#cillian interview

[velvetlime]

cillian murphy, the sunday times, 2004

[lunarubra]

Cillian Murphy for Financial Times - HTSI (2024)

Here to read the article.

[lunarubra]

Cillian Murphy’s Bedtime Routine

By Wendi Aarons and Johanna Gohmann.

5 p.m.

Call ’round to the pub and dine on a hearty meal of potatoes, bangers, and the knowledge that you are Christopher Nolan’s favorite.

6 p.m.

Return home to stand before the hearth and mournfully play Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” on the panpipes.

6:10 p.m.

Whisper, “I was made to bring my ethereal talent to the mortal world.”

6:30 p.m.

Try on various peaked caps whilst drinking bathtub gin. Select a cap for the evening’s bath, throwing others back into the peaked-cap room. Add Guinness glitter bath bomb to gin. Soak.

7 p.m.

Slip into a floor-length dressing gown made by Colin Farrell’s nana—because only real men can pull off antique lace.

7:05 p.m.

Carefully polish both magnificently chiselled cheekbones with separate sticks of Kerrygold butter (unsalted).

7:15 p.m.

Exfoliate. Stare into the mirror and solemnly declare, “Now I am become Dewy, destroyer of premature wrinkling.”

7:30 p.m.

Mainline an entire bottle of Visine into left eye in order to maintain its dazzling azure hue. Repeat with right eye.

8 p.m.

Work on rap song by alter-ego Chillian Murf Dawg. After crafting multiple sick rhymes about Barry Keoghan’s junk, summon wee faeries to mop brow with silken kerchief.

8:20 p.m.

Text Paul Mescal a gif of Bradley Cooper looking sad, with caption “LOL.”

8:25 p.m.

Scour the Internet for any entertainment journalist who refers to you as “magically delicious.” Have them swatted.

9 p.m.

Make gentle but furious love to the ghost of Molly Malone.

10 p.m.

Throw open the shutters and shout, “I am the Father of the atomic bomb!” But in Gaelic.

10:01 p.m.

Climb into four-poster canopy bed and watch “CSI: Miami” on phone to drown out the wail of the banshee.

11 p.m.

Drift into the kind of deep, peaceful slumber that only comes when one rests one’s head in the thirty-two counties.

Article can be found here.

[velvetlime]

He ate