The Parnassus Times

April 17, 2008

The List is Life: #80

80.

The Dame;

Marcia Cross.

Acting since her early 20s, Marcia Cross spent the first decade of her career working mainly bit parts on television before establishing herself on Melrose Place in 1992. After 5 years on the show she departed and returned back to the point she had been at before, appearing on such shows as Seinfeld, Spin City, Ally McBeal and King of Queens, before in 2004 she landed the role that put her on the map in a whole new way. For her role in Desperate Housewives, Cross has garnered Emmy, Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild nominations. Though often overlooked in favour of her more  actorly, kookier or aestherically pleasing co-stars, Cross has proved from the very start that she is on a different planet all together. Balancing the comedic and the dramatic in perfect equilibrium, she stole the shows first season out from under the noses of everybody around her, with her pitch perfect delivery of every line and the extreme emotive powers of those enchanting eyes. For 20 years she paid her dues, and finally she’s making it count, embedding her Bree Van de Kamp upon the minds of all that bear witness to her.

The Dude;

James Gandolfini.

James Gandolfini began acting in his late 20s, his first screen role coming in 1987. The first decade of his screen career seemed to be generally built around his look, he spent most of his time playing heavies in films like True Romance and Get Shorty. His most substantial film roles both came in 2001 with supporting work in The Mexican in which he straight up stole the whole show from the two A-list superstars at the films heart with his heartfelt turn as a gay hitman. That same year he also worked with the Coen brothers in The Man Who Wasn’t There, for the first time playing a man more concerned with business than brawling and played the character with a slightly lecherous, but whole heartedly enthusiastic vigour. Yet there is no denying that what he is most known for is as the head of one of the most popular television shows in history. As Tony Soprano, Gandolfini rocked audiences as he took the character from one level to the next, charming, loving, amiable, astute, amoral, vicous, conniving. He was the loving father, the ruthless businessman, the venomous gangster and the troubled middle aged man. Serving as a figure of identification for working men everywhere, Gandolfini managed to portray both the human that we all know, and the monster that we are enraptured by, both with absolute sincerity. Over the shows 8 year run he embedded that into the publics conscience, where it will never be forgotten. He was an everyman, but he was something more, and thats what made him unforgettable.

The Director;

Arthur Penn.

After establishing himself in the 1950s as a television director, Arthur Penn moved into movies with The Left Handed Gun, an adaptation of Gore Vidal’s play, a Billy the Kid picture starring Paul Newman, portraying the notorious outlaw as the  emotionally troubled youth that he was. 4 years later came the adapting of another play, William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker, chronicling teacher Anne Sullivan’s relationship with Helen Keller. The film was, as its tagline stated “An emotional earthquake”, it landed Academy Awards for both it’s leading ladies, Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke. After this great success he took a 180 degree turn in taking the helm of the surreal, nouvelle-vague influenced Mickey One, a darkly atmospheric, dream-like tale of paranoia. The next year he got topical with The Chase, a state of the nation piece, dealing with the issues of violence, racism and corruption, running through American society. However it was the next year that he put his name on the map once and for all, with Bonnie & Clyde, as with his last two pictures this was influenced once more by the French new wave and more than anything dealt with the countries disenchanted youth. Set during the depression of the 30s but dealing with the issues of the counterculture age that was sweeping the nation. Bonnie & Clyde was the sparkplug that set off the reformation of American cinema and it was Arthur Penn, his European influences reinvigorating American film and with a finger on the pulse of the nation, concerned with its problems and with giving a voice to its youth, that stood of the forefront of that movement and solidified his place in history.

The Picture;

Rocky (John G. Avildsen, 1976)

If there is one word to describe this film, it’s American, if there is another, it’s fairytale. Rocky is an American fable, and in a decade that had been almost entirely dominated by a new kind of cynicism and bitter venom flowing through the veins of American cinema, it’s coming on the 200 year anniversary of its nations independence was a breath of fresh air. At its heart it is nothing more than a male take on the Cinderella story; of a down on his luck nobody, mixed up with the wrong people, and his one shot at something grander. It is a portrayal of that much talked of American dream, of a mans determination to make it, and the lengths he goes to and the obstacles that he overcomes to get to where he needs to be. Rocky is a character very much of his time, a symbol of the changing world, hulking yet simple and uncertain of his place in the world. Sylvester Stallone creates an icon in the centre of it all, quiet and good at heart, but capable of brutality when need be, a man seemingly at peace with his place in the world yet always dreaming of something more. Not only does Stallone create a beautifully simplistic character on screen (displaying thespian abilities, that make one mourn what could have been, had Hollywood superstardom not come calling), but as writer of the film he brings the working class neighbourhood vividly and romantically to life. In this film (marred somewhat by its sequels) the message is straightforward and simple as it’s titular character; a man with little in the way of prospects yearns to prove himself, a man looked down on by all those around him, seeks to show just what he’s made of, to all the world, on the grandest stage of them all. Winning is never his aim, it’s all in the name of pride.

