Debt is a theme running through Season 5 of “Fargo,” and there was no more terrifying bill collector in Noah Hawley’s latest seriocomic venture into the dark whiteout of the Upper Midwest than Ole Munch. Nor so poignant a creature, either, as portrayed by English actor Sam Spruell. Both the failed hired kidnapper and unlikely rescuer of Juno Temple’s protagonist Dot, the centuries-old sin eater pursues his own peculiar morality, burning malefactors’ eyeballs and demanding pancakes along the way.
Speaking via Zoom from the Hackney, London, home he shares with costume designer Natalie Ward and their 14-year-old son, Spruell looks tan (spray-on, he notes, for his role in the upcoming season of the British heist series “The Gold”) and sounds articulate, a far cry from his ruddy, cryptic “Fargo” apparition. Spruell mostly plays villains; a racist cop in “Small Axe: Mangrove” and “Doctor Who’s” Swarm are recent examples. But as Ole Munch’s season-capping moment demonstrates, Spruell finds the transcendent in the terrifying.
How much of Ole Munch was on the page and what was your creation?
Lots of it was in the script. Noah Hawley was quite clear when I met him who the character was. He started off by saying Ole was 400 or 500 years old, began in Europe, maybe has been in America for 200 to 300 years. He hasn’t spoken for a century. He has an eye-for-an-eye, Old Testament kind of code that he can’t relinquish. If he feels like the scales aren’t balanced between action and recompense … Noah described it as like an itch inside of his skull that he needs to scratch.
That was quite helpful. But what really unlocked the part for me was the sin-eating. Because he was poor and desperate, he was almost forced to eat the sins of the rich. People unable to break their cycle of poverty and crime because they’re not looked after by the rest of society, that was a very strong notion that I could build a character around.
Sam Spruell plays killer Ole Munch in “Fargo.”
(Michelle Faye/FX Networks)
Ole exudes intimidation. You seem friendly, though.
I suppose some people have access to the ability to play lovers or turn on tears very quickly. My kind of capacity as an actor is darkness — and I’m not a very dark person! I’m reasonably happy, I’ve got a family who have stuck with me, but I can access darkness and intimidation. You never really play it, though; you’re playing someone who’s damaged through the whole series of events in their lives. You think about that, maybe, rather than playing a villain. Or scowling; I worked with Ridley Scott early in my career, who told me, “Just do a little less with your face.” He gave me that note when I was playing a really scary guy in “The Counselor,” and obviously it stuck.
So many memorable, specific aspects to Ole, like his third (or is it fourth?) person syntax and sibilant voice.
Noah saying that he hadn’t spoken for 100 years was enormously useful. Your ability to form sentences in, maybe, your third language … it doesn’t flow. It’s not fluent, it’s broken, the sounds are malformed, if you like. Once you throw in that he’s got a Norwegian name, you throw in some Scandinavian sounds, so with the voice coach I built it out that way as well.
And he wears a skirt.
It’s so funny. Noah and Carol Case, the costume designer, wanted to make him timeless, but also somebody who was not moved by convention. I was coming to the same conclusion, and weirdly I sent her an email saying, “Maybe he should wear a dress?” Kind of as a joke, kind of a tryout, but Noah had said the same thing to Carol or the other way around. She started sending pictures of kilts, and I felt this was exactly right. It’s got a weird historical thing going on.
“The great thing about ‘Fargo’ is it creates characters with a real interior but who have these physical and eccentric attributes that you can really go for,” actor Sam Spruell says.
(Oliver Mayhall / For The Times)
There’s so much that’s bizarre about Ole, yet at the very end he’s beaming.
The great thing about “Fargo” is it creates characters with a real interior but who have these physical and eccentric attributes that you can really go for. That’s the joy of it, being allowed to go for something that you’re trying to make naturalistic but is completely unnaturalistic as well. It’s a fine line, but if you feel like you’re onto something and you’re able to achieve it in a scene, there is nothing better as an actor than playing that size a character.
That all comes out in the remarkable final sequence, where only Dot knows that Ole’s come to threaten her cluelessly welcoming family, but ultimately makes him smile — perhaps for the first time — with a Bisquick biscuit.
He’s arrived at her home because of, again, that itch inside of his skull. He set her free from her imprisonment on the ranch, but there was no quid pro quo and he’s troubled by that, so he returns to gather the debt. The understanding that she’s not gonna pay it and that he’s actually got to forget about it runs through that whole scene. But the kindness element is so interesting. In preparation, I had all these boards written in my Calgary apartment: He’s never been touched, he’s never been shown any kindness, never been shown any affection or love. That scene, suddenly, he’s just wrapped up in a family’s love — ever so incrementally, so delicately, that he doesn’t even know it’s happening to him.
That final act, where she gives him something made with love and he accepts it, is I guess the first step to him having a chance in life.
Is Bisquick a thing in Britain?
It’s not. Bisquick were in touch with my manager in the States because they wanted to gift me a box or something. It was very funny. We haven’t followed up on it yet, but maybe I should get it delivered to my home and have a proper taste of it with my kid.
