came across an article/interview with vincent gallo, 2001:Quote:
But we're getting ahead of ourselves. The house is perched on Mulholland Drive, where the movie stars live. It's shaped like a concrete and glass rainbow and as you stand on the deck, the view over LA on this bright, warm day is stunning. Gallo has pulled up slightly late in his Jeep and trotted over to shake hands. Today's look is Soho boho; stained white T-shirt, frayed brown slacks and red trainers. His hair is long and straggly and he sports a beard that lends him a passing resemblance to one of his stated boyhood heroes, Leonardo da Vinci. Given that his other boyhood heroes are Chris Squire, the bassist from Yes, and Richard M Nixon, I reckon he looks okay. He's limping badly, because he broke his toe, but doesn't know how.
Imagining that I've been waiting longer than I actually have, he apologises for his tardiness.
'Isn't Polly here?' he asks, opening the door and fussing over his white hound dog.
'Is this Polly?' I say.
'No, this is my dog,' comes the reply. 'She doesn't have a name. It seems kind of weird to give a dog a name.'
I'm still wrestling with this proposition when Polly Harvey, the English diva sine qua non, pads into view. It seems she's staying chez Gallo while preparing for a US tour and I'm trying to imagine them as a workable couple (a match made in the very depths of hell, I decide... though he mumbles something about being just friends) when he asks if I want anything to drink, but she chirps in with 'I expect you might like a cup of tea?'
'What! Tea?' he exclaims, clearly shaken by this sudden outbreak of Britishness in his otherwise staunchly American universe.
Harvey delivers tea and departs, only returning about four hours later, with the words, 'My God, I'd go mad if I had to talk for that long.' Gallo can indeed talk. We settle in the big, open-plan living/kitchen area, around the simple wooden dining table that is Gallo's only piece of furniture. He's acerbic and entertaining, with the fierce intellect of the self-taught. He loves to bate an audience and has one of the driest senses of humour I've ever encountered, even in a New Yorker.
read the whole article/interview here:http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2001/sep/30/features.magazine
Login
Register
FAQ
Search