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February 10, 2008

I Want To Rule and Never, Ever Explain Myself.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — cigarettesalesman @ 3:26 pm

 

 

How many times has the tale been told? A shy introverted boy, a social outsider, the upper class son of a poet-laureate, half Jewish/half Irish, growing up in the tough streets of Greenwich, England. A figure of fun whose alienation from those around him leads to the hasty mastering of the local accent, local mannerisms. The first signs of convincing performance that would later help him to delve deeper than any before him had ever dared to go in the development of characters more wholly embodied than the medium had ever seen in its hundred year history.

 

“I came from the educated middle class but I identified with the working classes. Those were the people I looked up to. The lads whose fathers worked on the docks or in shipping yards or were shopkeepers. I knew that I wasn’t part of that world, but I was intrigued by it. They had a different way of communicating. People who delight in conversation are often using that as a means to not say what is on their minds. When I became interested in theater, the work I admired was being done by working-class writers. It was often about the inarticulate. I later saw that same thing in Robert DeNiro’s early work – it was the most sublime struggle of a man trying to express himself. There was such poetry in that for me”.

 

Daniel Day-Lewis was born rightwise to the world of cinema. Grandson of Sir Michael Balcon, one of the founding fathers of British cinema who could have denied the young mans right to enter the realms of celluloid? Yet growing up in the age of Olivier’s Gielgud’s, Redgrave’s and Jacobi’s, young English actors of the era were expected to ply their trade upon the stage, delving into the world of Shakespeare, a million miles from the world he dreamed of.

 

“I saw Taxi Driver five or six times in the first week, and I was astonished by its sheer visceral beauty. I just kept going back – I didn’t know America, but that was a glimpse of what America might be, and I realized that, contrary to expectation, I wanted to tell American stories.”

 

Over those formative years he played the title role in a stage production of Dracula, and took on the part of Romeo in Romeo and Juliet with the Royal Shakespeare Company, a role he later came to detest, a character who he came to sum up as a “wanker”.

 

“Where I come from, it was a heresy to say you wanted to be in movies, leave alone American movies. We were all encouraged to believe that the classics of the theater were the fiery hoops through which you’d have to pass if you were going to have any self-esteem as a performer. It never occurred to me that that was the case. One of the great privileges of having grown up in a middle-class literary English household, but having gone to school in the front lines in Southeast London, was that I became half-street-urchin and half-good-boy at home. I knew that dichotomy was possible. England is obsessed with where you came from, and they are determined to keep you in that place, be it in a drawing room or in the gutter. The great tradition of liberalism in England is essentially a sponge that absorbs all possibility of change”.

 

It was around this time that his screen career began to take off; controversy was there from the start as he played one half of a gay, bi-racial couple in Stephen Frears small, gritty British flick, My Beautiful Launderette. That same year he performed at the other end of the spectrum, playing the snooty, upper class Cecil Vyse in Merchant-Ivory’s major production of E.M Forster’s A Room with a View. The former embodied the world he yearned to be a part of, the latter, the world he was a part of and sought to escape.

 

[on Five Easy Pieces] “Jack Nicholson is sublime in that film, just sublime. It’s the most stultifying portrait of middle-class life. You want to flee from that world and head anywhere less civilized. Which is, of course, the appeal of the West: It’s not tamed yet”.

 

“Why would I want to play middle-aged middle-class Englishmen”?

 

 It was two years later, in 1987 that the first signs began to emerge of the man we know today. On the set of Philip Kaufman’s adaptation of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Day-Lewis learned to speak Czech, and refused to break character for the entirety of the eight month shoot.

 

“It’s really about the sense of joy you have in having worked hard to imagine and discover and – one hopes – to create a world, an illusion of a world that other people might believe in because you believe in it yourself, a form of self-delusion. After achieving that, it seems far crazier to jump in and out of that world that you’ve gone to such pains to create. And it wouldn’t be my wish to do that, because I enjoy being in there”.

