Agent Meyers ist der neue Partner von Hellboy...
Rupert Evans wirkte bis dato nur in ein paar TV-Produktionen mit...
¬Every life, when distilled down to its essence, turns into a melodrama or a comedy of errors...¬
John Thaddeus Myers
27 years old, 5'11". Blond hair.
LIKES: Mechanical work, owns a small workshop (now in storage), riding on his bike, working on his bike, talking about his bike. Swimming, ten laps in the morning, coffee, his Walkman (he's had it since 1986), The Catcher in the Rye (carries a copy with him everywhere), taking his clothes to the laundry and getting them back all neat and pressed, cold pizza, walking around in his socks, butterscotch, straight from the jar. French fries with a "crapload" of ketchup. Old Jimmy Stewart movies, being useful, reading in the toilet, shining his shoes, the smell of oil or gasoline, cleaning his hands after a day at the shop. Key lime pie, long walks, starting a good fire, an organized closet, short wave radio, horses, rock climbing, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, milk, National Geographic magazine, Converse sneakers, cooking himself a meal, stopping a fistfight, Campbell's Soup cans, getting a haircut.
DISLIKES: Big bikes ridden by rich orthodontists from Manhattan, Hummers, shaving, oversleeping, swearing, corruption, politics, loud music, Adidas sportswear, beer, alcohol, smoking, using a public toilet, skateboards, tattoos, Techno, ties (he has to wear them, though), indifference, terrorism, TV ads, TV itself, Ben Affleck, J-Lo, Hello magazine, cats, spiders, the taste of cloves, Indian cuisine, what it does to his stomach, warm climates, sweating, thirst, riddles, puzzles, talk shows, tabloid press, melted Cheese sandwiches, Jell-o puddings and gelatins. Airplanes, boats, VIP people, beef jerky, expensive suits, poetry, opera, jewelry, tragedy, morning breath and itchy sweaters.
BIOGRAPHY by Guillermo del Toro:
John's dad always made a big fuss over his son being born the same day that Mao died: Sept 9, 1976. For better or worse, it was also the year that "Disco Duck" was at the top of the charts.
The son of a diner owner and his homemaker wife, Johnny Myers was one of 5 brothers, born in a farmhouse in Kansas.
Frank Myers - Johnny's dad - was as American as apple pie. An ex-marine, son of farmers, raised in rural America. His dream was to own Lou's Diner, on Main Street in Augusta, Kansas.
It finally happened, right around 1968. Unfortunately, so did the Flower Revolution. The diner didn't do much business, but it kept the family going. When Johnny was born, his dad predicted great things for him. Mom did too, so she decided to give him a great middle name.
Uncle Thaddeus was his Mom's favorite brother and - by all accounts - a red-blooded, two-fisted, dyed-in-the-wool American man.
Johnny's childhood can illuminate who he is today, even if he can barely remember those Norman Rockwell Sundays at church, or the summers at the pond or behind the counter making shakes and melted cheese sandwiches- which he grew to hate. Quiet nights sitting on the porch, sipping lemonade and counting fireflies. These American cliches were still real in Kansas up until the day his parents died.
Even tragedy came quietly to the Myers' household. No car accident, no devastating fight with cancer. No. They simply left for an afternoon ride, never to come home again.
Police surmised car jacking and robbery, but no part of the car was ever found. And no part of them either: no wallet, no ID, no credit card charges. Nothing. Some speculate that this drove young Johnny to the FBI. To investigate. To finally know. He hasn't. Not really. Who can tell, they might return from that afternoon drive any minute now...
The Myers brood split up every which way. The girls landed -hard - in the home of their spinster Aunt Edna in Newton, Kansas. Some of the boys moved in with distant relatives in Chicago and Minnesota. Finally Johnny was picked up by his Uncle, Thad.
They met at the sheriff's office. Thad arrived late. Really late, picking up the kid, aged 6, and driving straight through the night until they reached Ponca City, Oklahoma.
Johnny slept most of the way. He woke up in his new room, above his uncle's tool shed/workshop and there he stayed for the next 12 years.
Uncle Thad is - in Johnny's mind - a pair of hands. Greasy, rough, and calloused they were the best ever at machining, putting junk together and making things run. He was a large, weathered man who smelled of gasoline, nicotine and paint thinner. He kept everything in little glass jars, labeled with a felt pen and lined up in endless rows, three-deep in his forever messy, ever-changing workshop.
At night, they listened to radio. They never owned a TV. Johnny had to go to his friend's house to watch that. But he liked radio more. The tales were more vivid, the heroes were taller, the dangers more real.
TV was phony.
Uncle Thad always worked with the radio on. He loved to listen to a station somewhere in Europe that - ironically - played mostly jazz and Big Band music. He was very proud of this radio, wrapped in plastic - to protect it from oil and fumes - "How powerful it is," he exclaimed, "We can tune in China!" Johnny liked comic books. Very few reached Ponca back then, and not many more do now. But Johnny loved to read Kamandi, Demon and above all, Hellboy, the big red crusader.
Uncle Thad didn't much approve of that last superhero. Anything Red was no good, he felt. But he left Johnny alone.
Together they modified Johnny's moped when he was fifteen. Boy, how he loved that piece of junk. A true love story. He can tell you about the day he got it, and about the day he cleaned every single part. Hell, he even remembers what he was wearing when he first saw it.
He got his first kiss on that bike. His first broken bones, too (wrist and thumb - they still crack a bit when he moves them) and how, while riding, he saw his first lunar eclipse.
Johnny fell in love - real bad - around the time he turned 16. The girl's name was Laura, and Johnny was sure they would marry and move to Australia to have their own piece of land. "The Government is giving land away," he claimed enthusiastically. "We could move there today and be land owners tomorrow." But this was not to be. Two years into their relationship, she moved out of Ponca - most anyone that could, did - and Johnny planned on meeting her in Kansas City soon after, but Uncle Thad got sick. Real sick, real sudden. This time it was the big C. All over, all at once. His knees felt weak and Thad kept talking about some big government conspiracy and how they put something in the water. A lifelong conspiracy nut, he was the only guy yelling "Yeah," when Sterling Hayden started talking bodily fluids in a revival showing of Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove-
About a week after, Johnny found him face down in the shed.
It took less than four weeks. His lungs were gone. All those years working with solvents without a mask. All those cigarette packs, unfiltered. Soon enough he was making his peace with God. It took a few months for him to sell the land and most of Thad's tools and machines. He always felt bad about giving the jars to the local junk man. They were so precious to him, those nuts and bolts. Johnny caught up with Laura a little too late. Seems like her heart was not interested anymore. The big city had changed her. At a Kansas City restaurant, she felt ashamed over Johnny's questions to the waiter and the maitre' d. That night she called it quits.
If there ever was a man who wanted to give himself to alcohol, it was Johnny. But no bad thing ever took root in him. He hated the taste of the stuff. When he was depressed, it was coffee that drowned his tears.
No question, Johnny was an honest-to-goodness Good Guy, and nothing could change that. Using the money from Thad's estate, Johnny put himself through college, straight A's, dean's list, magna cum laude - the whole nine yards.
He chose the FBI because, in a way, it sounded as close as you get to being a superhero. No, no, no, he never said that. Or even thought it. But, sure as hell, that was the reason.
An then, oh, then he met Hellboy... and Liz.
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