I spent a good week of my life nearly a month ago watching the complete first season of Homeland which stars Claire Danes as a bi-polar, neurotic, and tenacious CIA agent obsessed about an Iraqi prisoner-of-war returned home played by Damian Lewis–who, I just found out, is actually British–who Danes suspects has been “turned” into a mole by his former captors in an elaborate plan to conduct an act of terrorism in America. My run-on sentences aside, the series is a suspense thriller stretched out over a period of twelve episodes. And what a great twelve episodes those were.
And while Danes and Lewis completely deserve their Best Actress and Actor in a Drama Emmy, I still maintain that Danes has the ugliest crying face I have ever seen on screen. I could not look at her as Cosette in Les Miserables, and now, in Homeland when her superiors start ripping away her entire fangirl wall dedicated to Lewis’ character. She does this some kind of turtle face that, initially, doesn’t really make you commiserate with her despite the fact she’s supposedly crying. But the show’s so good, I can let that pass.
From Homeland (2011).
From Les Miserables (1998).
From My So-Called Life (1994).
The second season begins in the States on Sunday (Monday in the Philippines) which now gives me one more reason to like Mondays (first reason is Downton Abbey). Damian Lewis gives an interview with GQ for their November issue and talks about the complexity of his character, what to expect this new season, and his panty collection. After reading the whole interview, my initial reaction was, “WTF?! He’s British?!” So he’s a Brit playing an American, pretending to be a patriot, appearing to be Christian, but is actually a Muslim convert (is Anglican in real life), and an Al Qaeda mole?! He’s as complex as the Higgs Boson.
GQ: How do they, um, celebrate you?
Damian Lewis: They send me their panties. [Laughs] This is an old story now, but it’s very entertaining. About five or so years ago, the members decided to send me their panties for my birthday. This one woman coordinated it, and about forty women responded. I got sent this Victoria’s Secret’s box full of underwear from as far away as Australia. There were little tags attached to each one, with a name and age and hometown. So, for instance, an enormous pair of Granny pants, saying “Hi, grandmother of 17 from Minnesota.” And then a lacy g-string: “Hi! I’m 19. My name is Kimberly and I’m from Australia!” I had them strewn around my bedroom—I mean, how often does that happen? And after about 48 hours, I remember thinking, You are a sick bastard, you better clear these knickers up. So I throw them in the trash and put it outside for collection. I go out and come back later that night—at this point, I lived in Camden Town, on the same block as Amy Winehouse, and it’s an old, cobbled street, very Dickensian, and it had been raining, and the moon was hitting the cobblestones in a very picturesque way, and I turn onto my street, and I think, What is all that shit in the road? And I get closer to it and I realize it’s all the panties, all in a line, going around the corner, like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs.
Read the full interview here. Spoilers ahead.