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i like how when you just see this cap out of context, it’s sort of like, “aw! henry doting upon catherine while she fixes a delightful meal!”
when really, it’s catherine and her hallucinated sex ghost husband who is basically giving her instructions on how to poison their daughter with soup
oh reign, there’s nothing else like ya
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NO, BUT SERIOUSLY WHY ARE YOU NOT ALL WATCHING THE AMERICANS?!!?
"I'm very defensive and very protective of [my relationship] because you only get one life," says McAvoy, "and when you meet people you care about you want to give them a part of yourself, because you want to let them into your life, and if you're giving it to everybody then what is your soul? It's very cheap. I love you, but you're just like every other person because I freely use my fucking soul and life as currency ..."
James McAvoy interview: 'I feel on the edge of failure' | Film | The Guardian
It's the first night of Cause Célèbre at the Old Vic and sitting in front of me is James McAvoy, whose wife, Anne-Marie Duff, is starring. A nervous moment for a husband and thespian. The theatre is full of critics and actors. I sometimes think that the main reason for having so many drama schools is to provide an audience for serious plays. One seat away from McAvoy is Paul Taylor, theatre critic for the Independent. As the house lights faded for the second act, so did the rheumy-eyed reviewer. Gently, he fell into the arms of Morpheus, like a man sliding into warm quicksand. His head, with its distinctive Yuletide aureole of festive hair, sagged on the seat in front of him and he purred a sonorous accompaniment to the drama. It was what is known in the critics' circle as "doing a Sherry", after Sheridan Morley, most of whose long life in theatre seemed to have passed as a marvellous dream. When it was announced sadly that he'd died, someone - it might have been me - unkindly enquired how one could tell.
The snores grew in volume and Paul's neighbour shook him awake. He rose with that startled "Where the fuck am I?" expression to discover that it wasn't a nightmare, after all. When, at last, the cast came to the curtain call and McAvoy hallooed his missus, and the critics, as they do, picked up their Oddbins carrier bags and scuttled for the exit, McAvoy leaned across to share stern words.
I couldn't hear the exchange but their body language bellowed. Paul had the embarrassed, righteous fury of a man in ladies' underwear who's been caught with his trousers down, desperately trying to pull up his dignity. McAvoy was incandescent. The critic dropped his pen; the actor picked it up and, with a sarcastic, Shakespearean flourish, handed it back. This was a moment - the baton of power, the wand of career advancement or damnation, dropped by the old critic, handed back by the thrusting young actor. The Independent's man exited stage left, dejected, pursued by demons.
Geoffrey: "Oh my God." Ellen: "I know! But we have to do the curtain call. And by the way, the answer's yes." Geoffrey: "What?" Ellen: "The answer's yes! It's always been yes." Geoffrey: "You know, Ellen, I just shuffled off a really long psychotic episode. Yes to what?" Ellen: "You'll figure it out."
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Ellen Fanshaw: I don't know how to do anything else. I'd starve to death if I left the theatre.
Geoffrey Tennant: You stay at the theatre because you don't want to starve to death? Now, that's ironic.
Ellen Fanshaw: And I like it. I like it when the story's good and the audience is listening.
Geoffrey Tennant: And you like the good reviews and you like the standing ovations and you like all those fans.
Ellen Fanshaw: Yes, I'm shallow. I'm shallow, I admit it. I wonder what life would be like if I could bake or something.
Geoffrey Tennant: Ah, well, you would be the bakery queen, and you would be constantly late, you'd be petty and argumentative and everyone would hate you, but the people... they would still line up to buy your tarts.
Adam: Of course I have fantasies.
Alex: What are they then?
Adam: Just, you know, male fantasies. They're all about you.
Alex: Yes, course they are. Then that doesn't make them fantasies, does it, because I'm here.
Adam: What are yours, tell me yours.
Alex: You know mine.
Adam: Do I? [bizarre yet hugely endearing approximation of sexy deep voice] Tell me again.
Alex: Sex in a lift; in public somewhere; being naughty when there are strangers around; er, dressing as a stripper; as a prostitute and being picked up by someone famous; being serviced by two faceless men who are only interested in satisfying me; being dominated; being tied up and captured, by a man I'm sexually attracted to, who treats me very nicely, while pleasuring me, and then instantly falls in love with me. In a lift.
Adam: If only we had a lift.
