I used to brag that I never got writer's block.
The truth is, I have always kept myself busy with so many other types of projects that I was never forced to write when I didn't feel like it. For example, I would line up a writing project followed by a directing project coinciding with a building/ craft project. That way if the writing wasn't working I was always involved in something else and I would never notice the block. Now that I am trying to focus on one thing at a time I realize that writer's block is a deadly predator that needs to feast on my creative brain several times a day.
I've never freaked out about it before. As busy as I've been, I've never missed a deadline- self imposed or otherwise. However, this is the first time I am experiencing writer's block with down time. I'm like a shark. I need to keep moving or I drown. So sitting on the couch watching episode after episode of MythBusters doesn't feel all that productive. It feels like oxygen deprivation.
However, I am determined to go through this one. I am going to experience the stewing. It will pass. I don't believe for one second that I've exhausted all of my creative reserves. I'm just percolating. Consciously, slowly, painfully percolating without the benefits of caffeine, nicotine and/or psycho-sexual drama.
Basically, I'm just sitting on the couch watching CNN until a new episode of MythBusters is on and learning to be okay with it. Sometimes carpe diem means "sitting on your ass and liking it".
Friday, March 28, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
You Can USE That...
Young actors can say some pretty stupid things sometimes.
That is to be expected, of course, many of them just having drank the Kool-Aid of whatever methodology they've chosen to study. I can't knock it, really, it is part of the process and I firmly believe in the Kool-Aid myself. It is in the application of the methodology- the Kool-Aid, if you will- that can trip up the young and studious actor. I know, I was there myself.
When I was pregnant with my first child all my actor friends congratulated me by saying something along the lines of, "Wow! Just think how you'll be able to use that." I remember resenting that. For the first time in my life, something was actually more exciting to me than acting and I bristled at the suggestion that I would be called upon to bring this sacred part of my life into my work. I had no specific objections to "using" my experience as a new mother in my craft. I still don't. I must admit that being a mother has, indeed, shaped my approach as an actor and as a director, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a few of these actors were referring specifically to labor and delivery. One of them actually confirmed this suspicion by saying to me, "Just think what the pain of childbirth will do for you!".
Well. That's just stupid.
When will I be called upon to use that particular sensation? When I'm starring in some MOV or playing a bit part in ER where I will be asked to sweat through some phony birth hysterics? It doesn't relate to my birth experience. Maybe it's the pain- specifically- which I should be using. But that pain of birth is not torture, it is not death, it is not linked to anything but anticipation and a most wonderful and terrifying joy. Perhaps it would be useful in portraying some religious ecstasy? Well, I already have my substitution for that.
Here is where I must pause and talk about substitutions for a bit. I worry about "substitutions", as they are called, because I feel they are sometimes over-used, or rather, used too far into the process. In terms of getting to a place of personal understanding of the circumstances I think substitutions from your own life are quite valuable. A substitution should serve only to build a bridge between your own experience and that of the character. After that you must internalize that understanding and replace the substitution with the actual circumstances of the text. The substitution should then be replaced by something less intrusive. Let's call that something an "as if". If the substitution is the bridge, the bridge should span from you on one side with your chosen substitution and the character on the other accompanied by the "as if". You have to cross the bridge. You cannot stay stuck on your own side of the bridge playing your substitution or you will be self-indulgent and outside the circumstances of the text.
Which brings us back to the whole child birth scenario. Even if you haven't given birth you can play a scene in a labor and delivery ward without having given birth yourself. It is about being specific. Clinically specific. This would require some study, but it does NOT require you getting pregnant and giving birth in order to play. As with any text, a good actor will strip down the circumstances and craft each one without glossing over or making assumptions. Walk around in your body. Add each circumstance one by one and see how your body responds. You are 30 pounds heavier. Where do you feel it? What have you eaten? When did you eat it? Your stomach is higher up and the sphincters that normally keep your stomach acid contained are strained and they relax in response. Inside your uterus is 6-8 pounds of bone and muscle with a mind of its own. How does it feel? The same muscles that engage during a bowel movement (we all know where those are) are the ones that contract during labor. Allow yourself to feel the 3-dimensional space inside your abdomen. Get a picture of your pelvic floor and how it cradles your infant. See how those muscles respond to a contraction. Etc. Etc. Then you add the circumstances of your partner, the place of birth, is it early, is it late, etc. It is something anyone who is willing to challenge their assumptions about birth and use their imaginations can do and do well. It doesn't mean you HAVE to start screaming and threatening all men in the delivery room. That is just a cliche. And even if the script calls for you to do so- there are a million different ways to do it. You can look every man in the eye and tell them how much you hate them with cool clarity. You don't have to flail and be helpless about it. Of course, it all depends on the circumstances.
