creature

“Frankenstein” has haunted Guillermo del Toro since he was a kid who barely reached the Creature’s knees. Back in 2011, the writer-director was already tinkering with a version of the monster that resembled a blend of Iggy Pop and Boris Karloff with jagged sutures, gaunt wrinkles and a crushed nose. Since then, Del Toro has made changes. The 2025 model is played by Jacob Elordi, a 6-foot-5 actor often cast as the ideal human specimen in movies like “Saltburn” and who here howls to life with handsome features and rock star swagger. But your eyes keep staring at his pale, smooth seams. He doesn’t look hand-stitched — he looks a little like a modern android.

Of course he does. The decades have given Del Toro time to think about what truly scares him. It’s not monsters. He loves all disfigured nasties, be they swamp creatures, eyeball-less ogres or bolt-headed Hellboys. It’s tech bros, like the ones weaseling into Hollywood, who give their every innovation a sterile sheen.

“Frankenstein” is the director’s lifelong passion project: He doesn’t just want to make a “Frankenstein” but the “Frankenstein,” so he’s faithfully set his adaptation in the past. But he’s adjusted the wiring so that 1850s Europe reminds us of Silicon Valley. The result is the best movie of his career.

This Baron Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) is a short-sighted egomaniac who barks over his critics while jabbing the air with his fingers. “I fail to see why modesty is considered a virtue,” he says with a snort.

And Del Toro has written Victor an enabler: a deep-pocketed investor named Henrich Harlander (Christoph Waltz) who struts into Victor’s science lecture hunting for a whizkid to crack the code to immortality. With his gold-heeled shoes and a confidence that he’s too rich to die, Waltz’s wealthy arms dealer is a 19th century take on venture capitalists like Bryan Johnson and Peter Thiel who’ve been poking into the feasibility of pumping their veins with young blood.

“Don’t be a reasonable man,” Henrich advises Victor. The assumption is — and remains — that tycoons and geniuses deserve to run rampant. Great success demands an indifference to the rules. And if you’re wondering whether money or brains has more power, there’s a scene in which Henrich uses a chamber pot and smugly orders Victor to “flush that for me.”

Del Toro is wired into the outrage in Mary Shelley’s sly 1818 novel, a nightmarish satire about men who care only about yelling “first!” without asking what horrors come next. Centuries ago, she warned of man’s ill-considered rush to create artificial intelligence. Today, Dr. Frankenstein’s descendants keep promising that AI won’t destroy civilization while ignoring Shelley’s point, that the inventor is more dangerous than his monster.

Victor, a stunted man-child who drinks milk served by a sommelier, is frozen in the I’ll-show-him stage of growing up with an abusive father (Charles Dance) who whipped him when he got a wrong answer on his schoolwork. Victor’s name, we’re reminded, means “winner,” a symbol of the pressure he’s under to excel.

Isaac plays him with a pitchman’s exuberance that sags as the corners of his mouth wrench down in disappointment. He’s hacked how to make a disembodied head moan in agony. But having rarely felt affection, Victor doesn’t know how to generate that emotion at all. Worse, it hasn’t occurred to him to think past the triumph of his product launch, that his Creature can’t be readily unplugged. The only kind characters in the movie are a rural blind man (David Bradley) and the moth-like Mia Goth, double-cast as Victor’s mother, Claire, and his brother’s fiancee, Elizabeth. A convent girl with a creepy streak, Elizabeth sees beauty in biology, leaning over a corpse’s flayed back to appreciate the intricacy of its ventricles. But the more she studies Victor, the less impressed she gets.

Because Shelley came up with “Frankenstein” as an 18-year-old newlywed who’d just lost a baby, her message gets boiled down to gender: Women birth life, men mimic it. Really, the feminine strength of the book lies in its foxy, shifting narration that opens with a prologue from an Arctic explorer who’s gotten his sailors trapped in the ice, before transitioning to Victor’s story and then the Creature’s. Like a hostess who secretly loathes her guests, Shelley encourages her characters to flatter themselves and expose their braggadocio.

Del Toro has kept that tactic and he’s kept the book’s structure. But within that framework, he’s changed nearly everything else to make Victor more culpable. Unlike the 1931 film, there’s no Igor and no excuse of accidentally using the wrong brain. This Victor does his own dirty work and what goes wrong is his fault. Meanwhile, Del Toro amps up the action, starting the film off with a ghastly great sequence in which Elordi’s Creature punches a sailor so hard his spine snaps into a backward somersault.

