I hope you’re not a fan of method acting.
In other words, “acting” is “becoming”.
This sentence as well as the overall tone of your post seems to put you close to David Mamet on these matters, who has a huge dislike of “Great actors”. I think I share the sentiment.
I would agree that many great actors aren’t given credit enough for their performances because their acting appears effortless and understated. And Strathairn is a master of those kinds of under the radar performances. On the other hand, I thought Straithairn has given better performances in other films and Good Night, and Good Luck is way too earnest and dull for its own good. Straithairn is absolutely amazing in Blue Car, an otherwise standard American indie film but worth seeing for his performance alone.
His performance in that film was good. But I think there’s a difference between an understated performance that expresses a lot without doing very much and one that’s ‘wooden’.
I thought Good Night and Good Luck was a pretty average film. It’s one of those films that takes full advantage of the known fact that the audience already agrees with everything it has to say. It should have shown one of McCarthy’s actual interrogations, but they avoided that just so they could use actual footage of McCarthy instead of an actor.
Jirin, I agree, there’s a difference between an understated performance and a wooden one. As I said in my original post, less enlightened souls who observe cinema seem to confuse the two.
I don’t feel “Goodnight…” takes advantage of an audience who agrees with everything it’s going to say. A lot of what is said in the film would make a lot of sense to anyone. McCarthyism aside, listen very closely to some of what Murrow says in this film, such as the potential of television—it’s as if Murrow saw television’s future and how this potentially magnificent invention would be abused in coming decades, used to “insulate” rather than “inform”. The film also has some great sentiment about the responsibilty of the media to deliver the truth versus corporate sponsorship dollars, i.e. the whole ALCOA problem faced by CBS in the film.
To me, it doesn’t matter whether an actor or actress uses “The Method” or not—as a ticket-buying member of the public, I should be, upon observing the performance itself, oblivious as to what preparation the performer has done to play the role.
I don’t know much about David Mamet’s opinions on acting, but I can be as impressed by Marlon Brando just as I can by Henry Fonda (David Mamet’s pick for the title of greatest actor).
I’m generally in agreement with you, Mark. In general, I don’t like these “showy” performances. To me, Daniel Day Lewis is a guy guilty of this; yet, a lot of people seem to love him. Dustin Hoffman can be like this when he’s playing more odd-ball characters (e.g. Ratzo Rizzo or the “Rain Man”).
What about Brando, though. Is his performance in Streetcar "natural (or Vivien Leigh’s, for that matter)? I don’t think they are, but both are good performances. Part of the reason is that the film is based on a play, and that often makes the acting more theatrical rather than natural/realistic.
Another thing I should point out. A while ago I think I started a similar thread and some people pointed out that some films require acting that is not so natural. For example, comedies often require over-the-top performances, which you wouldn’t call realistic or naturalistic.
Re: wooden acting
For me, I love subtle, quiet performances, but when there doesn’t seem to be an internal activity within the character or at least something brewing under the surface, I’d call these performances, wooden. Christian Bale is like this for me. William Hurt can be this way as well.
On the opposite end there’s Robert Duvall’s performance in Tender Mercies. He doesn’t seem to be doing much, but there’s a weight to the character and level of feeling that doesn’t seem commensurate with the surface activity on the screen. Another performance like this was Kristin Scott Thomas’ in I’ve Loved You So Long. Looking at her face from the opening scene, you know there’s a lot going on inside this woman.
This is the type of acting that I love and find almost magical. There’s little drama and the emotion is held back, but the feeling comes through. Or the actor allows you to “see” what they’re thinking. Man, that’s great when that happens.
