Author: nymag.com: People

On the boardwalk in front of Volna.   (Photo: Monica Ruzansky)

The biggest mistake one can make upon exiting the B at the last stop, inhaling undertow-flavored air and narrowly passing a man in a fake Gucci shirt and a rabbit hat hawking caviar from a foldable outdoor table, is to assume that you’re seeing a passable facsimile of Russia. Brighton Beach is far more interesting. What you’re actually getting is a kind of double-blind guess— a Jewish immigrant’s idea of what an American’s idea of Russia may be. And that’s what makes it arguably the most fascinating ethnic enclave in New York: It looks just as exotic to the ethnicity it enclaves.

Like its freak cousin Coney Island, the neighborhood known as Little Odessa is as much a state of mind as a location: stuck between two worlds, with its own culture, slang, radio, TV, magazines, and illicit pharmaceutical industry (think less meth and more FDA-unapproved heart drops). It’s too singular and ornery to be a true tourist trap. Unlike Little Italy, with its defanged Mafia lore, Brighton Beach frowns at suggestions the “Russian mob” has ever even existed; its secrets are still secrets, and its past is never far away.

The present population is simply the latest wave of Jewish immigrants to have settled it. The first batch were European war survivors who came in the late forties and early fifties, establishing beachheads such as Diamond’s clothing store (owned, yes, by Neil Diamond’s parents). The neighborhood fell into disrepair by the seventies, just before the second wave of Jewish arrivals—this time Russian-speaking. There was a rough period of all-out turf war when chain-wielding Russians with little to lose paired up with Meir Kahane’s Jewish Defense League to police the streets, displacing many black and Latino locals in the process. Then the enclave settled into its present state: a quick and dirty mock-up of capitalist paradise just 40 minutes from the real thing, and a nostalgic fantasy of the country left behind. The latest mass influx of Russians, this one not as uniformly Jewish, happened in the nineties, after the dissolution of the U.S.S.R.; earlier settlers, proud of their dissident credentials, haughtily called the supposedly venal newbies kolbasnaya immigraciya (literally “sausage immigration”) until the two groups happily blended over a shared love of kolbasa.

Right now on Brighton Beach Avenue, the neighborhood’s trestle-shaded thoroughfare, you’re equally likely to bump into the aging eighties arrivals who’ve never left their apartments or upgraded to the pink Oceana complex right nearby; their designer-clad kids jabbering in an amazing mix of gutter Russian, Brooklynese, and teen uptalk; Dominicans and Puerto Ricans making inroads back into the area; Manhattan hipsters out for an ironic evening of vodka and chintzy stage shows at Rasputin or the National; and half-repulsed, half-misty-eyed Russo-Americans like yours truly who have moved on geographically but are still reeled back in from time to time by the siren call of thick ice cream, a dubious DVD, and a jar of really good pickles.

Once the weather tops 70 degrees, the hardy locals will be quick to fill the beach with nightmare-inducing geriatric Speedo displays and drained bottles of Baltika beer. Visit right now, though, and you’ll still find the sand strip romantically empty and the avenue life at a perfect low simmer. The long-dueling ocean-view restaurants, Volna and Tatiana, are still trying to get the customers in. And there’s still a good chance you’ll be able to stroll the springy boardwalk at sunset with nothing between you and the Atlantic except diffused light, an ocean breeze, and a vodka buzz.

(Photo: Andrew Eccles)

What’s going to piss off die-hard fans the most?
Burton: Cutting “The Ballad of Sweeney Todd.” Before I first talked to Sondheim, somebody told me that was the whole reason he wrote the show.

And you cut everything but the instrumental.
Burton: We’d hired a bunch of great actors, recorded it, and everything, but as we started shooting, it became apparent that it just wasn’t working. It works great onstage, but for a movie it seemed like we wanted to see the story and not be told what we’re seeing.

You also cut a lot of Sweeney’s dialogue.
Depp: We focused on the dangerous and unsettling idea of stillness, that he doesn’t look many people in the eye, or say much. For the image of the character, we decided on something that was iconic, almost.
Burton: Like Boris Karloff and some of those old Universal horror films. We really wanted his eyes and the music to tell the story.
Depp: We never thought of him as a lunatic, we always looked at him as the original victim in all this. He had his family pulled away from him and sent off to prison—it’s very tragic.

Johnny, Broadway actors would kill for this part. You didn’t even take voice lessons.
Depp: I don’t know what I brought to it—or if I brought anything at all. I brought a bit of me to it, that’s really all I have to offer. Sitting in front of a piano doing scales, trying to learn how to sing in some operatic form, just seemed counterproductive.

Your voice is very throaty, almost guttural. It sounds almost anti-Broadway. Is that intentional?
Depp: Organically, there’s something natural in my voice that happens when you push it. And it’s aggressive stuff. But one thing I do—that I don’t remember hearing any of the other Sweeneys do—is English, oddly. [In most productions, Sweeney is played with an American accent.] Especially that East End English. That was something I thought I could add.