When I was in acting school we had a seminar with Harvey Keitel. The moment I remember the most clearly is when Mr. Keitel got into an exchange with a fellow student of mine. I don't remember the exact exchange, but I DO remember his response. After the student had asked her question, Mr. Keitel stood straight and tall and bellowed, "WHO TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR IMAGINATION?!". This was amusing enough, but since it was, you know, Harvey Keitel, it was also kind of frightening. It seemed as if he was going to find out which one of our teachers had perpetrated this crime and he would "take care of it". Which in turn made it that much more funny. I think about that a lot as I construct circumstances as an actor and as a writer. Imaginary does not necessarily mean "untrue".
I know I've mentioned this before, but it illustrates my point nicely so I will bring it up again. While working on Lady MacBeth (the Sleepwalking scene, of course) I discovered that part of her torturous dream included murdering her own little boy. At the time, I had no son. I had not given birth. I had never committed infanticide. (Umm, for the record, I still have no experience with infanticide!) However, I could construct this beautiful, pudgy little blonde boy with creamy white cheeks, fat little fingers and the smell of graham crackers lingering on his breath. I could see how he walked- being only 16 months old he would awkwardly stomp his way toward me. I could feel his trusting little arms struggling to reach around my neck as I bent down and cradled his little head in my hands. I reached my hand around the back of his head around to his soft, smooth little chin. I yanked. I felt his neck snap and his body go limp. I felt the finality of my actions. I felt my heart split as I also felt my resolve. It was purely imaginary, but it brings tears to my eyes as I think about it now. A well of horror and self loathing bubbles in my heart. I feel shaky. None of this is real. I used no substitutions. I simply constructed the moment as fully as I could and allowed myself to be connected to them physically (this being the most important step, in my opinion) and Lady M's nightmare is suddenly a reality to me. It is suddenly my reality and I feel I am a bloody monster that needs to die.
Yeah. Who told you not to use your imagination? It comes in handy and can often be a lot more direct than using substitutions. Although, substitutions come in handy when you have to kiss someone you don't find attractive or you have to construct the character's logic when it doesn't seem like any kind of logic to you. That said, you can't leave it at finding the substitution. Substitutions should never be played. They need to be swallowed, digested and the unnecessary parts excreted so that you keep what is essential to the circumstances and stay within the text- never separate from it.
That is to be expected, of course, many of them just having drank the Kool-Aid of whatever methodology they've chosen to study. I can't knock it, really, it is part of the process and I firmly believe in the Kool-Aid myself. It is in the application of the methodology- the Kool-Aid, if you will- that can trip up the young and studious actor. I know, I was there myself.
When I was pregnant with my first child all my actor friends congratulated me by saying something along the lines of, "Wow! Just think how you'll be able to use that." I remember resenting that. For the first time in my life, something was actually more exciting to me than acting and I bristled at the suggestion that I would be called upon to bring this sacred part of my life into my work. I had no specific objections to "using" my experience as a new mother in my craft. I still don't. I must admit that being a mother has, indeed, shaped my approach as an actor and as a director, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a few of these actors were referring specifically to labor and delivery. One of them actually confirmed this suspicion by saying to me, "Just think what the pain of childbirth will do for you!".
Well. That's just stupid.
When will I be called upon to use that particular sensation? When I'm starring in some MOV or playing a bit part in ER where I will be asked to sweat through some phony birth hysterics? It doesn't relate to my birth experience. Maybe it's the pain- specifically- which I should be using. But that pain of birth is not torture, it is not death, it is not linked to anything but anticipation and a most wonderful and terrifying joy. Perhaps it would be useful in portraying some religious ecstasy? Well, I already have my substitution for that.
