With the release of her new film Let Him Go, the
Actor recalls the sex and violence of 70s movies, doing the hustle to Troglodyte and falling in love with John Travolta’s cool desperation
I was the child actor in a travelling experimental theatre company, La MaMa. We were the
American entry in these summer theatre festivals across Europe and beyond:
Italy,
Germany,
France,
Scotland, Finland, Greece,
Lebanon,
Iran, we did them all. We also did some red countries. I remember thinking: “What is a red country?” I didn’t understand. We went to see A Clockwork Orange in Copenhagen. It was nice to find a theatre where the films hadn’t been dubbed, and it was a hot ticket, so that was probably the criteria. I don’t think that the twentysomething cinema usher realised what Kubrick had in for us when she allowed nine-year-old me in to see it. I remember the scene where they are pouring milk laced with drugs from the mannequin’s breasts. I’m still scarred. I was taken to lots of movies that I probably shouldn’t have seen. I don’t remember the names; I just remember the violence and the sex. It got my perspectives all mixed up. My first impressions into adulthood were that sex and violence were cool and hip.