“What manner of devil made him?” the Captain (Lars Mikkelsen) exclaims. Victor guiltily explains why he played God.

Being a futurist isn’t bad. Henrich, an early adopter of daguerreotype cameras, shoots photographs of women posing with skulls like he’s paving the way for Del Toro’s whole filmography. But pompous Henrich and Victor don’t appreciate that their accomplishments are built on other’s sacrifices. When the cinematographer Dan Laustsen pans across a battlefield of dead soldiers, it feels like a silent scream. Henrich made his fortune killing these men; now, Victor will salvage their body parts.

Del Toro delights in the kinetic gusto of the tale, the grotesquerie of cracking limbs and blood sloshing about Victor’s shoes. In the laboratory, dead leaves and buzzing flies whirl through the air as if to keep up with the inventor’s wild ambitions and Alexandre Desplat’s swirling orchestral score. The production design by Tamara Deverell is superb as are the costumes by Kate Hawley, who shrouds Goth in dramatic chiffon layers and dresses laced to highlight her vertebrae. (This movie loves bones as much as Sir Mix-A-Lot loved backs.)

As Victor rudely flings around torsos and limbs, it’s clear that he only values life if it’s branded with his name. So yes, of course, Elordi’s Creature looks good. He’s been assembled from the choicest bits of man flesh to show off the talent of his creator, not so different from Steve Jobs caressing samples of brushed aluminum. When Elordi’s Creature pleads for a companion, a sliver of sculpted abs peeking out from under five hulking layers of wool and fur, you expect half the audience’s hands to shoot up and volunteer.

Elordi has adopted one or two of Karloff’s mannerisms: the arms outstretched in search of warmth, the lurching walk. You can see that he’s a tad lopsided on the left side, presumably because Victor couldn’t find matching femurs. Mostly, he’s his own monster, neither the calculating serial murderer of the book nor Karloff’s reactive, animalistic killer, but a scapegoat who finally starts leveling his foes with bone-breaking efficiency.

Towering over Victor by almost a foot, Elordi’s Creature dwarfs his creator physically, morally and emotionally. There’s anguish in his eyes, and when Del Toro shows us the world through his perspective, humanity itself appears anti-life, a pestilence that destroys without hesitation.

There’s a pack of digital wolves that just looks silly. Otherwise, you trust how intensely Del Toro has doted upon every detail. I was flummoxed by a row of servants flanking young Victor (Christian Convery) who appeared to be wearing gauzy bags over their heads. What are those for? My theory is it’s a tribute to the veil Karloff sported during lunch breaks, so as not to frighten any pregnant secretaries on the Universal lot.

Eschewing mobs of pitchfork-wielding villagers, Del Toro focuses on Victor’s inability to parent his unholy son. And while the end stretch gets a bit too stiff and speechy, particularly with a line that Victor is the “true monster,” I loved the moment when the Creature, venting on behalf of all frustrated children however big they‘ve grown, growls, “The miracle is not that I should speak but that you would listen.”

This deservedly anticipated “Frankenstein” transforms that loneliness into stunning tableaux of Victor and his immortal Creature tethered together by their mutual self-loathing. One man’s heart never turned on. One can’t get his heart to turn off. Ours breaks.

A curse befell Jacob Elordi when he was a child. It happened in the aisle of a Blockbuster Video. The culprit for the incantation was the image of the now emblematic Pale Man from “Pan’s Labyrinth,” flaunting eyes on his palms on the back cover of the DVD.

“My mother remembers this,” an energetic Elordi tells me in a Hollywood conference room. “I came running through the corridor and I was like, ‘I need this DVD.’ And she was like, ‘That’s so much blood and gore. You can’t watch it.’”

“She told you, ‘I’ll get it if you promise never to work with that director,’” Guillermo del Toro, the filmmaker behind the Oscar-winning dark fantasy, chimes in, sitting next to Elordi.

His wish granted, Elordi watched “Pan’s Labyrinth” at a young age. The fable set against the Spanish Civil War forever changed him. “From that moment, because of the way that Guillermo wills magic into the world and into his life, I feel like there was some kind of curse set upon me,” the actor says. “I do genuinely believe that, as out there as it sounds.”

