Viggo Mortensen is missing. Yes, that actor on the screen looks like him—and he certainly possesses the same quiet assurance when he speaks and physicality when he fights. But more like a magician than actor, he has disappeared into the world of Eastern Promises.
As much as I’ve admired his work before—in movies like my beloved The Lord of the Rings trilogy, A Walk on the Moon and A History of Violence—I wasn’t quite prepared for the total character immersion displayed in the film, as he morphs into Nikolai, the enigmatic driver/undertaker/protector of Kirill, (Vincent Cassel), the “prince” of a London-based Russian crime family.
The story follows Anna, (Naomi Watts) a midwife of Russian heritage, as she investigates the diary of a young girl who dies during childbirth. It reveals a London underworld of drugs and prostitution as a form of modern slavery. Mortensen’s morally ambiguous character both warns Anna off and pulls her into this world.
Mortensen and I chatted on the phone for a little over 20 minutes Friday night. I found him polite and soft-spoken, yet at the same time very talkative, with his answers going far longer than I thought they would. Anyone who recalls my obsessive Rings column, “Diary of a Hobbit Fiend,” will be surprised to know that I managed to keep my fangirl impulses in check, squelching the near constant urge to coo: “Viggo, I love you!”
Discovering Nikolai
Mortensen, 49, says when he first read the screenplay for Eastern Promises he was eager to work with David Cronenberg again, but wasn’t sure he could pull off the part. The script by Steven Knight was one of several he and the director were considering as a follow-up to their collaboration on Violence. It demanded that he not only master a Russian accent, but tap into a world and culture he knew nothing about. The actor is of Danish descent (his father), but he grew up in Venezuela, Argentina and New York before living in Denmark after college.
“I thought it was interesting, but I realized that I’d have to at least feel like I was contributing what I needed to in order to tell the story,” he says. “I’d have to do a lot of work, a lot of research to get it ready; more than most roles.”
Finding the time was a challenge for Mortensen, who is also an artist, photographer and poet. After determining he could dive into the project, he said yes.
He began a process of discovery that included re-reading Russian novels and poetry, listening to Russian music and spoken-word recordings, and watching tons of Russian movies. Additionally, he worked with a University professor on translations of the script, and made the acquaintance of a Russian who shared a similar background to Nikolai.
“He had done time in a maximum security prison and had a couple tattoos, [the body art serves as a kind of physical resume in the Russian crime universe], and knew a lot about that world that my character’s supposed to come from,” he says. “He helped me speak all the translations, to make it have the appropriate slang and double meanings specific to the character.”
Mortensen was diligent about the details, like how long Nikolai had lived outside of Russia and the subtle differences between how he’d speak English living in London, versus a Russian speaking English after spending time in America. That effort manifested itself in other ways too—like how he carried himself in the film.
He says the icing on the cake was visiting Russia and observing people, places, weather, food, style and even humor.
“What people make jokes about and what they laugh about in any culture, it says a lot about people’s dreams and fears and history,” he explains. In the case of the Russian sense of humor, he notes there’s a certain fatalism to it, because it’s a comic sensibility that comes from suffering.
All of this background helped to create Nikolai and explore who he was beyond the parameters of the script. That kind of investigation seems fitting for a film that alludes to the origins of one’s humanity (or lack of it). Yet it’s something Mortensen does with every role.
“As soon as I know I’m going to do a part, the first thing I ask myself is: ‘What happened between birth and page one of the script?’ There’s no end to what you can imagine or figure out for yourself about that,” he says. “That’s the foundation for me, no matter what approach I need to take.”
It plays itself out beautifully with Nikolai, who is a living and breathing entity. What the audience doesn’t know about him—and Mortensen has endeavored to discover and put in his performance—is as important as what’s explicitly revealed.
Violence and Compassion
Despite the films’ brutality, Mortensen says he was moved by the compassion that underlies the story. While his character and the one played by Watts are hardened to the cruelties of life, they still have this very human, hard-to-explain quality.
“For some reason they go to extreme efforts to do the right thing, only because it’s the right thing—there’s no real logical explanation,” Mortensen says. “They’re not gaining anything from it and it’s actually pretty risky for both of them. That’s what compassion is about, this thing humans do sometimes that surprises us.”
