And while the movie will be remembered for a number of different reasons, one of the most memorable scenes—for watch collectors, especially—is Christopher Walken’s monologue regarding an heirloom wristwatch that had survived three wars and at least two rectums to make it to its new heir...
As your calendar should've notified you, we’re a week into December—which means the new crop of magazines hit the newsstands a little bit ago. But in case they got lost in the holiday jumble, we’ve flipped through them all to give you the lowdown on everything you need to know about this month in menswear journalism.
The December issues were full of reflection on a year that seemed more dismal to some (Esquire) than others (GQ) and mostly about watching TV to Details. And, for the first two, possibly about ushering in a new era of the casually printed nipple. (Here’s to looking forward to 2013 on that one.)
It's been a busy weekend. Jay Cutler was wounded, Kenneth Cole joined the Occupy crowd, and a radio DJ accidentally implicated Christopher Walken in an open murder case. In case you missed it, we've got a full update after the jump.
Summer Reading: Michael Chabon digs up a lost classic of mid-century Viking adventure lit. Good digging. [Paris Review]
Also, a Dukes of Hazzard Cave Painting: Painter Brandon Bird has tapped into the absurdist id of the internet. If you ever wanted to see Christopher Walken repairing robots in his garage, here’s your chance. [Newsweek]
Fare Thee Well: The founder of Swatch—and the savior of the Swiss watch industry—is dead of a heart attack. [Wall Street Journal]
Third Time’s the Charm: A graphical study of why sequels are always bad. [Flowing Data]
The decline of the celebrity interview has been fairly well-documented, but just when you think the whole enterprise is too hopelessly compromised to convey an honest human moment, Esquire comes along and drops something like this.
The piece is the Christopher Walken edition of their ongoing “What I’ve Learned” series, and it might be the best thing ever to grace their pages. (That’s right, we’re looking at you, Talese.) Walken’s screwball banality cuts right through all the false modesty, PR calculation and good-natured cant that usually makes this kind of writing such a minefield. Ponder this gem, for instance:
Sometimes I look at this watch and I think, There's some guy that puts these little screws in there? There is something about it.
Or better yet:
I used to love Danish. My father used to make a Boston cream pie. You never see that anymore. Very good.
There's something kind of frightening about this photo of Robert Redford and Christoper Walken—and we don't mean in the good way that Walken usually gives us the willies. Perhaps it's merely the fact that these two incredibly charismatic and stylish cinematic icons have gotten so damned old, while so few young fellows of any discernable panache or even talent have come along to replace them.