A exclusive interview conducted by Empire and you can see it in November 2012 issue of Empire magazine. Subscribe to Empire today.
We like the idea of Arnold saying he wants to climb on the top of the hollywood mountain again he proved himself last time around , and all the kidding aside.
We really want to see him succeed again as we see him growing and increasing his size on the silver screen , some of our best cinematic memories are in debt to him .
We wish you good luck big man … Kudos
IN 1962, after giving things a great deal of thought, Aurelia Schwarzenegger called the doctor. She had been having some concerns about her teenage son, Arnold, and had finally decided to do something about it. He was, after all, an adolescent boy, and while all of his friends had plastered their walls with half-naked girls, Arnold had chosen somewhat different décor.
“She saw the photographs of muscle men on my wall and she absolutely flipped out,” Schwarzenegger recalls with a broad grin. “She called the doctor and said, ‘What’s going on with my son, can you help me? I mean, he’s 15 years old and he has all these naked men hanging over his bed. All his friends have naked women! Where did I go wrong?’”
Quite what the doctor suggested, Schwarzenegger can’t say, but he does recall the name of the “naked man” in a great many of those posters: Reg Park. Unless you’re an ardent collector of ’60s sword-and-sandal flicks, Park is just another faceless name on the IMDb. A former member of the Leeds United reserve squad, he embarked on a successful bodybuilding career, which led to his appearance as Hercules (or ‘Ercole’) in a handful of Italian-language peplum epics.
Unlikely as it seems, though, without Reg Park there would be no Arnold Schwarzenegger. At least, not the one enshrined in popular culture. The son of a local police chief, Schwarzenegger grew up amid the austerity of post-War Austria. Living with his parents and half-brother in a house with no flushing toilet, he was forged by a life of obedience under the stern rule of his father. It was in the Styrian capital of Graz, however, that young Arnold found his purpose. While browsing a store that specialised in Americana, he found amid the cowboy boots and elaborate belt buckles a muscle mag with Reg Park on the cover.
“I’d felt from the time I was ten years old that I was destined for something bigger than staying in Austria, even though, at that time, I didn’t quite know what I was going to be. I remember buying this magazine and reading about a young kid in a factory town who trained hard, became Mr. Universe and went to America. Then all of a sudden he was offered Hercules movies!
“I thought, ‘Well, this is exactly what I would like to do.’ He trained five hours a day, so I started training five hours a day. Whatever he did, I did. I basically had the blueprint for what I had always dreamed about.”
FIFTY YEARS LATER, Empire is standing in Schwarzenegger’s office with a sword pointed at our neck. “Here,” he says, turning the blade and passing it to us. “Try it.” Conan’s Atlantean sword, the weapon with which Schwarzenegger made his mark on cinema, is surprisingly heavy. We raise the weapon to a nod of approval and, after a few rather inexpert cuts, hand it sheepishly back to its rightful owner.
Despite the Governor’s seal still on the door, Schwarzenegger’s Santa Monica offices are like no regular politician’s workplace. The corridors are a gallery of posters for his movies and assorted, almost certainly priceless, memorabilia litters every surface. A life-size waxwork — a gift from the late Stan Winston — greets new arrivals with a classic Arnie grin and thumbs-up, while nearby a fully armoured Mr. Freeze stands with a glaring Predator. The doors to his inner sanctum, meanwhile, are flanked by a pair of Terminators. Inside, a harrier jump jet from True Lies hangs above a pool table, while Eraser’s alligator — disappointingly not luggage — lies stretched out beneath it. The overwhelming feeling is that of being inside the ultimate boy’s bedroom.
Effortlessly retrieving the sword with one hand, Schwarzenegger props it in a corner and reclines behind an enormous wooden desk. Our first impression upon meeting him is, perhaps unsurprisingly, one of size. His six-foot-two frame boasts sweeping, broad shoulders that roll out like an impeccably tailored mountain range. The effect is a looming, rock-hewn wall of a man, so broad he seems almost square: Roger Hargreaves’ Mr. Strong in a $5,000 suit.
Even his accessories are almost comically oversized. Chunky, alligator-skin cowboy boots consume his feet, while each hand boasts a single, oversized ring: one of office, bearing the California governor’s seal; the other a large, grinning skull with glittering ruby eyes. Around his wrist is wrapped a colossal Panerai watch the size of a saucer: a hefty slab of metal and glass given to him by Sylvester Stallone.
He may lack some of the definition that once inspired a generation of bodybuilders, but swollen biceps still bulge noticeably beneath the sleeves of his jacket. When he first extended a pillar-like arm to greet us, his shake, while firm, was surprisingly gentle and not the joint-popping grip we had feared (or the mid-air arm wrestle a small part of us had hoped for). Read alot more at Empire