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By JAMIE DIAMOND
Published: September 5, 2008
MONTEBELLO, Calif.
“I HATE rich people,” Ron Perlman said here recently, explaining why he has never joined a private country club. That’s also why Mr. Perlman, 58, the star of this summer’s “Hellboy II: The Golden Army” and the FX series “Sons of Anarchy,” was playing golf with four friends on this balmy Sunday afternoon at the Montebello Country Club, a public course.
Though Montebello may never give Augusta National a run for its money, Mr. Perlman said a minimum amount of decorum was still required. “All you see in this neighborhood are hanging laundry, hibachis and pit bulls,” he said, “but the rules are: you have to wear a collared shirt.”
Mr. Perlman’s guests were a quartet of fellow cast members from “Sons of Anarchy,” on which they play violence-prone members of a motorcycle gang more accustomed to wearing leather vests with patches that say Men of Mayhem. And if their afternoon’s attire was any indication, their previous golf experience was limited.
His co-star, Charlie Hunnam, wore a black Lacoste shirt, borrowed sunglasses (“I smashed mine when I hugged Ron hello,” he said), and a borrowed hat (“so I don’t get a sunburn and ruin continuity on the set”). Tommy Flanagan, a Glasgow native, sported a white tuxedo shirt. “The last time I wore this,” he said, “was to the Bafta awards” — Britain’s version of the Oscars and Emmys.
Theo Rossi had on a golf shirt and saggy Bermuda shorts, while Mark Boone Jr. wore an untucked shirt patterned with propeller airplanes. Mr. Perlman, who is perhaps better accustomed to losing himself in disguise — for his role in the “Hellboy” films, he donned a lobster-red body suit, devil’s horns and a rubber tail — was the only player who owned proper golf attire, though his blue polo shirt, black cargo pants and a ruby ear stud probably wouldn’t pass muster at a PGA event.
Riding in their carts, the gang moved out to the green, where Mr. Hunnam soon hit his ball into the water. “Oh, no,” he wailed. “That’s my lucky ball.”
“I think you’re going to have to get another lucky ball,” Mr. Perlman said.
At the next hole, Mr. Hunnam hit his ball into a tree trunk. Mr. Perlman said: “Don’t worry. There are still plenty of trees you haven’t hit.”
Although Mr. Perlman made several attempts to give his friends pointers, they seemed happier driving their carts along the grassy hills.
“We’re outlaws,” Mr. Rossi explained. “That’s what all little boys grow up wanting to be.”
When Mr. Flanagan smacked his ball to the side, Mr. Boone dashed ahead and pretended he was trying to catch a baseball. It was becoming clear that this was less a golfing fivesome and more like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight. Resigned, Mr. Perlman, who shoots in the 90’s, asked the Men of Mayhem if they wanted to head back to the clubhouse for drinks.
“No,” Mr. Flanagan said sarcastically, “I want to torch myself on this bleeding hot field for the rest of my life.”
Mr. Perlman stowed his clubs in the pro shop. The man behind the counter said, “Looks like martini time.”
Mr. Perlman smiled. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
More Articles in Fashion & Style » A version of this article appeared in print on September 7, 2008, on page ST4 of the New York edition.
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