Here is where I must pause and talk about substitutions for a bit. I worry about "substitutions", as they are called, because I feel they are sometimes over-used, or rather, used too far into the process. In terms of getting to a place of personal understanding of the circumstances I think substitutions from your own life are quite valuable. A substitution should serve only to build a bridge between your own experience and that of the character. After that you must internalize that understanding and replace the substitution with the actual circumstances of the text. The substitution should then be replaced by something less intrusive. Let's call that something an "as if". If the substitution is the bridge, the bridge should span from you on one side with your chosen substitution and the character on the other accompanied by the "as if". You have to cross the bridge. You cannot stay stuck on your own side of the bridge playing your substitution or you will be self-indulgent and outside the circumstances of the text.
Which brings us back to the whole child birth scenario. Even if you haven't given birth you can play a scene in a labor and delivery ward without having given birth yourself. It is about being specific. Clinically specific. This would require some study, but it does NOT require you getting pregnant and giving birth in order to play. As with any text, a good actor will strip down the circumstances and craft each one without glossing over or making assumptions. Walk around in your body. Add each circumstance one by one and see how your body responds. You are 30 pounds heavier. Where do you feel it? What have you eaten? When did you eat it? Your stomach is higher up and the sphincters that normally keep your stomach acid contained are strained and they relax in response. Inside your uterus is 6-8 pounds of bone and muscle with a mind of its own. How does it feel? The same muscles that engage during a bowel movement (we all know where those are) are the ones that contract during labor. Allow yourself to feel the 3-dimensional space inside your abdomen. Get a picture of your pelvic floor and how it cradles your infant. See how those muscles respond to a contraction. Etc. Etc. Then you add the circumstances of your partner, the place of birth, is it early, is it late, etc. It is something anyone who is willing to challenge their assumptions about birth and use their imaginations can do and do well. It doesn't mean you HAVE to start screaming and threatening all men in the delivery room. That is just a cliche. And even if the script calls for you to do so- there are a million different ways to do it. You can look every man in the eye and tell them how much you hate them with cool clarity. You don't have to flail and be helpless about it. Of course, it all depends on the circumstances.
When I was in acting school we had a seminar with Harvey Keitel. The moment I remember the most clearly is when Mr. Keitel got into an exchange with a fellow student of mine. I don't remember the exact exchange, but I DO remember his response. After the student had asked her question, Mr. Keitel stood straight and tall and bellowed, "WHO TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR IMAGINATION?!". This was amusing enough, but since it was, you know, Harvey Keitel, it was also kind of frightening. It seemed as if he was going to find out which one of our teachers had perpetrated this crime and he would "take care of it". Which in turn made it that much more funny. I think about that a lot as I construct circumstances as an actor and as a writer. Imaginary does not necessarily mean "untrue".
I know I've mentioned this before, but it illustrates my point nicely so I will bring it up again. While working on Lady MacBeth (the Sleepwalking scene, of course) I discovered that part of her torturous dream included murdering her own little boy. At the time, I had no son. I had not given birth. I had never committed infanticide. (Umm, for the record, I still have no experience with infanticide!) However, I could construct this beautiful, pudgy little blonde boy with creamy white cheeks, fat little fingers and the smell of graham crackers lingering on his breath. I could see how he walked- being only 16 months old he would awkwardly stomp his way toward me. I could feel his trusting little arms struggling to reach around my neck as I bent down and cradled his little head in my hands. I reached my hand around the back of his head around to his soft, smooth little chin. I yanked. I felt his neck snap and his body go limp. I felt the finality of my actions. I felt my heart split as I also felt my resolve. It was purely imaginary, but it brings tears to my eyes as I think about it now. A well of horror and self loathing bubbles in my heart. I feel shaky. None of this is real. I used no substitutions. I simply constructed the moment as fully as I could and allowed myself to be connected to them physically (this being the most important step, in my opinion) and Lady M's nightmare is suddenly a reality to me. It is suddenly my reality and I feel I am a bloody monster that needs to die.