Now, Elordi, 28, has become one of the Mexican director’s monsters in his long-gestating adaptation of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” (in theaters Friday, then on Netflix Nov. 7). Under intricate prosthetics and makeup, Elordi plays the Creature that arrogant scientist Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) breathes life into — an assemblage of dead limbs and organs imbued with a new consciousness.

Elordi with writer-director Guillermo del Toro on the set of “Frankenstein.”

(Ken Woroner / Netflix)

Receptive to tenderness but prone to violence, the nameless Creature now has, in Elordi, a performer suited for all its unruly emotions. “It was the innocence in Jacob’s portrayal that kept getting me,” says makeup artist and prosthetics designer Mike Hill. “The Creature could snap on a dime like an animal.”

Capable of complex thought, Del Toro’s version of the monster ponders the punishment of existence and the cruelty of its maker. “They’re almost like John Milton questions to the creator,” the director says of the Creature’s dialogue. “You have to give it a physicality that is heartbreakingly uncanny but also hypnotically human.”

The imposingly lanky, gracefully handsome Elordi, born in Australia, has risen in profile over the last few years, thanks to roles in the hit series “Euphoria” and the psychosexual class-climbing thriller “Saltburn.”

“It came from some other place,” Elordi says about the pull to the role of the Creature. “It felt like a growth, like a cancer in my stomach that told me that I had to play this thing.”

(Bexx Francois / For The Times)

“Frankenstein,” however, seems to have been calling his name for a long time.

“Early in my career, I had been reading what folks on the internet would say about me and someone had written after my first film, ‘The only thing this plank of wood could play is Frankenstein’s Creature. Get him off my screen!’” Elordi recalls. “I went, ‘That’s an absolutely fantastic idea.’”

The thought reentered Elordi’s mind while making Sofia Coppola’s 2023 “Priscilla,” in which he played a moody, internal Elvis Presley to Cailee Spaeny’s title character. Long before he was offered the part, the hair and makeup team on “Priscilla” shared with him their next job was, in fact, Del Toro’s “Frankenstein.”

“I looked at [hair designer] Cliona [Furey] and I said, ‘I’m supposed to be in that movie.’ And she said, ‘Did you audition?’ And I was like, ‘No, but I’m meant to be in that movie.’”

“It came from some other place,” Elordi further explains. “It felt like a growth, like a cancer in my stomach that told me that I had to play this thing. I’ve heard stories about this from actors, and when you hear them, you kind of go, ‘Sure, you were meant to play this thing.’ But I really feel like I was.”

Due to scheduling conflicts, Andrew Garfield, originally cast as the Creature, dropped out in late 2023. With production set to start in early 2024, Del Toro had limited time to find a new actor. When Elordi finally heard he was being considered, he had to read the screenplay within hours of receiving it, and be willing to dive into the darkness.

“I had a few weeks to prepare, but I was lucky to have also had my whole life — and I mean that sincerely,” he says, a grin crossing his face. “Playing this was an exploration into a cave of the self, into every experience with my father, with my mother, my experience with cinema, my scraped knees when I was 7.”

Del Toro says he knew Elordi would make the perfect Creature from speaking with him over Zoom. He remembers immediately messaging Isaac, his Victor, convinced that Elordi could play both “Adam and Jesus,” which are the two facets that the creature represents for the director.

Jacob Elordi as the Creature in the movie “Frankenstein.”

(Ken Woroner / Netflix)

“I don’t think I’ve experienced miracles many times in my life,” Del Toro says. “And when somebody comes to your life in any capacity that transforms it, that happened here. This man is a miracle for this film.”

As he typically does for all the actors in his films, Del Toro sent Elordi several books ahead of working together. Elordi’s deep-dive reading list included the bedrock Taoist guide “Tao Te Ching,” Stephen Mitchell’s well-regarded translation of the Book of Job and a text on the developmental stages of a baby.

The most complex element of the performance, Del Toro believes, is playing “nothing,” meaning the blank, pure state of mind of a living being in infancy. “A baby is everything at once,” Elordi says. “It’s deep pain, deep joy, curiosity. And you don’t have chambers for your thoughts yet.”

