Part 1
Last Sunday, just days after being nominated for an Oscar, Timothée Chalamet bounded into a busy London bar like a man who still believes nobody knows who he is. Heads turned. Autograph hunters were in the yard outside. At one point during our interview, he shouted “Boom!” so loudly that tables of drinkers turned, stared, turned back, then turned around again. “It’s, it’s...” one said, slightly uncertain as to who he was or, more likely, how to pronounce his first name.
It’s plain old “Timothy”; and what filmgoers recognise him for is his breakthrough role in Call Me by Your Name, a gay coming-of-age story that has grown from cult hit to mainstream contender. He is smart and sensitive as Elio, who falls for his family’s American hunk of a guest, Oliver (Armie Hammer), during a picturesque Italian summer.
In person, Chalamet’s hair bounces, as does the rest of him. He is thin and wiry; as graceful as a ballerina and as energetic as the Duracell bunny; fond of light physical affection. He talks at the motormouth clip typical of Hell’s Kitchen, New York, where he grew up.
I have never met anyone as delighted to be alive as he is right now. Who can blame him? At 22, he is, for Elio, the youngest best actor nominee since 1944. He would be the youngest ever winner: not bad, considering he was previously best known for a bit part in Homeland and quit Columbia University to audition for, but not be cast in, Manchester by the Sea and the latest Spider-Man. In a fortnight, he will be at the Baftas for both lead actor and the coveted rising-star prize. But everyone knows it’s the Academy Awards that matter most. How does all that feel?
“This is how it matters to me,” he says. “Call Me by Your Name has gone beyond my wildest dreams. People came out because of that film. But I don’t want to be known for something that happened when I was young. So [the nomination] comes with tremendous gratitude and is something I’ll humblebrag about to my friends and family, yet this is hopefully just the start. There’d better be more.”
The good news, I say, is that he is unlikely to win, as voters seem unable to look past Gary Oldman’s prosthetics in Darkest Hour. So the accolade might be a millstone, but not as heavy as it could be. He laughs at my cheek.
“The truth is, you want to prepare a speech, but — I don’t know,” he says, frozen. “These ceremonies are overwhelming enough, independent of having to get up in front of legends and have your mouth move.” A fellow nominee, Daniel Kaluuya, the young British star of Get Out, is equally excited. “When we lock eyes,” he says of Kaluuya, “we give each other a look of ‘What the f*** is happening?’”
The crazy thing is that Call Me by Your Name is only the second best film starring Chalamet nominated for best picture this year. The best is Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig’s exquisite straight coming-of-age story, in which Saoirse Ronan’s titular teen struggles with men and her studies. It’s an astonishingly astute film, with Chalamet playing Ronan’s second boyfriend. He sits by the pool reading literature, looking brooding — which is exactly what Elio does. Chalamet claps along loudly when I bring up typecasting. He’s too hot now to sweat the small stuff.
Gerwig has been nominated for best director at the Oscars, which makes her the story of the night. Although other awards have found room for Lady Bird in several categories, they have overlooked the one that counts: best director. Some thought her film was simple compared to, say, Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, with its crew of hundreds moving a boat off a beach, and that such traditionally male-made projects are simply harder to do. Size matters, it seems, to panels of predominantly male voters. Or perhaps they just don’t like women to direct.
“There’s no difference in being directed by a woman,” Chalamet says sharply. “But in the public representation, there is a huge difference, and that’s why it’s so important Greta was nominated, and so shocking she is just the fifth woman to be so.”