“LIFE.”
That’s how my dear friend, actor Udo Kier, titled his emails to me. Always: “LIFE.”
I first met Udo in Frankfurt, Germany, though we had spoken on the phone before. I wanted him to play Wolfgang Kortzfleisch, the tyrannical overlord of the Nazi Moon Base in my upcoming film Iron Sky. I had reached out with hope, but no real expectation. Then one day, he called. He was interested. I was—quite literally—beyond the Moon.
We met in a restaurant in Frankfurt just a day or two before his first shooting day. I was nervous; he was Udo Kier, after all. But very quickly he made it clear that he was there for you. He was curious about you. He wanted you to relax. With Udo, that was always the starting point: presence, generosity, warmth.
When Udo walked onto a set, the atmosphere shifted. People straightened up—not out of fear, but out of respect. They wanted to give their best. He greeted everyone: the water runner, the DOP, every producer, actor, gaffer, and construction hand. If you cared about your job, he cared about you.
When Udo was on set, the spotlight naturally followed him. And yet he always shared it.
Over the years, we became friends. I honestly don’t know what he liked about me, but from the first shoot onward—through festivals in Cannes, sets in China and Australia, visits to Palm Springs, and premieres in Berlin—we always had the most incredible time.
His life overflowed with stories—but even more, people had stories about him. Wherever filmmakers gathered, someone had an Udo Kier story. These stories formed a strange, beautiful constellation between us, like sharing a secret: we all had crossed paths with this extraordinary man, and he had left a spark in every heart.
Udo loved his Palm Springs home he shared with his partner, artist Delbert McBride—and all his other properties. His ranch, he always said, was guarded by a plastic horse named Max, after Max von Sydow, whom he considered “old as a horse.” When the gate opened, Max’s eyes glowed blue and it neighed. Udo imitated the sound perfectly—impossibly. Unforgettably.
His home reflected him: filled with stories, art, life, and strange, beautiful objects. And then there was Han Solo, his grumpy turtle who roamed the property and demanded cucumbers with the attitude of a retired movie star.
We would go to Lulu’s Café for dinner, then wander off for a drink. Sometimes he took me to his ranch or the little hill he owned—a place he loved to sit with a glass of red wine and watch the stars in the silent desert night.
Now he has joined those stars.
Udo was always filming. Even now, he still has seven films yet to be released. I shot with him in Germany, Belgium, Australia, and China. He always messaged me from some corner of the world where he was working yet again.
I don’t know much about his final days, but I like to imagine he continued doing what he loved—acting, tending to his garden, enjoying a cold chardonnay, living fully. I believe he died a happy man, after a long, fulfilling life of adventure, artistry, and unforgettable impact.
Fiendship with Udo was eternal. He remembered you. He checked in. He cared. He was, truly, one of the greatest people I have ever shared this Earth with.
“I MISS YOU. BEST UDO” he would always end his messages.
I miss you too, Udo. And will, always.
I know Udo loved this quote from Blade Runner, so I’m going to share it here, too:
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
Time to die.”
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