Right before “Frankenstein,” Elordi had been shooting Prime’s World War II miniseries “The Narrow Road to the Deep North” in Australia, an experience he describes as “grueling,” one that involved losing substantial weight. He repurposed his body’s subsequent fragility as a dramatic tool.

“My brain was kind of all over the place,” he remembers. “I had these moments of great anguish at around 3 a.m. in the morning. I’d wake and my body was in such pain. And I just realized that it was a blessing with ‘Frankenstein’ coming up, because I could articulate these feelings, this suffering.”

Aside from being an outlet for his exhaustion, the transformation also helped Elordi to recalibrate. “Frankenstein” arrived at a time where he found himself wrestling with a crisis of purpose.

“At that time in my life I really wanted to hide,” Elordi says. “I really wanted to go away for a while. I was desperate to find some kind of normalcy and rebuild the way that I acted and how I approached making movies,” Elordi says. “And when the film came along, I remember being like, ‘Ugh, I really wanted to go away right now.’ And I realized immediately the Creature was where I was supposed to go away to. I was supposed to go into that mask of freedom.”

Was he trying to escape the pressures of dawning fame? Elordi says it was much more philosophical than that.

“Who do I think I am? Who do I present myself as? What do I like? What don’t I like? Do I love? Can I love? What is love? Every single thing of being alive,” he says with a radiant smile. “The unbearable weight of being.”

“At that time in my life I really wanted to hide,” Elordi says of the moment just before taking on Del Toro’s version of the classic. “I really wanted to go away for a while. I was desperate to find some kind of normalcy and rebuild the way that I acted and how I approached making movies.”

(Bexx Francois / For The Times)

The part entailed physically burying himself in another body. It allowed Elordi to renounce any hang-ups, surrendering to a fugue state of mind. Every moment felt like a discovery.

“I was liberated in this makeup,” he adds. “I didn’t have to be this version of myself anymore. In those six months, I completely rebuilt myself. And I came out of this film with a whole new skin.”

Elordi sat for 10 hours in the makeup chair on days that required full body makeup — only four if they were only shooting the Creature’s face. “Jacob wanted to wear the makeup and he knew it would be grueling,” Hill says.

“It was nothing short of a religious experience,” Elordi says. “The excitement I had even just getting my body cast — I was buzzing.”

Hill believes that the decision to make the Creature bald for the scenes where he is a “baby” is what makes Del Toro’s take unique within the “Frankenstein” mythos.

“Instead of what happens in cloning where a baby grows, Victor literally did make a baby, just a big one,” says Hill. “The Creature learns quickly because its brain and its bodies have already lived once. God knows what this Creature knew before he forgot and needed to be reminded.”

As for the skin, Del Toro envisioned a marble-statue look that he had been pursuing in earlier movies like “Cronos,” “Blade II” and “The Devil’s Backbone.”

“Mike took it and made it incredibly subtle: flesh with the violets and the purples and the pearlescence,” Del Toro says. “He bested every concept I’ve ever imagined by making it look like parts of exsanguine bodies. That was so brilliant.”

“It was the innocence in Jacob’s portrayal that kept getting me,” says makeup artist and creature designer Mike Hill, here seen working on a model for “Frankenstein.”

(John P. Johnson / Netflix)

A Frankenstein’s monster with rainbow-colored flesh, Hill says, could only exist in the context of a Del Toro picture.

“He had to look beautiful, like a phrenology head or an anatomical manual,” Del Toro adds. “We agreed — no scars. No sutures. No vulgarity.”

Del Toro’s casting of Elordi was fully validated when the actor walked on set for the first time in full makeup. “The whole process was anticipation,” Elordi says. “And then I opened my eyes and he was looking back at me, and it was exactly what I thought it would be when I first read the screenplay.”

For Hill, it was watching Elordi doing an interview, where his limbs seemed loose and relaxed, that convinced him he was the right actor to sculpt the Creature on. “I was like, ‘Look at those wrists.’ And then he turns, and he has these lashes,” Hill says. “Big eyes are beautiful for makeup. And structurally, Jacob has an unassuming nose, so you can build on that.”

“And he has a big chin,” Hill continues amid Del Toro’s boisterous laughter. “I was like, ‘I’m not going to glue one on.’”

Amused at his anatomy being dissected in front of him, Elordi claps back, mock-defensively: “He was grotesque to look at, but he was somewhat gifted. A deformed skinny freak.”