Yeah. Who told you not to use your imagination? It comes in handy and can often be a lot more direct than using substitutions. Although, substitutions come in handy when you have to kiss someone you don't find attractive or you have to construct the character's logic when it doesn't seem like any kind of logic to you. That said, you can't leave it at finding the substitution. Substitutions should never be played. They need to be swallowed, digested and the unnecessary parts excreted so that you keep what is essential to the circumstances and stay within the text- never separate from it.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
For Actors
I do not often make class announcements on this blog, however, it has come to my attention that Charles Goforth- actor/ director/ teacher and LAByrinth Theater Company Member- is going to be offering a 6 week, 10 session class this spring at Center Stage in NYC. I had the pleasure of working with Charles in LAB's Master Class this past spring and I can't resist the opportunity to encourage him in this endeavor.
Here is Charles in his own words:
"Inspiration for this class came first at auditions. For years I auditioned to "get the job," and often my concentration would sputter. As a director I've seen many actors audition, work hard and be mostly unexceptional. I felt the struggle from both sides of the table. But I saw the problem, at least for me: The reality of my audition was more compelling than the reality my character was trying to live through.
It was about the integrity of technique. So auditions became more of an internal test. They became less "did I get it?" and more "did I get down to choices that really - no, really - capture me?" I stopped "auditioning" and started doing my work while casting people happened to be watching.
I started to get hired. And as a teacher I was inspired to give other actors a chance to breathe and to focus on questions of ownership and joy: How do we begin for real? Can we sit down, and with text analysis that's personal and true, find our own "whys" in the words? Can we build actions that are fun, that pin our concentration and compel us into each arriving moment? Do we have a discipline that unleashes original acting? Can we depend on it, and can we use it to build a character different from us? In short, do we own the work?"
Classes begin March 29 and run to May 13 running 6 Saturdays and 4 Tuesday Evenings- culminating in an evening of scenes and monologues. If you are interested in more information about Charles and his classes you can email him at goforth.centerstage@gmail.com.
Here is Charles in his own words:
"Inspiration for this class came first at auditions. For years I auditioned to "get the job," and often my concentration would sputter. As a director I've seen many actors audition, work hard and be mostly unexceptional. I felt the struggle from both sides of the table. But I saw the problem, at least for me: The reality of my audition was more compelling than the reality my character was trying to live through.
It was about the integrity of technique. So auditions became more of an internal test. They became less "did I get it?" and more "did I get down to choices that really - no, really - capture me?" I stopped "auditioning" and started doing my work while casting people happened to be watching.
I started to get hired. And as a teacher I was inspired to give other actors a chance to breathe and to focus on questions of ownership and joy: How do we begin for real? Can we sit down, and with text analysis that's personal and true, find our own "whys" in the words? Can we build actions that are fun, that pin our concentration and compel us into each arriving moment? Do we have a discipline that unleashes original acting? Can we depend on it, and can we use it to build a character different from us? In short, do we own the work?"
Classes begin March 29 and run to May 13 running 6 Saturdays and 4 Tuesday Evenings- culminating in an evening of scenes and monologues. If you are interested in more information about Charles and his classes you can email him at goforth.centerstage@gmail.com.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
John Adams
It has been a long time since we've seen a historical mini-series on television. It has been even longer since a historical mini-series has had the mainstream push that HBO's miniseries event John Adams has had. The buzz before the show has caused even non-geek excitement about this decidedly unsexy historical figure.
Yes. I said unsexy. John Adams did not exactly cut the most dashing of colonial figures but David McCullough strives to give him, and his extraordinary wife, their due in this mini-series. So far.
I'll admit. I'm leery of bio-pics in general and even more concerned about drama that features such prominent historical figures. So often writers tend to weigh heavily on hyperbole, reverence and/or revulsion when it comes to such subjects. The person(s) in question are usually either overly praised or mercilessly "exposed" for their shortcomings as suits the writer's whim and rarely do I walk away with a sense of the real human. Rather, I tend to walk away with a better understanding of the writer's opinion of the person and the circumstances involved. Drama is not meant to "report", but rather to "retell" and there is a lot of wiggle room in retelling and that can lead to critical distortions of the truth.
