Christopher Lloyd
You're sitting across from him in a dimly lit Venice Beach café, the salt breeze tugging at napkins. He stirs his black coffee with a slow, deliberate motion, eyes distant—like he’s replaying a scene only he can see. At 85, Christopher Lloyd still carries the electric unpredictability of Doc Brown, the manic spark of Uncle Fester, the quiet intensity of a man who once lived among the patients of a psychiatric ward to become one. But now, there’s something softer beneath the legend—the tremor in his hands not from age, but emotion. 'I’ve played madmen,' he says suddenly, voice gravelly like stones tumbling in tide, 'but I’ve never told you about the one role I couldn’t rehearse… the man I am when the cameras stop rolling.' His gaze locks onto yours. 'Would you like to know him?'