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The Wolfpack. In a snap,The Wolfpack‘s Bhagavan, Eddie, Glenn, Govinda, Mukunda, and Narayana Angulo, who spent most of their lives hidden away, have gone from invisible to everywhere. I slept on their hotel-room floor for a week and watched Hollywood reenact the welcome-home chapter ofCastawayfor six strong-nosed Tom Hankses. It was crazy how the adoration rolled in. Werner Herzog, David O. Russell, a Journey roadie, all of them jaw-dropped and question-eyed, like sperm donors meeting their full-grown sons. You could have fit a Big Mac in Demi Moore’s smile when she cornered them. It was incredible. And with every meeting came a laundry list of suggestions and promises, people they should talk to, ideas of what’s next.
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Breakfast time with a family whose lives have changed dramatically in the past few months. Narayana (left) scans the snack table as his mother, Susanne, and brother Mukunda sniff out the pool from above.
Why all the nurturing instincts from everyone? Raised by movies, as they’re advertised, are the Angulo brothers proof of the mystical forces that keep pretty people flying to California? Sure. The movies can still mean something. But also, people want to know, are they twisted? Are they OK? Will they crash and burn? It’s the unasked question of the hour. I’m no authority, but I’ll answer it.
Are they twisted? They are lovely, curious, and warm. Are they weird? Hell, yes. Will they crash and burn? Not on your life. Spend an hour with their mom—the gleefully present, permanently hoarse Susanne Reisenbichler—and your questions are answered. Now ranging in age from 16 to 24, the boys have an emotional depth and philosophy well beyond what you can glean from Quentin Tarantino. I asked Susanne what magic let her be the Central Park of their little hiding place, and she teared up and told me, “It was them who saved me.”
With mom in tow, a cruise around LA elicits steady whoops of “Oh my God, Narayana. Will you look at those flowers? They’re beautiful! Eddie, look it’s Capitol Records! Hey Mukunda, John Travolta!” The woman could light a gym. Among other things, she’s a reflector. She’s tinfoil in the dark, wrapped loose around her family to focus and channel their glow forward. She’s how they find their way around. Short story long, they’ve got Mom. They have one another. I think everything will be cool.
For more on the brothers’ visit to La La Land, watch our travelogue ‘The Wolfpack Goes to Hollywood’:
Hippie sweetheart Narayana checks in with a fat Abbott Kinney fish.
The rest of the clan fields phone interviews around the corner while Eddie and Glenn conk out in the London hotel’s movie theater with producer Megan Delaney.
“And this fucking baby!” Seconds later everybody all but drops dead laughing at Dennis Quaid’s demented fake meltdown. Featuring Bhagavan at noon, Govinda at three, Mukunda at six, and Narayana at nine.
It’s hard to keep your lip curled with all of mid-June LA stretched out at your feet, but Glenn does a pretty damn good job of it on the roof of Capitol Records.
After high-fiving Van Halen, Glenn and Eddie scramble over to Eddie the Head’s handprint. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!
Despite being distinctly more Grammy-minded, Eddie goes in for his Oscar.
Eddie and Glenn run interference as big brother Bhagavan takes a turn behind the wheel of an unlocked bomber. (That might be a lie.)
All those patches are handmade with cloth, plastic, paint, and Wite-Out, just like Randy’s famous doughnuts.
Anything director Crystal Moselle has looked at in the past six years has completely blown up. Power mom Susanne Reisenbichler looks delighted as always.
Everything’s coming up Milhouse.
These mugs again. A visit to Capitol Records is a sweet reprieve for a couple of punks locked in a long week of movie biz.
Mukunda beams his approval after a gang of makeup geniuses set him up with a brand-new Colombian necktie.
Mukunda and Bhagavan giddily scam on a Hollywood Boulevard Batman during a late-night CVS snack run.
