Those who know me on a personal, warts and all level (you lucky bastards) will know that my laptop has been out of action for the past two months now. It had good innings – 7 years so, in fact – that if it were a factory then there would be one of those signs stuck to it’s front saying ‘2’555 days without an accident!’ with a little picture of a squirrel in a hard hat with a thumb up. But no more. I became way too reliant on that thing. It was my cinema, my TV and most importantly my writing buddy.
The TV thing is a bigger issue than it needs to be. Having a laptop has meant I could indulge my love of Pretty Little Liars, The Good Wife and old episodes of Gilmore Girls in the privacy of my bed without having to disturb a soul or alert my boyfriend to the alarming rate at which I watch TV shows aimed at teenagers.
But now I only have his computer. And as such I’ve sacrificed my TV tastes so my boyfriend doesn’t have to sit there whilst Aria sucks face with her pedophilic teacher or whilst I ogle the sartorial choices of Alicia Florick in court. Oh no, we watch stuff that we can both agree on. Netflix is getting a battering. And as a result, we’ve discovered Justified.
(Amy Roberts would like to take this opportunity to apologise in advance for this completely ridiculous article. Please learn from her mistakes. Keep savings. Look after your computer. Don’t objectify people. And keep your mind active. Regular programming will resume shortly).
Oh, Justified. As a good straight friend of mine put it when I asked if he watched it ‘Fucking hell, Timothy Olyphant? Even I get distracted watching him, so I can’t imagine how distracting it must be to watch him with a vagina’. Ah yes, my vagina concurrently agrees. And as much as I used to have a go at the lads I knew who would only watch Buffy to get an eyeful of the slayer being acrobatic in skin tight costumes, I’ve now become one of those poor losers. I don’t even know if Justified is a good show or not because I’ve unintentionally reduced Timothy Olyphant to man meat. How embarrassing. Objectification befalls us all, it seems.
For those of you who’ve never seen or even heard of the show, let me break it down for you. It’s based on an Elmore Leonard short story – the guy who wrote Jackie Brown and Get Shorty amongst many other absolutely golden crime capers – and is all about a sexy (sorry) US Marshall (Raylan Givens, played by Olyphant) returning to his redneck hometown to carry on upholding the law against a slew of small minded, hillbilly criminals. He wears a cowboy hat – A COWBOY HAT, Y’ALL – and can draw his gun out at bad guys quicker than anyone else, ever. Because he’s dead sexy. And that’s how it works.
I’m a miserable, pathetic human being and I do get distracted. I wish it weren’t so. Sometimes I’m not even following the plot but simply trying to section off the episode into ‘When Raylan is wearing a shirt’ and ‘When Raylan is not wearing a shirt’. Seriously, I’m a 13 year old girl again making collages of Jordan Catalano on my biology notebook. I hate myself.
This man deserves some celebration though. The show is good, yes, and I recommend checking it out but that’s not what I’m here for. Allow me to come clean. My name is Amy Roberts and I’ve had a Timothy Olyphant obsession for far too long. The man is just fucking magnificent. Yes, he’s a big old ice cream sundae for the eyes, but he’s also just a great actor who is way under-appreciated.
Lets start at the beginning. Myself and my friends – all teen hormone crazy as we were – first discovered Mr Tim Olyphant topless and wearing a Santa hat as a crazy eyed drug dealer in Go. He had ridiculous hair in that, and was a rapey scumbag, but my god. Then we saw him as crazy eyed, psycho killer Mickey in Scream 2, in which he pretty much played the same role with the added delights of being able to (sexily) misquote major moments from movies and (unsexily) brandish a knife. And we, well, ME, became a bit obsessed.
Which brings us to three things that I love about stuff starring Timothy Olyphant: he might be topless. He nearly always plays someone on the brink of or in the full capacity of madness. And he has crazy eyes.
I clearly have issues.
Anyway, the man went on to play one of Carrie Bradshaw’s many terrible choices of man in Sex and the City in which I think he was supposed to be some kind of dreadful 20-something who – shut the front door – doesn’t have filter coffee waiting for her when she wakes up, toilet roll readily available and lives with a room mate. Which was apparently enough for Ms Bradshaw to churn an entire pissy column out about for her overpaid Newspaper editorial job or whatever it was that she did that paid for her bloated lifestyle. Again, topless, crazy eyed, bit mental, but at least he’d sorted his hair out a bit.
The man has built a fabulous portfolio out of his ability to look damaged and insane whilst also totally hot. I honestly don’t know what screwed up, flawed system they use to hand out Oscars, but he has been blatantly systematically robbed of all them. Possibly.
I even watched the film version of Hitman whilst holed up in a London hotel one night – at the time I rationalised that it was because there was nothing else to watch, but it wasn’t – and even totally bald with terrible dialogue squirming out of his mouth, he managed to make that piece of shit film utterly watchable.
I never managed to get into Deadwood. By God I tried, because once again – COWBOY HAT, Y’ALL – but the problem is the same that I have with Justified. He is too damn distracting. I’d find myself watching Deadwood and shooing – physically shooing, wafting my hand at the screen – any time 20 minutes had gone by and Calamity Jane (who was an awesome character! Shame on me!) was there taking screen time away from him. I can’t even remember what his characters name was, for fucksake, but I do know that he did a lot of shooting and a lot of scowling really fucking well.
This is bad, guys. I feel sick.
Anyway, there was Die Hard 4 too – what a dream come true. Not only did they kill a helicopter with a car in that film but they managed to cast Timmy as the bad guy. In a suit. With crazy eyes, again. JACKPOT. I watched it twice in the cinema. I have no regrets. And then there was the surprisingly good A Perfect Getaway where he played some kind of ex military I-dont-know-what in the middle of some island looking crazy as fuck and god, I just need to stop.
The point is, I haven’t been able to write. And where usually ideas and deadlines and edits would be filling my brain it’s now become a sink drainer of total fluff instead. The kind of stuff you can’t even get down the drain cos it just clogs up the whole fucking system.
My affection for the Olyphant was recently put into perspective, however, thanks to seeing that episode of the US version of The Office that he guest starred in. Without boring you with the details, his inhuman good lucks and insane levels of charm end with him getting sleazed up on by resident alcoholic and shag-anyone-once of the office Meredith who is trying everything she can to get into his pants.It gets pretty uncomfortable. The woman is a monster. I watched that episode and only saw myself reflected back.
Because it was then that it hit me. I’ve turned into sleazeball hot mess Meredith Palmer from The Office.
So, basically, I wanted to share this lesson with you all and take an article away from our usual feminist analysis to say: keep your minds active kids. Because this is what fucking becomes of you if you don’t. Now if you don’t mind, I’m off for a cold shower, some Russian literature and to look for laptops on Freecycle. Peace.