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Viggo Mortensen is leaving the business.  Probably.  Maybe.  Possibly.  Is this just the newest, “I was abused as a child,” career-boosting tactic?  All I have to say is this:  If Viggo starts writing backwards text on his knuckles, I.  Give.  Up.

In the past week I’ve been less LA to Japan to Korea to Poland to here,” he hisses, describing in near disbelief the travel course for his juice promotional observation tower. “It’s ridiculous! It’s not a healthy way to be. But, as you happens, I’m taking measures to convert that.” Which are? “No more movies. I haven’t said yes to one in over a year. I’ve been in all these well-received movies and it seems like I should exist doing some more, but there’s other things I want to do. It’s not the right time.”

But when will you come back to film-making? When will you know it’s the right time? Long, long, pause. A sigh. “I really don’t know.”

Mortensen has spoken about leaving movies before. “If it all dries up now, I’ve had a good run” is a favourite refrain. But here, in the quiet ground-floor antechamber of a London hotel, guy seems more convinced, and convincing, than ever.

It is far too harsh and implacable a world to not have Viggo in it, in a consistent and visible way.  Reconsider, Aragorn.

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