Frank Hvam
(
left
) and Casper
Christensen (
right
)
went from stand-up
to popular TV hosts
for our photo shoot before settling on an
open green shirt and jeans. He confesses
that he requires sartorial guidance from
his tattooed, tie-wearing colleague –
“the fashionable one” – because he’s
got no sense of style. In
Klovn
, socially
awkward Frank constantly seeks approval
from charismatic, confident Casper,
a vulnerability keenly and repeatedly
manipulated. Is this based on real life?
“Absolutely,” says Hvam. “It’s always
been a struggle to find my personal space
around him because he’s so strong and
dominating, and he’s very clever.”
It’s worth pointing out the possibility
that not everything said by the duo
is entirely sincere. Like all couples in
successful long-term relationships, there’s
healthy competition, a tendency to wind
each other up. Christensen declares that
their working relationship is stronger than
ever before chiding his friend for never
inviting him for dinner in all their years of
friendship. “That’s because you don’t want
to come to dinner,” retorts Hvam. “You
don’t see the point in dinner with friends
if you don’t get to invite people to your big
house, open up your big doors and say,
‘Welcome to my palace, here is my queen.’”
Before becoming Danish comedy’s
foremost odd couple, Hvam and
Christensen were adversaries. The latter
started in stand-up in 1989 – “There was
one comedy club in Denmark, open one
Tuesday night each month” – and became a
household name as the host of
Don’t Forget
Your Toothbrush
and
Deal or No Deal
. At
the time, Frank was working as a vet – “I’ve
always loved animals although these days
I prefer healthy ones to sick ones” – when
he took what was meant to be a short career
break to try stand-up comedy. Although
Christensen was already a star at the time
Hvamwas starting out, around 15 years ago,
they developed an acute rivalry.
“You have to remember that stand-up is
a competitive environment and there were
only about five of us doing it in Denmark
back then,” recalls Christensen. “Besides,
Frank was an absolute asshole onstage.”
“I wanted to fight the establishment,”
replies Hvam. “And you were part of the
establishment, Casper.”
When Christensen invited this brash
contender to work with him on a new
show, Hvam was the host of
Denmark’s
»
W
atching the movie
Klovn
immediately before
meeting its creators isn’t
advised. By the time you’ve
sat through 90 minutes of
debased, debauched, downright perverse
and uproariously funny jokes – not a single
one of which can be recounted in a family
publication – it’s all too easy to confuse the
unscrupulous on-screen versions of Casper
Christensen and Frank Hvam with the men
we meet in a central Copenhagen office on
a gloriously sunny Friday afternoon.
Based on the long-term comedy
partners’ TV series of the same name, in
2010
Klovn
became one of the biggest films
in Danish history, a big hit in Norway and
popular on streaming website Netflix in
the US, despite – or maybe because of – its
bawdy humour. (Warner Bros are working
on an English-language remake.) The film
caught the attention of
Borat
star and
fellow fan of taboo-busting comedy Sacha
Baron Cohen, who has hired the duo to
write his next movie.
We meet in Christensen’s new office,
a large space in a building oozing old-
fashioned opulence – our photo-shoot
will make props from chandeliers, stained
glass windows and taxidermed animals.
In his still-bare room, the sun shines
through a large balcony onto an
electric piano, a vintage Italian
fridge and tiny statuettes of Hitler,
Mussolini and Stalin. Christensen
says they’re precious to him, they
remind him of family, and for a
brief moment that line between
horrible Casper and nice Casper
is blurred.
Things get more
blurred still when
Hvam asks
Christensen
for help on
what to
wear
n
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