MARK IS SUSPENDED IN GAFFA
As I was reading Dennis Brian’s review of Martin Ritt’s “Murphy’s Romance”, I noted how the reviewer mentioned James Garner’s naturalistic acting style. I think some people often erroneously describe “casual acting” as “wooden acting”, and “wooden acting” as “bad acting”. However, the REALLY “bad acting” (or at least questionable acting) is done by people who give performances that you can TELL are performances. With this in mind, I’d rather watch someone give a sedated yet natural looking performance, as opposed to an over-the-top effort that seems forced and inauthentic. That’s not to say rambunctious performances can’t be satisfying, it’s just that fewer people than the general public realise are capable of executing them to a near-genius level. People have a tendency to think “wow, that person was acting so crazy, what a great performance!”, possibly because they themselves aren’t very colourful or are perhaps too easily impressed (this mentality leads people to think every second or third Hollywood comic to leave “Saturday Night Live” or some similar programme is a superb worker).
One of the greatest “naturalistic” performances (in fact, one of the finest performances, period) I’ve witnessed in a motion picture comes courtesy of David Strathairn (above), who portrayed legendary American television figure Edward Murrow in “Goodnight, and Good Luck” (directed by George Clooney, 2005). I’ve seen this motion picture three times and counting—each time in a different state (it’s just worked out that way) and each time in a cinema house. David is what some less enlightened souls (e.g. those who believe the movie world revolves around C.G.I., gigantic blue people and glitterball vampires) might call “colourless”—but listen to the tone that carries the words he speaks, as well as the words themselves. There is no inauthenticity here, everything is totally natural and done with a quiet passion and real meaning. David Strathairn does not simple “act” Edward Murrow, he BECOMES Ed Murrow. We are wholly engaged not just by the content of what David/Ed is saying, but the fact it is delivered with such verisimilitude, with no wasted effort whatsoever.
David realises he is not there to make himself, David Strathairn, look like a greater actor. He is not there to impress the people, he is there to play a character in a film and let the CHARACTER hold the audience.
During and shortly after my first viewing of this magnificent film (surely one of the most under-talked-about mainstream American films of the 2000s, if not since the beginning of the talkie era), I wasn’t gushing to myself “wow, what a wonderful performance by Mister David Strathairn!”—I had time to think about that later. Instead, I thought to myself “wow, those are some wise words of wisdom from Edward Murrow—if only modern day television had a few commentators like him!”
Did you get that, people? As I watched “Goodnight, and Good Luck”, it’s wasn’t so much like watching a film, it was more like becoming absorbed in a genuine 1950s American television broadcast, albeit one projected onto a giant screen. I wasn’t being “yelled at” by an actor, I was being “spoken to” by Edward Murrow—as far as I was concerned, the REAL Ed Murrow, from CBS television (on that note, I wonder what it would be like to find an old 1950s style television set and watch “Goodnight…” on the small screen, just like millions of Americans in would have done in 1953).
Quite often, I hear or read people praising over-the-top, crazed performances. Yet relatively few people recognise the subtle brilliance it takes to deliver a realistic, engaging piece of work without falling back on the usual bag of gimmicks and tricks—just as people forget the art of writing without overuse of profanity, or directing a great film without whiz-bang explosions and sexual intercourse every five minutes. In other words, people have been accustomed to only liking slick, glossy, plastic films where “every performer knows exactly where to stand” and the actors and actresses are more memorable than the characters they’ve played—which is not to say I’m not impressed by the screen performers themselves, but the thing is, most people seem to talk about the performers and only the performers in their favourite films. It’s relatively seldom they discuss the characters themselves. Partially, this could be down to the fact they don’t think about films past face value or dismiss them as light, escapist entertainment and nothing more—but when you think about the so-called “best” performers of our generation, ask yourself this: how many “great” movie characters have we seen from these “great” thespians during the past 20 years, compared with the 20 years before that? Even dismissing the previous question, some of the best actors and actresses are the lesser-known ones, those who don’t attempt to dazzle and impress with ostentatious gestures and inflections. “Becoming” the character, rather than just giving a “great performance” (which can end up being not-so-great because it’s obvious it IS a performance) is the true essence of acting. In other words, “acting” is “becoming”.