Luckily, the first two episodes of this series seem to side-step these land mines. So far the text has yet to exalt or defile the man, but has sought to explore his dilemmas as if they were urgent- not foregone conclusions. We are allowed to empathize with Adams and that empathy is strikingly tempered by the input of his intelligent and insightful wife- Abigail.
Historically speaking, their relationship was an extraordinary partnership of intellectual equals and proves itself more than worthy of exploration by our modern culture awash with all kinds of gender role confusion and conflict. Here is where Giamatti and Linney have earned their salt. Not only have they deftly handled the circumstances of time and place, but they have shattered the expectations and preconceived notions of that time and place. In their hands, John and Abigail are loving and playful with one another in a way that brings the audience beyond the formality of colonial culture and language. Their rapport is deeply personal and the shadows of resentment that flicker through Abigail's eyes as she watches her ambitious beloved leave her to tend to the children and the farm again and again I can only describe as deeply resonant.
I do wonder, however, how much "speechifyin'" from the ornery and loquacious Adams the series can support. At the moment the speeches and the rants are fascinatingly juxtaposed with Adam's insecurity, but can that theme progress from here on out? I do hope that it can, but that is a piece of dramatic gymnastics considering the man's choices as he passes through his life. We will just have to wait and see.
The series is, on the whole, very well cast and well shot by Tak Fujimoto- with the exception of some tiresome hand-held footage during the Boston Massacre, but that can be forgiven. I understand that choice. However, I must make note of an actor who tickles my fancy somewhat these days and that is Tom Wilkinson as the cantankerous Benjamin Franklin. He blows onto the small screen with a wittily dismissive air and overshadows Adams with ease. I am eager to watch this historical relationship and all of its complexity unfold. The small taste I've had has been a delight.
If you haven't seen the first two episodes yet, find a way to catch up. You won't be sorry.
Yes. I said unsexy. John Adams did not exactly cut the most dashing of colonial figures but David McCullough strives to give him, and his extraordinary wife, their due in this mini-series. So far.
I'll admit. I'm leery of bio-pics in general and even more concerned about drama that features such prominent historical figures. So often writers tend to weigh heavily on hyperbole, reverence and/or revulsion when it comes to such subjects. The person(s) in question are usually either overly praised or mercilessly "exposed" for their shortcomings as suits the writer's whim and rarely do I walk away with a sense of the real human. Rather, I tend to walk away with a better understanding of the writer's opinion of the person and the circumstances involved. Drama is not meant to "report", but rather to "retell" and there is a lot of wiggle room in retelling and that can lead to critical distortions of the truth.
Luckily, the first two episodes of this series seem to side-step these land mines. So far the text has yet to exalt or defile the man, but has sought to explore his dilemmas as if they were urgent- not foregone conclusions. We are allowed to empathize with Adams and that empathy is strikingly tempered by the input of his intelligent and insightful wife- Abigail.
Historically speaking, their relationship was an extraordinary partnership of intellectual equals and proves itself more than worthy of exploration by our modern culture awash with all kinds of gender role confusion and conflict. Here is where Giamatti and Linney have earned their salt. Not only have they deftly handled the circumstances of time and place, but they have shattered the expectations and preconceived notions of that time and place. In their hands, John and Abigail are loving and playful with one another in a way that brings the audience beyond the formality of colonial culture and language. Their rapport is deeply personal and the shadows of resentment that flicker through Abigail's eyes as she watches her ambitious beloved leave her to tend to the children and the farm again and again I can only describe as deeply resonant.
I do wonder, however, how much "speechifyin'" from the ornery and loquacious Adams the series can support. At the moment the speeches and the rants are fascinatingly juxtaposed with Adam's insecurity, but can that theme progress from here on out? I do hope that it can, but that is a piece of dramatic gymnastics considering the man's choices as he passes through his life. We will just have to wait and see.
