In which Martin Freeman plays a mime who may or may not have killed his sexy mime wife.
I went form laughing to horrified to entertained to horrified so fast.
Well then…. O_O
THIS I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR, FOR A WHILE
seeing clowns/mimes freaks the shit out of me, and seeing Martin Freeman makes me all warm and tingly, so this is the most confusing shit I’ve ever encountered because both are happening at the same time???
I swear that Martin goes trolling on Tumblr before interviews just to freak us all out.
Martin Freeman is definitely one of us.
Martin Freeman doesn’t raise his eyebrows. He lowers his hair.
Richard: Keep the prosthetic feet or leave them on set?
Martin: Leave them on set, they’re too heavy.
Richard: With you pouring out sweat of them off at the end of the day, that doesn’t sound nice.
Martin: Sometimes Heather would take them off […] and one time a bit of my talky sweat landed in her mouth. Can you imagine a sort of milky substance landing- flying into a woman’s mouth?
Richard: Milky fluid substance.
Martin: I can’t. I can’t. My publicist is having a coronary!
ahhh, there it is :D
Ian’s tie matches Martin’s pocket-handkerchief.
Excuse me, I need to go hug something.
“John, it’s four days ‘til the wedding. Please stop fooling around.”
“Oh Mycroft. Shut your cakehole. Who are these people, anyway?”
“They’re called tailors, and they will pin you in the arse if you don’t stop moving.”
“God. You’re such a buzz-kill.”
“Sometimes I wonder what my brother saw in you.”
John’s smile fades. “Sometimes I do too.”