By the time Elordi got out of the makeup chair, he says, the electricity in his body had shifted. He stepped on set physically depleted but in the ideal headspace to embody the creature as it navigates an inhospitable reality.

“He’ll forever be fused into my chemistry,” Elordi says. “He was always there and now I have a little place for him. But I can’t rationalize him.”

Whether by curse or by miracle, Elordi’s Creature lives. And the actor feels reborn.

A few years ago, camping with friends, I watched in awe as Becky set up her pitch. While the rest of us were stringing out guy ropes on tents as glamorous as giant cagoules, she arrived with a bell tent, duvets instead of sleeping bags, sheepskin rugs and vintage folding chairs. For all the talk of breathability, practicality and “high performance” gear, it was Becky’s tent we all wanted to sleep in. In the years since, I have never quite achieved her level of camping chic – until this summer, when I discovered the innovative Spanish camping brand Kampaoh.

It all began back in 2016, when Kampaoh CEO Salvador Lora and his partner were backpacking in the Dominican Republic. One night they came across a campsite with pre-erected tents within which were mattresses and blankets. “We were in the middle of nature, surrounded by peace, and lacked nothing,” he tells me.

Back home in Spain, Salvador wondered if something like that could work there – and decided to experiment setting up a handful of tents in Tarifa. Today the company has 90 sites across Europe, most of them in Spain, but also in Portugal and Italy. Coming across the brand by chance when looking for somewhere to stay in Andalucía, I booked into Camping Los Villares, one of its showcase sites, in the hills above Córdoba.

Arriving in the golden hour, after travelling overland by train, Los Villares looks like a dreamy backdrop to a Sofia Coppola film. From the entrance, the land drops gently away to reveal avenues of cream-coloured canvas tents, the sun filtering through tall Aleppo pines.

Los Villares has a wide range of accommodation, from bell tents to vast, safari-style Bali tents, cute triangular Buka tents (with private, rustic-chic washrooms outside), Tiny Love cabins (with private baths with views), and Tiny Play family cabins (with a slide from their mezzanine bunks down to the living areas). My mid-range Anza is a lofty, triangular tent with a shower and toilet tucked behind the sleeping area and a raised, decked porch. The site is open year-round and the tents have air-conditioning and a small heater. There’s space for basic tent campers and a small campervan area, too.

Outside the school holidays, with the campsite’s restaurant closed midweek, dinner that first night is sliced tomatoes, olives and tortilla foraged from a nearby village shop. As I eat on the terrace, all is deeply peaceful – the wind twisting through pines, blue-tailed Iberian magpies resting on branches overhead.

Inside, my white, cream and wood tent is decorated with fairy lights and faux pot plants; the low platform bed (with proper mattress and pillows!) made up with white bedlinen. Plates, cups and cutlery are provided – and if I’d brought a pet, a mini version of the tent would provide a shady dog bed. An information sheet encourages me to tag @kampaoh on social media; arrival details had been sent via WhatsApp.

It’s perfectly designed to appeal to gen Z travellers, the experience-seeking, social media-canny cohort that are becoming the dominant demographic in travel. While aesthetics are important, blingy, performative luxury is not; conscious of overtourism and the need to prioritise wellbeing, they look for off-the-beaten-track outdoor stays where they can run, swim, surf and cycle, as well as social connection. If Kampaoh’s campsites ticked any more of the demographic’s boxes it would break TikTok.

“We wanted to bring back the magic of connecting with nature and outdoor adventures without giving up comfort or style,” says Lora. “The new generation love experiences like camping but they also have high expectations for design, comfort and aesthetics. Visual appeal isn’t superficial; it’s part of how we live and share our experiences.”

Kampaoh isn’t the only camping brand tapping into this market. In France, the Parisian hotel brand Touriste recently launched three stylishly revamped holiday parks under its Campings Liberté brand, while Huttopia, which began in 2000 with a small, nature-based campsite in the French Alps and a devotion to wood and canvas structures, now offers 152 sites in eight countries. Unlike other glamping providers, the aim is not to add on hotel-style frills, but to increase basic comfort. Setting themselves apart from big, pre-erected tent and cabin operators such as Eurocamp, operators like Kampaoh keep sites relatively small and, crucially, stylish.

