On Alexander Skarsgård’s trousers, The Rehearsal, and the importance of weirdos

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There’s a lot going on in the world at present. The UK is renegotiating its relationship with Europe post-Brexit, with the biggest points of contention being fishing (why always fishing?) and a youth mobility scheme that would allow 18 – 30-year-olds to travel and work more freely around the EU (yet another economic policy that tells millennials to go fuck themselves). A member of the Irish rap group Kneecap has been charged with a terrorism offence for allegedly displaying a flag in support of Hezbollah on stage last year, which is considerably more legal action than has been taken against anyone committing ongoing war crimes in Gaza. A number of kidnapping plots have targeted crypto millionaires and their families in France. A 53-year-old white British man allegedly tailgated an ambulance and ploughed through a crowd of people in Liverpool during the Premier League victory parade. The world is, in the immortal words of Castillo, ​“not looking good, brev.”

Moments of levity are rare and fleeting, so it’s important to hold onto them when they arise. With that in mind, I’m going to – and I hope this is understandable – spend a substantial portion of this newsletter talking about Alexander Skarsgård’s trousers.

May is the month of bank holidays, hay fever and dumb shit, as the last dregs of winter are finally swilled out by long days, half-reliably good weather, and the start of festival season. On that note, May is also the month of Cannes. Our friends over at Little White Lies have all the details of the festival covered as far as film is concerned, but I wanted to zero in on the wardrobe of a man who has stunned time after time on the red carpet: Alexander Skarsgård. It was his first appearance at Cannes this year, and he threw a cheeky two fingers up at their rules of propriety (banning the ​“naked dress,” being generally fucking boring) by attending the screening of his upcoming gay biker drama, Pillion, decked out like a German noise musician in black leather trousers, puddle shoes, and a vintage BDSM tee depicting a boot stepping on a man’s open mouth. 

At other points in the week he wore thigh-high leather boots tucked into plain suit trousers, and electric blue sequin trousers with a pink bow-tie, but it’s the fetwear that really got people going – probably because he has something of a penchant for it. When promoting Infinity Pool in 2023 he had co-star Mia Goth walk him into the première on a leash. In 2022, he covered Interview Magazine looking like an American Apparel girl in knee-high boots and a comically oversized white slogan tee that said ALEXANDER SKARSGÅRD IS A SEXY BITCH. Similarly, he attended the MTV Movie Awards 2016 in a black-tie look that can only be described as ​‘forgot my pants.’ Around Cannes there were urgent calls for Bill to step it up over fears he was being ​“outfreaked” by his brother, but just because you can play a freak – Pennywise, Eric Draven, Nosferatu – doesn’t mean you are one. Those paying close attention will know that Alex, deliverer of that line about the blood brick in Succession and blonder than Legolas using his purple shampoo, is and always has been the natural born sicko.

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Speaking of which, this month also saw the finale of season two of Nathan Fielder’s The Rehearsal. I won’t spoil it for anyone that hasn’t seen it, but all you need to know is it’s a show about plane crashes that begins and ends with ​‘Bring Me To Life’ – the 2003 chart-topping debut single by the goth metal band Evanescence, yes – by way of a giant replica of Houston airport, a fake singing contest called Wings of Voice, and a childhood simulation so nightmarish I fear it might be adopted as an FBI interrogation tactic. It’s one of the most ambitious things ever broadcast on network television, and definitely the funniest material you could possibly consume about aviation safety procedures. Entertainment Weekly summarised the finale in a piece titled ​‘Nathan Fielder pilots full Boeing 747 after exploiting licensing loophole and dodging autism diagnosis,’ which is somehow entirely accurate, and makes Fielder the only comedian of our era who has managed to generate a headline dumber than actual current affairs. 

As with all his projects, The Rehearsal is carried by Fielder’s own fascination with interpersonal relationships and apparent struggle to exist in the world as a painfully awkward man. There are loads of threads to pick up on regarding intimacy, fear, and ​“masking” that are just as integral to the show as the (admittedly insane) plot, but the way he makes them have to be seen to be believed – not least because it took him several years and a substantial chunk of HBO’s money.

Finally, to wrap up the month in Massive Financial Drains I’m Glad Exist, Peter Andre is starring in a new film as a con artist who takes on a high-stakes job where he has to masquerade as a Jamaican gangster in order to raise £35,000 for his nan’s care home fees. It’s called Jafaican (obviously), it’s directed by Fredi Nwaka (who cut his teeth as a bodyguard for Biggie Smalls, TLC, and 50 Cent), and it’s caused a ​“race row backlash” that has exclusively been reported by the tabloids (because the only thing they hate more than being racist themselves is celebrities like Peter Andre). ​“What a load of shit,” you might think. ​“Terrible, garbage idea. Kill yourselves.” And you’d be right. At the same time, though, with the creative industries in shambles, the vast majority of funding being allocated to unimaginative scripts providing opportunities to RADA bores, I think it’s beautiful that a film in which a Greek Cypriot man from Harrow says ​“I love de batty” several times not only got greenlit and funded, but actually finished. Is this not exactly the kind of fiscal irresponsibility we’ve been crying out for since Ben Stiller got $92 million to make Tropic Thunder?

Perhaps everything will be ok, after all.

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Emma Garland is a freelance writer and former digital editor of Huck. Follow her on Bluesky.

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