he flew back to the States from Europe several weeks ago—"when it seemed like only a matter of days" that his father had left to live—that he has left the house for more than a few hours. ("He's a tough son of a bitch," he says of his old man. "He rallied.") It took a while to find nurses he could trust, but he has hired one for today. She tells him there's a medical supply they've run out of that he needs to pick up. We leave the peaceful waterfall and drive into the strip-mall part of town, pulling into a dreary parking lot in Watertown.

"Is it okay if I go in by myself?" he asks. He doesn't need to say that it's a matter of dignity. His father is bedridden. Mortensen sleeps in the next room with a baby monitor on. He really doesn't need to say more.

. . .

Now his father has dementia. His mother had dementia, too. Viggo is terrified that he will also get dementia one day. He's thinking of being tested for the gene. But then what? We are driving down a gorgeous country road with farms on both sides. Some of this land until recently belonged to his dad. But some months ago, "he decided he was broke. He's not. I said, 'You have all this land, sell it if you think you're broke.' And he did." Lots of farmland. "Then he calls me up one night and says, 'Someone's on my property, I'm gonna shoot them.' I said, 'You can't fucking shoot them, you don't own it anymore!' "

On the road, his phone rings again, this time with a call from his girlfriend in Spain. Mortensen was married once, to the punk-rock singer Exene Cervenka, the mother of his twenty-eight-year-old son, Henry Blake Mortensen, an actor and musician. Since 2009, he's been living in Madrid with the actress Ariadna Gil. Why Madrid? "Because I fell in love and she lived there." (After graduating from St. Lawrence University in 1980, not far from Watertown, he moved to Denmark and stayed there for a woman. He seems to do a lot for women, and his poetry, raw and intense, is filled with heartache. Has he had his heart broken? "Many, many times," he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette.)

. . .

We decide to grab a late lunch, pulling into a diner by Lake Ontario, where he orders a tuna-fish sandwich. On the way, he walks me through his "obsession" (his word) with death.

"I think about death all the time," he tells me as we both fire up another cigarette, him leaning over to light mine. "I mean, when I was a little kid, some of my first memories are waking up and going, 'Ugh, I'm gonna die.' " As a kid? "I guess living in the countryside, I might've learned about it earlier. That idea of mortality, you know? Once I realized that animals are gonna die, hence I'm going to die. . . ."

That had to be depressing. "No, not getting depressed, getting pissed off! Like, that's really bullshit. Like, whose idea was [dying]?" We laugh. He exhales. "I still think about death when I wake up. It's the first thing that enters my mind. But I think that's what makes me want to try things, you know? Whether it's writing or painting or whatever. To record what's happening as it goes. It goes quick." That helps explain the well-worn leather-bound journal he carries with him everywhere. He wants to "record life."

In the diner, he asks for the time. (He doesn't wear a watch.) "I better get you back," he says. Ninety minutes later, we pull up to the departure gates at the airport. I begin to say goodbye. But no, Mortensen is coming in with me. Way earlier in the day, in our first ten minutes together, I mentioned that I forgot my driver's license and that some drama ensued at LaGuardia Airport. He's coming in with me to make sure I get on my flight. He thinks maybe he'll know one of the TSA agents, but when we get to security, he knows no one. Nor do they know him.

The TSA cop wants to know what I was doing in Syracuse for just eight hours. She thinks I'm a drug dealer. At this, Viggo starts to laugh. I tell her I'm a writer and had to interview someone. "Huh." She looks Mortensen up and down. "Are you famous or something?"

On the other side of the security rope, Mortensen couldn't be happier.


Read the entire enlightening article and view more great photos HERE at Esquire.

© Esquire. Images © Marc Hom.


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Last edited: 30 May 2016 03:06:24