RIP Terence Stamp

From Christopher McQuarrie’s foreword to Rare Stamps:

Terence has a deceptive face. And while this can be said about a great many actors, the deception often masks a disappointment—a revelation that an icon is merely human or, in certain cases, even less. Terence, however, has a face that hides his true nature. It is a lion’s face—forged to communicate cool indifference. In truth, Terence is indifferent to being cool. At our first meeting, he arrived wearing shorts, a casual cotton shirt and pink rubber crocs. He was carrying several bags, having stopped to do some essential shopping on the way. My partners and I were prepared to meet Billy Budd, the Collector, the Limey, Zod—yet here we were, opposite someone who appeared to have almost forgotten the appointment. Within five minutes it became clear, however, that the aforementioned roles were mere facets of the man. He controlled the meeting from the outset—evading nothing while asking more questions than he answered. He was not auditioning for anything. We were.

A sample of the man’s own writing (and lifelong reflections):

[J]ust before I got to see the film of Priscilla for the very first time – a midnight screening at the Cannes Film Festival – I received a telephone call from the Director of Photography. He was mumbling and seemed to be apologising to me for his lighting job on my character, Bernadette, during the film.

‘You didn’t do well by me – why?’

‘It was Steph’, he explained. ‘I told him “he’s gotta face for camera. Will only need a little front light”. “No”, he said, “I don’t want him looking good.” I’m really sorry, Terence.’

So there I was, dressed to the nines for my first midnight premiere at Cannes. The lights dimmed. The curtain went up; the film began; I was about to view my creation, Bernadette, my androgynous inspiration, a woman trapped inside the body of a man.

I took a luxurious breath in anticipation of the filmic results of my emotional rollercoaster, inspired by the wonderful females who had enriched my life: Christie, Shrimpton, Mangano, Princess Diana – any and all of whom I would be happy to be in a female incarnation, but no, up there on the giant silver screen looking back at me was an old tomcat. By royal appointment of Stephan Elliott.

Vanity, thy name is Terence.

From The Limey (1999):
  - ‘Tell him I'm coming!’
  - ‘Bide your time’