In addition to having one of the greatest names ever, actor Max Martini happens to have one of the greatest faces—handsome, strong, and the kind that can easily disappear into almost any role. He’s made a name for himself playing tough guys, notably in Saving Private Ryan and Pacific Rim, and now he continues the streak with Michael Bay’s 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi. In the movie, Martini portrays Mark “Oz” Geist, one of the security contractors who risked his life defending the diplomatic compound in Libya. “Most men fantasize about being heroic,” the actor says. “I know Hollywood paints me to be a badass, but Mark is the real deal. His bullets were real—mine aren’t.”
When first speaking with Callum Turner in person, it's hard not to be hypnotized. The 25-year-old English actor and model has the effusive, unassuming charm and awkward good looks that make him believable as a wistful young soldier, a terrorized punk rocker, or a married woman's paramour—all roles in which he's recently excelled. Meeting up at a quiet bar in Brooklyn, Turner exudes the unbridled enthusiasm of someone just coming into his own as an artist. "Today was so surreal," he says. "I'm in New York City, and I spent the day floating around in a pool with my clothes on. Now I'm here with you in a bar, and later I'll try to learn to speak Polish for my next movie role. Like, what is this? What's happening?"
I wrote about Vamp as part of As Much as I Can, As Black as I Am: The Queer History of Grace Jones by Barry Walters.
Grace Jones fascinated me at a young age (seeing her as a kid while watching Conan the Destroyer with my dad both scared and excited me), but I didn’t become obsessed with her until seeing the movie Vamp at a sleepover in 1986. In the film, Jones plays Queen Katrina, a wicked vampiress running a strip club somewhere in Kansas (naturally). She makes her first on-screen appearance nude, save for a red bob wig and full body paint, doing a seductive dance that is as bizarre as it is weirdly erotic. At the time I didn’t really know much about her music (I was 11 years old and lived on a farm) nor could I appreciate that her body paint and the chair upon which she writhes were done by Keith Haring. The film is glorious ‘80s trash of the highest order, but Jones manages to transform the whole thing into high art by virtue of simply being there and, even though she’s playing the undead, sort of just being herself—beautiful, artful, exotic, and frighteningly wild.