As I sit on the restaurant’s terrace sipping coffee the next morning, shielded by fig trees, I watch a steady trickle of campers heading out for the day in hiking or cycling gear. It was 37C in Córdoba when I collected my hire car, but up here it’s a pleasant 26C. With the smell of hot pine needles in the air, I follow them out to explore.

The campsite is in the Parque Periurbano Los Villares, a protected area of 484 hectares (2 sq miles) that’s peppered with bird hides, signposted botanical trails and picnic areas. The GR48 long-distance footpath goes through it, and a network of cycling routes around it. After hiking up to a viewpoint behind the park’s visitor centre to get my bearings, I drive to the small town of Santa María de Trassierra to walk the 20-minute path to the Baños de Popea.

Remote and jungly, this river pool was a favourite spot with Córdoba’s Cántico group of poets and artists in the late 1940s. The tumble of small waterfalls and pools – full from unusual spring rain – form a magical spot, reached through glades of bear’s breech (Acanthus mollis), and paths edged with beams of gorse-like French broom.I could easily spend all day here, but there’s still Córdoba to see, with its parks of orange trees, the shady gardens of the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos and the famous mosque-cathedral of Mezquita.

The highlight, for me, however, is the Medina Azahara archaeological site, just out of town. Its construction was started in 936 by the first caliph of Al-Andalus, Abd al-Rahman III. This palace-city saw service for only 70 years but its evocative ruins and richly decorated archways are a powerful reminder of its opulence. Walking the Medina’s ancient stones as grasshoppers hop and jasmine scents the hot air, it’s easy to see the appeal of this strategic location, between the mountains and the Guadalquivir River.

Driving into the campsite afterwards, off a road flushed with hot pink oleanders, the landscape is washed in pale gold. Momentarily distracted by the view, I double-take as four hoopoes suddenly appear in front of me, their black and white stripes backlit by the sun. I probably ought to have taken a photo and posted it with the hashtag #kampaohvibes. Instead, I keep very still and watch. Some experiences are still tailormade for us analogue Gen Xers.

The trip was provided by the Spanish Tourist Office, with support from Andalucía and Kampaoh, which is open all year. Anza tents at Kampaoh Córdoba cost from €63 a night for two people, or from €76 a night for four; both minimum two nights

President Ronald Reagan’s aides became accustomed to figuring out things for themselves, for he managed by indirection when he managed at all. Aides who had worked for more directive presidents found this disconcerting.

“He made no demands, and gave almost no instructions,” said Martin Anderson, a veteran of the Nixon Administration. Anderson thought Reagan’s management style odd but rationalized that it was “a small thing, an eccentricity that was dwarfed by his multiple, stunning qualities.”

And yet Anderson was bothered more by this “small thing” than he let on in his useful book “Revolution,” or maybe even more than he realized. It was Anderson who told me that when he returned to the campaign in 1980, after a long absence, he was not quite sure if Reagan realized he had ever been away. Others less self-secure than Anderson or less convinced of Reagan’s greatness were bothered even more by the way their leader distanced himself.

By keeping his emotional distance from the lives and struggles of his subordinates, Reagan was less affected by what happened to them than were presidents with closer relationships. It did not matter all that much to him who was in the supporting cast. Actors came and went in Washington as they had done in Hollywood and Sacramento, without altering his purposes or changing his conception of himself. Reagan remained serene in the center of his universe, awaiting his next performance.

While his distancing of himself from others may have been useful or even necessary for Reagan, it took a heavy toll among the entourage. Principal members of the Reagan team were misled by his manner or misled themselves into an expectation of friendship. They competed to be Reagan’s favorite person.

“Here he was, enormously successful in things that he had done, very confident, comfortable with himself, and a very likable man,” said White House aide Robert B. Sims. “And he had these other people who were mature adults, most of them successful in their own right–the George Shultzes, the Caspar Weinbergers, the Bill Clarks–who had done things on their own and been successful, but Reagan was always up there at a level above these advisers and they all seemed to want to get his favor.” Reagan did not consciously play these subordinates off against one another, as Franklin D. Roosevelt might have done. Instead, he bestowed approval in a general sense on all “the fellas” or “the boys,” as he was wont to describe his inner circle, while withholding his approval from any one of them in particular.

Republican congressional leaders found Reagan uninterested in political strategy, although he was always willing to place a call to a wavering congressman if provided with the script of what he ought to say.