You’ve also called this your punk Sweeney.
Depp: If there was anybody in terms of inspiration for my sound, it was Anthony Newley [the Broadway vet]. And Iggy Pop, you know? Iggy’s kind of this very aggressive crooner. Especially in the early stuff, there’s something about his attack that’s haunting.

Did you ratchet up the blood to keep up with Hostel?
Burton: I felt like we were just being true to the show. I’ve seen other kinds of productions where they’ve tried to be a little more politically correct, but the first production I saw, blood was flying all over the stage.

People are saying it’s too bloody to win Best Picture.
Burton: Come on, it’s a Christmas movie!

(Photo: James King/Exclusive by Getty Images)

‘I have not seen any of your films … I know you more through your reputation,” admits Steve Buscemi, playing an arrogant New York journalist who’d rather be covering politics than interviewing the actress Katya in her luxurious downtown loft. Sitting across from him, as Katya, is Sienna Miller, a tabloid survivor herself. She snarls, “You mean who I’ve fucked?” In the Buscemi-directed Interview, a remake of a Theo van Gogh film that opens July 13, Miller spoofs her own fashion-victim tabloid-princess persona, as she squares off in a psychosexual battle of wits (“You know what? I don’t fuck celebrities,” snarls Buscemi, after Miller toys with him. “I don’t fuck nobodies,” she replies). It’s a juicy, caustic movie about the kind of soul-baring, life-changing celebrity interview that, well, never really happens. It ain’t going to happen here, either. Sorry. Still, Miller gamely talked about the parallels between her life and her Sharon Stone–on–a–bender performance.

Buscemi told me you kind of freaked him out when you took the part so fast.
Yeah, I was really uncool about it. I basically got a call from my agent saying that Steve Buscemi has a project and he wants you to do it. At which point, I sort of screamed and said, “I’ll do it!” He said, “Well, at least you should read the script or have a conversation with Steve”—and I said, “No, I don’t need to.” Then I talked to Steve, and he said, “Don’t you want to read the script?” And I said, “No.” I would go make tea on one of Steve’s movies.

You’re so available.
There should probably be a bit more mystery to me. I suppose a bit of unavailability is an attractive thing. But, I mean, he’s a consummate professional. And no one can say “What the fuck?!” like Steve Buscemi. He’s got that phrase forever.

Buscemi has said that he resisted the temptation to cast someone who’d been in the gossip columns. Did you take the role because of similarities with your own life?
I don’t see any similarities between me and Katya at all, actually. Of course, she’s not really taken seriously as an actress and I’m sure some people don’t take me seriously as an actress—but she’s self-obsessed and ostentatious. It was so much fun to play someone who’s that unashamedly evil, really detestable.

Plus you got to enact a revenge fantasy against journalists everywhere.
Well, I’m not saying that all journalists are assholes, by any means. [Long pause.] It was more that I found these two characters who have this whole life together in one night.

Okay, but was any of it based on interviews you’ve endured?
No, though we did improvise some. One day, Steve was looking at photos of me online and I said, “Oh, no! Don’t look at that one—I look like a slut.” And then I get new pages and he’s put that scene—with “I look like a slut”—in the script. After that, I was more careful about what I said to Steve.

Did you base Katya on anyone else?
Sort of, but I can’t say who.

Of course.
I can’t, but it was from meeting actresses who are really comfortable with celebrity, which I’m not. Just destructive, destructive people. I could never say. I’d never work again! In the future, I’ll never say I based this role on anyone.

I’m guessing Buscemi’s character reminded you of some of my peers.
In Interview, Steve is just so rude. I think it’s just amazing that he calls me “Cunt-ya.” In America, it’s a very rude word, but [in England] it’s used far too flippantly. But, yeah—I’ve been in interviews where people try to blatantly get a rise out of you, especially on TV, and I’ve been a bit shocked at how tactless people can be, asking about things that are obviously very personal.

Speaking of Jude Law, what did you learn about dealing with the press during that time?
Well, obviously I got [my part in Alfie] before I met Jude, but I became a celebrity before it came out as a result of my relationship, and I just remember people being quite harsh and judgmental about that—and what clothes I was wearing.

It seems as if celebrities, like politicians, develop certain stock answers as defenses. You seem to have the same response every time you’re linked to A, B, C, or D actor—
Oh, I’m linked to everyone I worked with. I just started this film with Cillian Murphy, who’s having his second baby with his wife, and they started writing that we were having an affair when we hadn’t shot one scene together. The media want me to be this partying, shagging girl, and the reality is that I was in a relationship for the past four years and I was in a relationship for the two years before that. I couldn’t ever have time to be all the things they want me to be.