Speaking of family, how has your mother, Linda Broughton, influenced your craft and career?
She is still an actor; she’s 77. She’s mainly had a life of theater, mine’s been predominantly film and telly, and it’s been a really good conversation between the two of us. We have different approaches but we’re both kind of after the truth. I did an audition tape for the part of Ole Munch, and it was my mum I’m reading the lines with. I feel incredibly lucky to have had her counsel. Hopefully I give her something in return when we talk about how to be better actors.
There are two things that can make any movie better: Steve Coogan and penguins.
Fortunately, and not surprisingly considering its title, The Penguin Lessons features both. Well, at least one penguin, who goes by the name Juan Salvador. But he’s more than enough. He’s Coogan’s best onscreen partner since Rob Brydon in the Trip movies.
The Penguin Lessons
The Bottom Line You’ll take it to heart.
Release date: Friday, March 28
Cast: Steve Coogan, Vivian El Jaber, Bjorn Gustafsson, Alfonsina Carrocio, David Herrero, Jonathan Pryce
Director: Peter Cattaneo
Screenwriter: Jeff Pope
Rated PG-13,
1 hour 50 minutes
Loosely based on a memoir by Tom Michell, the film takes place in 1976 in Buenos Aires, where teacher Tom (Coogan) arrives to teach English to teenage students at a tony private school. His timing wasn’t exactly fortuitous, as not long after he gets there the country is rocked by a military coup, with people disappearing subsequently.
Not that any of the tumult affects Tom, who soon embarks on a weekend getaway to Uruguay with his Swedish colleague (Bjorn Gustafsson, priceless), where he enjoys a flirtation with a local woman. Walking together on the beach, they encounter an oil slick and the bodies of several dead penguins. One, however, is still alive. Tom is eager to move on. “There’s nothing we can do,” he says with mock solemnity. “You can’t interfere with nature.”
But she implores him to help, and Tom, trying to impress her, agrees to take the penguin back to his hotel room and clean him up. Not only does this attempt at seduction not work, but Tom finds himself stuck with a penguin that won’t leave him, even after he throws him back into the ocean. In one of the film’s many implausibilities that you just have to go with, he smuggles the bird to Argentina and hides him in his on-campus apartment to avoid the watchful eyes of the school’s officious headmaster (Jonathan Pryce).
It’s not hard to guess what happens next. Tom, whose cynicism has already been well established, finds himself warming up to the adorable Magellanic penguin (I cop to knowing this from the press notes), working hard to procure fish to feed him and even bringing him to the classroom as a teaching aide. Which naturally does wonders for his bored students, who take a renewed interest in their lessons. And for Tom himself, who previously snuck off for naps during classes but now finds himself teaching with fresh vigor.
The trailer for The Penguin Lessons makes it look like a cutesy comedy, something that might have easily been called “The Dead Penguin’s Society.” The film is that, to a large degree. But it also attempts something more ambitious with a major plot element involving the disappearance of Sofia (Alfonsina Carrocio), the granddaughter of school housekeeper Maria (Vivian El Jaber), seized off the street by government figures right in front of Tom, who’s too terrified to intervene.
We eventually learn the reason for Tom’s hard-boiled indifference, involving a tragic incident from his past. With his appreciation for life newly restored by his feathered friend, he soon finds himself in the unlikely position of political activist, using Juan Salvador to strike up a conversation with one of the men who took Sofia and winding up spending a night in jail, beaten up for his troubles.
The film doesn’t fully succeed in blending its disparate tones, but under the careful direction of Peter Cattaneo (an old hand at this sort of feel-good material, thanks to such previous efforts as The Full Monty and Military Wives), it emerges as an engaging delight from start to finish. That’s partially thanks to the canny screenplay by frequent Coogan collaborator Jeff Pope (Philomena, Stan & Ollie) and partially, no make that majorly, to the superb performance by Coogan, whose expert deadpan comic timing and delivery make the film laugh-out-loud funny at times.
The Penguin Lessons also proves unexpectedly moving, its emotional manipulations fully forgivable. By the time it ends with home-movie footage of the real-life Juan Salvador happily swimming in the school’s pool, you’ll have fully succumbed to its charms.
While the world focuses on what Ben Affleck says about his second split from Jennifer Lopez, the star seems more concerned about that January visit from the FBI. Because it turns out the FBI was not at all concerned about him.
FBI agents visiting his house while the Palisades fire burned is yet another episode in the constantly unfolding soap opera that has played out around Affleck since he and Matt Damon won the original screenplay Oscar for “Good Will Hunting” in 1998.
You know the soap opera: The first Jen divorce. The back tattoo. The drinking thing. More drinking. The rebound. The reunion. The second Jen divorce. Sadfleck. And of course, the bit about Affleck’s technically excellent skills in the sack.
“Some people like to follow the soap opera … and you became a character in that soap opera,” the actor-director-producer told GQ in an interview published Tuesday. “You don’t write it, you don’t direct it, you don’t even know you’re in it, but you are.”