The series is, on the whole, very well cast and well shot by Tak Fujimoto- with the exception of some tiresome hand-held footage during the Boston Massacre, but that can be forgiven. I understand that choice. However, I must make note of an actor who tickles my fancy somewhat these days and that is Tom Wilkinson as the cantankerous Benjamin Franklin. He blows onto the small screen with a wittily dismissive air and overshadows Adams with ease. I am eager to watch this historical relationship and all of its complexity unfold. The small taste I've had has been a delight.
If you haven't seen the first two episodes yet, find a way to catch up. You won't be sorry.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
The Pleasure of Silence
There are certain films I turn to when I want to remember what drives my love for acting. Some of them I watch on purpose. Others I stumble across on TCM and swear I'll only watch this next scene but find I am unable to turn away. These films range in style and subject matter, but the thing that all of these films share is moments of silence.
Not overly dramatic silences. Sometimes the silence is shared between two characters who have just come to an understanding of the circumstances while others babble on about them. Sometimes the silence is merely a beat. Sometimes it is an entire film. That is the case with the 1928 silent classic The Passion of Joan of Arc. With the camera focused on tight close ups of the character's faces throughout you can't help but be pulled in to the very real human drama of a young girl on trial for her life. This film is naked, raw, breathtaking and heartbreaking. Each dilation of the eye, twitch of the cheek and push of the brow cuts to the very center of human emotion. The saint falls away, and we are left with a young girl marked for a painful and tragic death. Haunting.
The Passion of Joan of Arc is an exciting and difficult film. But one does not need to be tortured to experience the pleasures of silence. Last night I watched one of my favorite films, The Apartment with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. This film benefits greatly from one of my favorite directors, Billy Wilder, who understands the power of the unspoken. The script patiently doles out information to the characters and lets them realize what we, the audience, have known all along. Watching Mr. Baxter and Miss Kubilick make their discoveries about one another in the shot gun blasts of silence that riddle this picture is the very definition of sublime. A classic example of Wilder, this film is funny, dark, and touchingly human. When Miss Kubilick blithely hands her broken compact mirror to Mr. Baxter so he can take a look at himself in his new hat he recognizes it as the compact belonging to the woman who has been having an affair with his boss. An affair he had been helping to facilitate by letting his boss use his apartment. The heartbreak falls quickly from his eyebrows to his feet. "Your mirror's broken" he says. "I like it that way. It makes me look the way I feel. " She replies. There's a beat. Neither character fully understands the circumstances of their relationship, but he has just learned something new. In a split second we see his hopes for the future fall apart. She, however, does not realize his affection for her or understand that he has just learned something about her. In that moment you can't help but feel deeply for these two people.
In To Kill a Mockingbird you'll find my all time favorite moment of silence. At the end of the film when we finally see the mysterious and previously frightening Boo Radley behind the bedroom door we get to watch Scout grow years older in a brief moment. A flame of comprehension ignites in her eyes. The world is suddenly a very different place for her and all she says is, "Hey Boo." I get teary just thinking about it.
Casablanca is overflowing with great silent moments. No one does brooding silences like Bogey. Although I think some of my favorite Bogey silences are in a lesser known film with Bogart and Gloria Graham called In a Lonely Place. Bogart plays a charming writer who falls for a beautiful neighbor. Unfortunately, he is suspected of murder. Graham believes Bogey. How could she not? He's so charming and kind, but as professional circumstances and the pressures of the investigation begin to weigh on him, his notorious temper begins to plant the seeds of fear in her mind. In a glorious and horrible twist (which I will not reveal in hopes you will search out this wonderful film!) we find Bogey and Graham staring at one another from across the room and in this silence we know exactly what will happen next even though we never see it. I love that.
Silence can be done badly, however. I find that the silences in The Darjeeling Limited are heavy handed. The scene where the brothers sit in silence with their mother and stare intently at one another is a horrible flashback to acting classes. They are powerful in the context of the classroom, but not in the context of the story. To give Wes Anderson some credit, however, I have to say the suicide sequence in The Royal Tannenbaums is moving and delightful.
Of course, I can't quite end my cataloguing of silences without bringing up that tiny little moment in Harold and Maude when Harold spots the tattooed number on Maude's arm. Neither character ever says a word about it. No one goes into therapy over it. It is a new piece of information that simply becomes a part of the dance between lovers. Isn't that lovely?
