On 20 November 2011, actors Kenneth Branagh (who plays Sir Lawrence Olivier) and Eddie Redmayne (Colin Clark) were joined by director Simon Curtis, screenwriter Adrian Hodges and producer David Parfitt to talk about My Week With Marilyn at BAFTA HQ in London.

In this Q&A hosted by Anwar Brett, they talk about the public and private sides of Marilyn Monroe (played by Michelle Williams), replicating a summer environment when shooting outside of summer, and how the project evolved from its original idea. This Q&A was hosted by film critic David Gritten.

Nominated in 2012 for: Outstanding British Film, Leading Actress, Supporting Actor, Supporting Actress, Costume Design and Make-Up and Hair

Kenneth Branagh reading Wilfred Owen’s Greater Love.

speakcelebrity:

“To a Stranger” by Walt Whitman

Read by Kenneth Branagh

fighterjets:

Kenneth Branagh 30 Day Challenge. 
    ↳ Day Nineteen: Favourite monologue or soliloquy.

St Crispin’s Day Speech: Not a very imaginative choice, I know, but the first time I saw this film was when I became utterly invested in Ken’s career. Plus, I think it stands up as only audio.

What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

(Source: whistlerian)

nataliedemuro:

Woody Allen Surrogate (Kenneth Branagh’s Blues) - Elastic No-No Band

I wonder if Ken or Woody know that this song exists?

fighterjets:

Kenneth Branagh reading When to the Sessions of Sweet Silent Thought (Sonnet 30)

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, 
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

(Source: whistlerian)