As a new documentary hits cinemas on the life of Björn Andrésen, Vogue Scandinavia explores the ugly reality of being the world's most beautiful boy
Björn Andrésen may be the subject of the newly released documentary The Most Beautiful Boy in the World, but watching his story on film is far from easy on the eye. Directed by Swedish filmmakers Kristina Lindström and Kristian Petri, the film captures the ugly reality of what happens when a person becomes an object and innocence is taken away too soon.
Legendary director Luchino Visconti travelled the world for years to find the youth who would suit the moniker of 'the most beautiful boy in the world'. And at the world premiere of his film Death in Venice in 1971, he proclaimed Björn Andrésen to be precisely that, giving the documentary its title.
'Death in Venice' follows the tale of a man who is enthralled by the sight of a beautiful boy and becomes increasingly obsessed with the adolescent. Photo: Getty
The film shows the fateful February day in 1970 when Visconti first lays eyes on Andrésen, and plucks him from obscurity to play the role of Tadzio in the film adaptation of Thomas Mann’s novella Death In Venice. Set in the Italian city at the turn of the last century, the film follows the tale of a man who is enthralled by the sight of a beautiful boy and becomes increasingly obsessed with the adolescent.
During the audition in Stockholm, Björn awkwardly and unenthusiastically enters the room, having been nudged there by his overbearing grandmother, who jumped at the chance for him to meet the “great Visconti”. Björn, on the other hand, is more into playing music, and has no idea who Visconti is.
The audition footage shows 15-year old Björn being asked to remove his clothing and walk more slowly. Already being directed by Visconti to “not move, turn your head, smile into the camera”, the film capture’s Andrésen’s young gaze during what, in retrospect, is a shattering moment as he stares, with trepidation, into the camera and at objectification that awaits him.
Björn Andrésen as Tadzio in 'Death in Venice'. Photo: Getty
The film launched Andrésen into a frenzy of instant fame, which he described as feeling “like swarms of bats around me, a living nightmare”. In Japan, he was revered as an idol of male beauty. His appearance even led to the creation of a new character trope within anime, Bishōnen, meaning "beautiful youth" and describing an aesthetic of androgynously beautiful young men. But embodying a subjective role decided by the gaze of others is a precarious position to be in: if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, what happens when the eye shuts? Well, as the Italian press once quipped, “now that he’s sixteen, he’s too old.”
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'Death in Venice' is set in the Italian city at the turn of the last century. Photo: Getty
In his private life, Andrésen has experienced more than one personal tragedy - his mother took her own life when he was ten years old. Later, Andrésen lived through the death of his own nine-month old son. Though the doctors proclaimed the cause of death to be sudden infant death, Andrésen still blames himself. Of these events, he said, “when you’ve lost so much, it somehow, in its own special way, makes life easier to live”. But combined with the intense fame into which he was catapulted, it is also understandable that his life has included a descent into those most readily available of numbing aids, alcohol and drugs.
When you’ve lost so much, it somehow, in its own special way, makes life easier to live
Björn Andrésen
Andrésen, now 66, recently featured in the Swedish film 'Midsommar'. Photo: Getty
Now, 50 years on since the meeting that changed his life, Andrésen is 66 and still counting the cost of sudden fame. A gaunt, ethereal figure who has more than a passing resemblance to a forlorn wizard, Andrésen says he’s been called Gandalf for the past 15 years. On screen, he most recently had a memorable part in the Swedish horror film Midsommar, in which he plays an archetype of old age. Quite the contrast for the person whose life was long defined by being the incarnation of youth and beauty.
The documentary shows the toxic relationship between beauty, innocence and exploitation. It gives a troubling view of the all-too-common practice in cinema of sexualising youth, and of what happens when that on-screen spotlight seeps into the real world. To the older Andrésen, the film offers a gentle apology from the world’s voyeurs who were collectively complicit in wrecking a 15-year old’s future. A stark reminder of the many forms that exploitation of children by adults can take, the film demands that we look past what we want to see and recognise the ugly face of beauty.