Terence Stamp: the mesmerisingly seductive dark prince of British cinema | Terence Stamp

“A Stranger comes, makes love to everyone and then leaves, Pier Pier Paolo Pasolini said to Terence Stamp, summarizing the plan of the 1968 classical theorem. “ This is your role. “He shouted as a stamp:” I can play this. ” It was the role that the man was born to play throughout his career and played with fine variations.

In 1962, Billy Budd remained in a clever, fascinating, fascinating, unknown asset, from his first beautiful sailor to his first appearance as Edgar Wright’s last night in Soho as “silver -haired gentleman”. It was the seductive dark prince of the British cinema, an actor with an elegant mystery. “As a child, I always believed that I could make myself invisible,” he said. He came and made magic, but he never stayed as much as we wanted.

The stamp’s ability was timeless, but it was a creature of the 60s, a poster child for the period in the pot of post -war social mobility and as a one -time roommate Michael Caine. “Terry meets Waterloo station Julie every Friday night,” Ray Davies sang at the Waterloo sunset of Kinks, and at least not conscious – the actors and the song, now, like two of them, as two of them have become a part of it.

He was born in London’s East End, son of a tugboat coal, son of a tugboat coal, and swallowed swallowed Swagger gave an important sand and danger to refined matine idol aesthetics. In 1965, he gave an excellent performance full of Seating Chippy Rage, a role that won the best actor in Cannes, made a lover far from the crazy crowd, and Federico Fellini’s strange Toby Dammit flapped a storm. But he was always a fiery film actor than his citizens – Caine, Sean Connery, Richard Harris, Peter O’tole, and his career was more fragile and never.

“When the 60s end, I almost did,” he once said, in the Superman in 1978, a ten -year collapse that ended when he was thrown into general Zod. In the following years, in the subpar productions, he played too much non-Peg British-Cirkin Gangsters, Bad Businessmen-, but it only made his occasional major role more valuable. Stamp, Stephen Frears’ crime drama of the 80s was the best bloody best, shone as a devil at Wolves for a short time, and was magnificent in Bernadette in 1994 in the desert queen Priscilalla.

But the next major role – and the undisputed ultimate stamp performance – Steven Soderbergh’s 1999 revenge tale Limey. Soderbergh threw him as Wilson, a aging career criminal who bothered him as a ghost. Indirectly about the youth and age of the stamp, it shows what happened to us all with a film-and implication that folds today’s drama with the scenes of Ken Loach’s poor cow to show what is the golden generation of the 60s.

Along the way, by crossing the Big Sur to the shore, the Stamp is a besieged guilty ghost, and that the history of cinema became an invaluable cinema history, an invaluable cinema history, led the world to seduce the world and return to the sunset before going back to the sunset.