Affleck said he is aware that the soap opera is often absurd.
“The FBI did, in fact, visit my house. But this is pretty revealing, right? So I come home and I see there’s a story with sources that say, ‘Hey, the FBI was at your house.’ I’m like, ‘Well, this is strange.’ So I call them and say, ‘Hey, FBI, were you at my house? Do you want to talk to me?’”
We don’t know, the FBI says.
“I get transferred along. Finally, somebody who is actually responsible for what was happening was like, ‘Oh, we had no idea that was your house.’”
FBI agents were simply going door to door ringing the bell and seeing if the people who answered might be down to share anything they might have seen. Except Affleck’s door came with paparazzi lying in wait, and a story was born.
“Whoever wrote the story made up something about how it was related to an investigation about a drone that I guess did crash into one of the helicopters [actually, it was an airplane] two or three miles up Mandeville Canyon. Turns out, no, it wasn’t about that,” he said.
“So it’s like: You’ve seen this event about the FBI at my house. I had no idea,” he added. “My only involvement was to track it down, figure it out.”
In reality, Affleck says he’s just “a middle-aged guy,” or as GQ described it, “a twice-divorced father of three who commutes to an office most days.” Nothing newsworthy about his day-to-day life.
Except — maybe — the causes of the J. Lo divorce.
But Affleck debunks even that. “Yeah, there’s no scandal, no soap opera, no intrigue,” Affleck told GQ. “The truth is, when you talk to somebody, ‘Hey, what happened?’ Well, there is no: ‘This is what happened.’ It’s just a story about people trying to figure out their lives and relationships in ways that we all sort of normally do.”
So, nothing to see here. Move along, FBI. You have other doors to knock on.
1 of 5 | From left, Jessica Hynes, Téa Leoni, Will Poulter, Paul Rudd, Jenna Ortega and Anthony Carrigan witness the “Death of a Unicorn,” in theaters Friday. Photo courtesy of A24
LOS ANGELES, March 25 (UPI) — Death of a Unicorn, in theaters Friday, has a clever premise for a macabre comedy. Unfortunately, that premise is outnumbered by obnoxious cliches that dull its bite.
Paul Rudd and Jenna Ortega star as Elliot and Ridley, a father and daughter attending a company retreat where Elliot hopes to land a major contract with the Leopold pharmaceutical family. In a rental car from the airport, Elliot hits an animal on the road.
When Elliot and Ridley stop and get out of the car, they realize the animal is a unicorn. Once their hosts discover the unicorn’s healing properties, they try to capitalize on it.
The rest of the movie ought to be grounded for the magical realism of a unicorn traffic accident to be humorous. Instead, the film makes every other character more outlandish than a unicorn, so none of it is believable, let alone funny.
The Leopolds are parodies of wealthy pharmaceutical executives. Odell (Richard E. Grant) is dying of cancer but desires immortality, not just extending his natural life. His wife, Belinda (Tea Leoni), blatantly postures about philanthropy but ultimately can’t remember whether she’s evacuating or vaccinating needy people.
Their son, Shepard (Will Poulter), is the tech bro who talks about his diversified portfolio of entrepreneurial endeavors that is meaningless. As the night wears on he also indulges in his addictions.
However, Elliot is also a caricature of a widower who can’t connect with his daughter. Ridley isn’t quite as extreme, but an idealistic college student interested in social justice is fairly stereotypical as well.
The whole movie feels like an improv exercise where each actor was given one adjective to describe their character. There are three opportunistic villains, one hapless sap, one common sense youth, two scientists (Stephen Park and Sunita Mani) and two of the Leopolds’ annoyed employees (Anthony Carrigan and Jessica Hynes).
Occasionally, one will deliver an inspired line, but the subsequent dialogue inevitably ruins it. If unicorns existed, seeing real human beings try to handle encountering a magical creature would be funny.
Even promising developments when additional unicorns descend on the Leopold house only lead to more insufferable banter. It becomes a siege on a house full of idiots. Human in-fighting is the point of horror movies like Night of the Living Dead, but that works because the opposing viewpoints are all believable.
Writer-director Alex Scharfman thought of every possible way the Leopolds could try to ingest unicorn. However, the dark comedy of desecrating mythic creatures is undercut by all the silly babbling.
One area in which Death of a Unicorn does succeed is in the visual effects. The unicorns look genuinely beastly, not whimsical, and there is no shot where the viewer cannot believe the unicorn is present.
Alas, it is not even satisfying when unicorns kill these deserving clowns. There is no death violent enough to justify the hours of riffing, and the deaths are pretty graphic.
For a movie with such a unique premise, Death of a Unicorn ultimately relies on familiar stereotypes and tropes. Combined with the miscalculated tone, these unicorns deliver neither joy nor terror.
Fred Topel, who attended film school at Ithaca College, is a UPI entertainment writer based in Los Angeles. He has been a professional film critic since 1999, a Rotten Tomatoes critic since 2001, and a member of the Television Critics Association since 2012 and the Critics Choice Association since 2023. Read more of his work in Entertainment.
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