True North

Where have I been? Sleeping, eating too many ranch-flavored rice cakes, obsessing over the stray kittens, and feeling way too exhausted from the heat to come up with an original thought worth sharing. 

Mostly wishing I lived somewhere cooler. 

Somewhere like Scandinavia.

I've often thought I'd thrive in the region. I love fish. I enjoy wearing sweaters. And in the past decade, my man taste has morphed from witty big-haired Londoners (who I still want to be friends with), to mysterious artist types like Viggo Mortensen and Mads Mikkelsen. 

Mads first set my radar on red alert back in 2004 as Tristan in Antoine Fuqua's King Arthur. Who was that long-haired man with the bird? (Seriously...No woman should be expected to look at this picture and not start walking funny.)

I began to investigate. When he popped up as Le Chiffre in Casino Royale I was excited to see his star ascending, but prayed it wouldn't lead to schlocky Hollywood Spaghetti-Os. There was 2010's Clash of the Titans (which I've yet to see so I can't comment), and a possibly awful Three Musketeers movie, but aside from those two—he's mainly flourished outside of the limelight. Outside of America.

Until Hannibal, which I can't watch because of my weakness for nightmares, but which I've heard from close friends and every critic on the planet is a prime time masterpiece.

Being the journalist at heart that I am, I've been on a Mads mission of late, watching some of his Danish films via Netflix streaming and Amazon Prime. To say they've been a revelation would be like saying Havarti is better than Kraft Singles. 

I was right, back in 2004, that he had a je ne sais quoi that made him riveting to watch. But it's not just his range of emotions—it's the way he controls his emotions that makes him one of the most fascinating actors working these days. 


Let's all say a collective prayer that no matter how successful Hannibal gets, he never ends up on Jane Lynch's Hollywood Game Night (I apologize to any friends who love this show, but it's horrible), although it would be great to watch Mads use charades to get Kristen Chenoweth to scream "I know this! Hans Holbein The Younger!"

Here are two of my favorite films of his so far: 

A ROYAL AFFAIR

 

AFTER THE WEDDING

 And here's another I'm dying to see when it's released on DVD: 

THE HUNT

I've also discovered a series of Swedish movies based on popular crime novels (all of which I plan to read) by writer Liza Marklund. They're called Annika Bengtzon: Crime Reporter, but I can assure you–there's nothing Nancy Drew about them. 

They're produced by the same people who made the Millennium Triology (the REAL "Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" movies) in Sweden, and they're available via Netflix streaming. 
 
Be warned: they're Pringles. You'll be in all weekend. Like the female characters in the Danish films, I love that Annika's character is strong, flawed and unapologetically real. And that she wears Converse sneakers instead of stilettos. 


Will I ever get there? Perhaps. My mom and I have played with the idea of a vacation to Scandinavia for years. I haven't taken a vacation in five years. I think I'm due.

Will I ever get there? To the ideological social oasis that I see progressive countries such as Denmark, Norway and Sweden embodying? I hope so, someday.

Although, right about now, I'd settle for meeting a nice Nordic guy who believes in sustainable farming and doesn't ever ask me to wear tube tops.