The Angel of Death

The MD has just placed a copy of yesterday’s Independent Magazine before me, it bears a bizarre and surreal photograph of Christopher Walkern. This image is haunting and macabre but epitomises all the characters for which he is traditionally typecast. It is sinister and eerie, I really don't like it but the fascination is undeniable.

An old favourite of ours from the Deer hunter days, he never fails to shock. He is an enigma, a contradiction of persona and lifestyles. A rare Hollywood icon who never fails to shock, entertain and repell within the same mindset. He has managed to maintain a constant carreer as a never comfortable and always controversial character in a succession of notable movies.

The image has ice cold eyes, a glacial stare into infinity beyond the retina of the camera, an insinuation of a cynical sneer reveals the far from Hollywood perfect veneers. He has an ashen vampiresque pallor which the camera struggles to disguise. The Jedward haircut and tattoo like enhancement of the tulip shaped top lip. Such a compellingly challenging un-enhanced visage in these times of striving for eternal youth and physical perfection, he appears unaltered and indifferent to the Peter Pan psyche that rules the celeb culture.

His recent appearance on Wossy was equally extraordinary, gauchely relaxed he is a challenge of inconsistency, not an easy person to empathise with nor a comfortable persona to reconcile. His OCD lifestyle is allegedly routine and familiar, he is a legendery dancer and cook, all of which talents seem so domestic, but his history bears the Wagner Wood scar, the mystery of really what did happen on that boat on that fateful night?