 

Then in 1989 came the breakthrough, playing Hamlet on stage at the National Theatre he collapsed on stage in the middle of the characters confrontation with the ghost of his father. Sobbing uncontrollably he walked from the stage and refused to return, some labeled it exhaustion, other more outlandish theories spoke of him having seen the ghost of his father. Whichever version of events one chooses to believe, the point we reach in the end is undeniably the same, here is a man who gives nothing less than 100% to every part he plays. Not since that night has Daniel Day-Lewis appeared on stage, and it is highly unlikely that he ever will again.

 

“For a few years at school I tried to play the roles they wanted me to play, but it became less and less interesting to ponce around the place. Even now, when I sometimes think of doing a play, I think of rehearsal rooms and people hugging and everyone talking over cups of coffee because they are nervous. It’s both very touching and it makes me a little nauseous and claustrophobic. Too much talk. I don’t rehearse at all in film if I can help it. In talking a character through, you define it. And if you define it, you kill it dead”.

 

Yet thanks to accomplishments that year Day-Lewis was put in a position where by he would never again have to return to the medium from which he had fled. Playing the part of Christy Brown in Jim Sheridan’s My Left Foot landed the 32 year old an Oscar. The pinnacle of screen acting had been reached, he had conquered the mountain and would never have to venture to realms of disinterest again. Day-Lewis’ process has gained him a great deal of notoriety. Refusing to leave his wheelchair on the set of My Left Foot, determined to experience all aspects of Christy Brown’s life, he broke two ribs from sitting hunched in the wheelchair for so many weeks.

 

For The Last of the Mohicans he underwent weight training, lived off the land his character inhabited, learned to track and skin animals, built a canoe, and perfected the use of the rifle he carried with him at all times.

 

The next year he re-teamed with Jim Sheridan for In the Name of the Father, losing a substantial amount of weight, spending time in a prison cell and insisting that crew members throw water at, and verbally abuse him.

 

For 1997’s The Boxer he trained for 2 years with former professional boxing champion, Barry McGuigan.

 

After a three year absence from the craft Day-Lewis returned with a monstrous performance in Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York, his preparation included working as an apprentice butcher, listening to Eminem each day on set to enter into his characters angry, self righteous frame of mind and refusing to wear warm clothing during cold weather due to his complete dedication to authenticity, an act that lead to him being diagnosed with pneumonia and having to seek medical treatment.

 

In 2004, during the filming of his wife’s film The Ballad of Jack and Rose, Day-Lewis lived separately from his family for the duration of the shoot in order to capture his characters isolation.

 

“The intention is always the same. To try to discover life in its entirety, or at least create for yourself the illusion that you have, which might give you some chance of convincing other people of it. It’s the same thing each time, but it requires totally different work in the process of achieving that. You are set on a path that’s strewn with obstacles, but getting over them is the joy of the work. So it’s impossible to think in terms of difficulty: it all seems utterly impossible, but the pleasure is in trying to forge ahead anyway”.

 

Day-Lewis has oft been criticized for his process, for taking things further than many believe they need to be taken. Yet acting at its heart is nothing more than the embodiment of a character and the only difference between Day-Lewis and his critics is the extent of that embodiment.

 

“I like to learn about things. It was just a great time trying to conceive of the impossibility of that thing. I didn’t know anything about mining at the turn of the century in America. My boarding school in Kent didn’t exactly teach that”.

 

Here is a man who commits entirely to his character for the entirety of his shoot. A man who does away with his natural self and literally morphs into another. Some actors begin performing at “action” and finish at “cut”, Day-Lewis is no different, only he refuses to break the illusion between takes. He is not so much an actor of movie roles as a creator of characters. A man who transforms into others so fully in order that he may fully comprehend who he is, and by extension allow his audience to understand the world in which he is existing.

 

“It’s not that I want to pull the shutters down. It’s just that people have such a misconception about what it is I do. They think the character comes from staying in the wheelchair or being locked in the jail or whatever extravagant thing they choose to focus their fantasies on. Somehow, it always seems to have a self-flagellatory aspect to it. But that’s just the superficial stuff. Most of the movies that I do are leading me toward a life that is utterly mysterious to me. My chief goal is to find a way to make that life meaningful to other people”.

 

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