It is. It IS lovely, because the fact of the matter is that life is lived so much less in words and expressions than it is in silence. We share moments of silences with loved ones, acquaintances and complete strangers every day. When we are open to them they can be just as liberating, powerful, touching and haunting as they are in the movies. More so. Because at the end of the day- those moments are ours.
Not overly dramatic silences. Sometimes the silence is shared between two characters who have just come to an understanding of the circumstances while others babble on about them. Sometimes the silence is merely a beat. Sometimes it is an entire film. That is the case with the 1928 silent classic The Passion of Joan of Arc. With the camera focused on tight close ups of the character's faces throughout you can't help but be pulled in to the very real human drama of a young girl on trial for her life. This film is naked, raw, breathtaking and heartbreaking. Each dilation of the eye, twitch of the cheek and push of the brow cuts to the very center of human emotion. The saint falls away, and we are left with a young girl marked for a painful and tragic death. Haunting.
The Passion of Joan of Arc is an exciting and difficult film. But one does not need to be tortured to experience the pleasures of silence. Last night I watched one of my favorite films, The Apartment with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. This film benefits greatly from one of my favorite directors, Billy Wilder, who understands the power of the unspoken. The script patiently doles out information to the characters and lets them realize what we, the audience, have known all along. Watching Mr. Baxter and Miss Kubilick make their discoveries about one another in the shot gun blasts of silence that riddle this picture is the very definition of sublime. A classic example of Wilder, this film is funny, dark, and touchingly human. When Miss Kubilick blithely hands her broken compact mirror to Mr. Baxter so he can take a look at himself in his new hat he recognizes it as the compact belonging to the woman who has been having an affair with his boss. An affair he had been helping to facilitate by letting his boss use his apartment. The heartbreak falls quickly from his eyebrows to his feet. "Your mirror's broken" he says. "I like it that way. It makes me look the way I feel. " She replies. There's a beat. Neither character fully understands the circumstances of their relationship, but he has just learned something new. In a split second we see his hopes for the future fall apart. She, however, does not realize his affection for her or understand that he has just learned something about her. In that moment you can't help but feel deeply for these two people.
In To Kill a Mockingbird you'll find my all time favorite moment of silence. At the end of the film when we finally see the mysterious and previously frightening Boo Radley behind the bedroom door we get to watch Scout grow years older in a brief moment. A flame of comprehension ignites in her eyes. The world is suddenly a very different place for her and all she says is, "Hey Boo." I get teary just thinking about it.
Casablanca is overflowing with great silent moments. No one does brooding silences like Bogey. Although I think some of my favorite Bogey silences are in a lesser known film with Bogart and Gloria Graham called In a Lonely Place. Bogart plays a charming writer who falls for a beautiful neighbor. Unfortunately, he is suspected of murder. Graham believes Bogey. How could she not? He's so charming and kind, but as professional circumstances and the pressures of the investigation begin to weigh on him, his notorious temper begins to plant the seeds of fear in her mind. In a glorious and horrible twist (which I will not reveal in hopes you will search out this wonderful film!) we find Bogey and Graham staring at one another from across the room and in this silence we know exactly what will happen next even though we never see it. I love that.
Silence can be done badly, however. I find that the silences in The Darjeeling Limited are heavy handed. The scene where the brothers sit in silence with their mother and stare intently at one another is a horrible flashback to acting classes. They are powerful in the context of the classroom, but not in the context of the story. To give Wes Anderson some credit, however, I have to say the suicide sequence in The Royal Tannenbaums is moving and delightful.
Of course, I can't quite end my cataloguing of silences without bringing up that tiny little moment in Harold and Maude when Harold spots the tattooed number on Maude's arm. Neither character ever says a word about it. No one goes into therapy over it. It is a new piece of information that simply becomes a part of the dance between lovers. Isn't that lovely?
It is. It IS lovely, because the fact of the matter is that life is lived so much less in words and expressions than it is in silence. We share moments of silences with loved ones, acquaintances and complete strangers every day. When we are open to them they can be just as liberating, powerful, touching and haunting as they are in the movies. More so. Because at the end of the day- those moments are ours.
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