What animated Reagan was a public performance. He knew how to edit a script and measure an audience. He also knew that the screenplay of his presidency, however complicated it became on the margins, was rooted in the fundamental themes of lower taxes, deregulation and “peace through strength” that he had expounded in the anti-government speech he had given in 1964 for Republican presidential candidate Barry M. Goldwater.

The Speech was his bible, and Reagan never tired of giving it. Its themes and Reagan’s approach to government were, as his friend William F. Buckley put it, “inherently anti-statist.”

But on other issues, especially when the discussion was over his head, Reagan’s participation was usually limited to jokes and cinematic illustrations. This is not surprising, as Reagan spent more time at the movies during his presidency than at anything else.

He went to Camp David on 183 weekends, usually watching two films on each of these trips. He saw movies in the White House family theater, on television in the family quarters and in the villas and lavish guest quarters accorded presidents when they travel.

On the afternoon before the 1983 economic summit of the world’s industrialized democracies in colonial Williamsburg, White House Chief of Staff James A. Baker III stopped off at Providence Hall, where the Reagans were staying, bringing with him a thick briefing book on the upcoming meetings. Baker, then on his way to a tennis game, had carefully checked through the book to see that it contained everything Reagan needed to know without going into too much detail. He was concerned about Reagan’s performance at the summit, which had attracted hundreds of journalists from around the world and been advertised in advance by the White House as an Administration triumph.

But when Baker returned to Providence Hall the next morning, he found the briefing book unopened on the table where he had deposited it. He knew immediately that Reagan hadn’t even glanced at it, and he couldn’t believe it. In an hour Reagan would be presiding over the first meeting of the economic summit, the only one held in the United States during his presidency. Uncharacteristically, Baker asked Reagan why he hadn’t cracked the briefing book, “Well, Jim, ‘The Sound of Music’ was on last night,” Reagan said calmly.

Nonetheless, Reagan’s charm and cue cards carried him through the summit without incident. By the third year of his presidency the leaders of the democracies were also growing accustomed to Reagan’s anecdotes and to his cheerful sermons about the wonders of the market system and lower taxes. They were awed at what they saw as his hold on the American people.

In the halcyon days of his presidency, Reagan seemed to have no need of briefing books. And even on those occasions when he read them, he was more apt to find solutions in the movies he watched religiously each weekend.

Sometimes the movies and the briefing books pointed in the same direction. By mid-1983, the U.S. and Soviet governments were beginning to emerge from the mutual acrimony that prevailed between them since the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in Christmas week of 1979. Guided by Reagan’s impulses and George P. Shultz’s diplomacy, the U.S. government was beginning to explore what would ultimately become, after the ascension of Mikhail S. Gorbachev, a more optimistic and productive era in U.S.-Soviet relations.

But arms-control enthusiasts on Capitol Hill were skeptical about Reagan’s intentions toward the nation he had called “the evil empire.” The Administration had been able to persuade a swing group of moderate Democrats to join with Republicans in supporting limited deployment of the MX missile only after Reagan pledged that he would also diligently pursue arms-control opportunities.

On the first weekend in June, 1983, while Democratic support for the MX remained much in question, Reagan went to Camp David with a briefcase full of option papers on arms control. He made a few personal phone calls, scanned the material in the folders and put them aside. After dinner, Reagan was in the mood for a movie, as he usually was on Saturday night. The film that evening was “War Games,” in which Matthew Broderick stars as a teen-age computer whiz who accidentally accesses the North American Aerospace Defense Command–NORAD–and almost launches World War III. It was an entertaining anti-war film with a clear message, intoned in the movie by an advanced computer: The only way to win the “game” of thermonuclear war is not to play it.

Two days later, Reagan met at the White House with several Democratic congressmen who had backed the MX in exchange for the President’s arms-control commitment. He began the meeting by reading from cue cards tailored to congressional concerns. “I just can’t believe that if the Soviets think long and hard about the arms race, they won’t be interested in getting a sensible agreement,” Reagan said.

Then he put the cue cards aside and his face lit up. He asked the congressmen if any of them had seen “War Games,” and when no one volunteered an answer launched into an animated account of the plot. The congressmen were fascinated with Reagan’s change of mood and his obvious interest in the film. He said, “I don’t understand these computers very well, but this young man obviously did. He had tied into NORAD!”