In looking at the web site for Perceval Press, the small publishing company he co-founded, it’s clear that these are themes that resonate deeply with Mortensen.
On the home page there’s a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson that reads: “An eye can threaten like a loaded and leveled gun, or it can insult like hissing or kicking; or, in its altered mood, by beams of kindness, it can make the heart dance for joy.”
All aspects of that quote—including its violent implications—are often played out in the parts that have made Mortensen famous. Nikolai joins the ranks of shaded portraits that include the swashbuckling Aragorn from Rings and the family man with a past in Violence.
“I’ve played roles that exercise violence. That’s a continuing thing that I’m not entirely sure about,” he says. “It’s like, are you encouraging it by doing it or what? And is violence ever justifiable?” His emphatic answer is no, but adds that it can be understandable.
And he says that even in the midst of the most violent moments in Eastern Promises—like that audacious bathhouse brawl—there’s an inexplicable bond between people that Cronenberg captures expertly.
In looking back at the film, one is struck by the scene that closely precedes the bathhouse, the ceremony initiating Nikolai as a full-fledged member of the mob family. He tells those present, “I’m already dead.” But the tattooed, nearly naked man is in a sense being born again. The symbolism—if one wants to read into it—is even more evident in the bathhouse scene. There, fully nude, his bloody birth is completed.
“He’s going to kill me or I’m going to kill him, but we are looking at each other,” Mortensen says of the final moments in the scene. “Cronenberg isn’t going to let you blink—it’s right in your face. He shows it to you in a way that’s actually morally more responsible than most directors. This is what it is: it’s not pretty; it’s not gratuitous. I’m looking at this person and we are touching. It’s horrible, but there’s this weird connection between these people.”
He compares that to a much different moment near the end, as he, Watts and Cassel play out a dramatic dance—a child’s life at the center. Death (and perhaps birth) is the subject of the former, love (and perhaps death) the subject of the latter. Whatever the true meaning of these beats, they both intriguingly display the human connection.
The Cronenberg Illusion
Besides being able to challenge his limits as an actor and learn a new culture, Mortensen says the experience of making Eastern Promises solidified the working relationship and friendship he has with Cronenberg.
“I got to know him better and if anything it confirmed in my mind that if I ever were to direct a movie, I would want to do it like that if I could,” he says. “In other words, treat people that way, prepare myself that way, be efficient or try to be, the way he is.”
That aspect of the filmmaker was crucial in establishing an environment which Mortensen says fooled the crew into believing they had all the time in the world to make each scene work. “Cronenberg helps you create that illusion. Everything’s relaxed, there’s no hurry and there’s no pressure, when in reality there’s a huge amount of pressure to get things right and get them done in time and have the work be good,” he offers, laughter in his voice.
That style enhances the work by taking what is essentially a very foreign world and making it feel more real and accessible. At the same time, it fully and purposely retains a level of mystery—both interesting and frustrating to viewers.
In addition to his director, Mortensen praised the work of his fellow actors, including Cassel, Armin Mueller-Stahl (as the head of the Russian crime clan) and Watts.
In playing Kirill—a complex character who’s both evil and reckless—he says Cassel added dimension to the role.
“He was quite brave in it because he’s loathsome, and yet you come to like him or at least you come to understand him—even if it’s not forgivable. He gets to you,” he says.
As for Watts, he feels she hasn’t gotten enough credit for her work in the film.
“What she did was very subtle, she doesn’t have big flashy scenes, but it’s very well done,” Mortensen says.
The Road Ahead
A true renaissance man, Mortensen’s schedule isn’t likely to let up anytime soon. On tap are new offerings from Perceval—both his own book of images and writing, and from others including documentary filmmaker Alix Lambert—two exhibitions (in Iceland and Denmark), and he begins filming The Road, a Cormac McCarthy adaptation, in February. Two other films—Good and Appaloosa (the latter directed by Ed Harris)—are set to open next year.
“I shouldn’t be doing another movie, but it was too good to pass up,” he says. “I’m too busy.”
One can only hope that doesn’t change anytime soon.
Author's Note: This post first appeared at Awards Daily.
