![]() “To my right is an Absolute Caviar store. After that, he looks out the window at the passing scenery and reports on his findings. He smacks his lips a little, a sound that evidently revolves around the satisfactions of a job well done. How he accomplished this feat has long been a mystery, even to Ethan Coen, who once said, “He’s a Jewish guy from Oklahoma, so go figure.” Nelson’s own explanation is a bit more evocative: His Delmar is “innocent of knowledge the world without context.” Which makes sense. No matter: He stole everyone’s thunder by, among other things, making a convincing show of believing that some backwoods sirens had turned one of his chain-gang brethren into a toad. In it, he plays addlepated escaped-convict Delmar O’Donnell and is billed third behind George Clooney and John Turturro. He started off playing characters named Young Detective, FBI Technician and Busboy, which led to a good many movies that pretty much just vanished, among them 2011’s The Big Year and 2013’s Snake & Mongoose.īut then, in addition to Buster Scruggs, there is the one other big standout - 2000’s O Brother, Where Art Thou?, which was also written and directed by the Coen brothers. In the past 25 or so years, his long face has shown up more or less smallishly in more than 40 flicks. Plum role in Buster Scruggs notwithstanding - his 18-minute segment in the first episode of the six-chapter commedia-dell’blood-and-gore anthology is by far the best of the bunch - Nelson, 54, is primarily known as a character actor. Then he’s saying things like, “That one front tooth is a crown and I’ve had the opportunity now to have it fixed, but I’ve just, you know, thought, ‘Well, why? It’s fine.’” A few minutes later, as a kind of corollary, he adds, “I’ve always known I’d never adorn the covers of magazines. The destination is Netflix’s headquarters, where he’ll plump for the new Coen brothers’ movie, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, in which he plays the happy-faced, cowboy-song-singing, white-hatted, guitar-strumming, pistol-twirling, ornery-cuss-killing title character. He’s lank bordering on gaunt, well abbreviated in height, and the altogether effect is of the kind of guy you see on inner-city street corners, scratching his head while waiting to be mugged.Īnd yet it’s just these turnip-truck-rube qualities that have allowed Nelson to be where he is today, sitting snug inside a black, chauffeur-driven sedan in Hollywood, easing along Sunset Boulevard toward yet another opportunity. Ebbing hairline, a wide-open-plains-type forehead, blues that seem almost beady, a top right central incisor that stands disturbingly aloof of its neighbor, and an oddball horseshoe mustache. Frankly, he doesn’t look all that impressive. Travel hither and yon and it’s probably only once in a great long while that you come across someone like Tim Blake Nelson. ![]()
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