Actor John Giles On Working On The Audition Film

When I was given the script of The Audition to read I was immediately excited at the prospect of working with James again but after reading the script I was surprised to find that the excitement was accompanied by a small amount of anxiety, the ratio of which I would say is like being given a ticket to ride on one of the world’s largest roller coasters. I knew I was going to have the most amazing experience but some fears would need to be overcome along the way.

These concerns were not due to the writing. On the contrary I found the text incredibly concise and poignant such that it touched on nerves that I did not know I had.

Having been on both sides of the audition table I can sympathise with all concerned in this quite stressful ritual.

A “bad audition” can quite often be blown out of proportion in our minds as we search our most vulnerable moments and exaggerate them in retrospect. More often than not the reason for not getting the part is quite minor such as height, hair colour or even postcode rather than not being good enough. Unfortunately most do not get this reassuring feedback so we are left to fill in the blanks with our own insecurities.

I guess that was where I was coming from in my thoughts that if The Audition reached its potential then I would be watching a screen version of a false memory that I had created and hoped would be locked away forever.

The script deliberately does not take a point of view. In fact from the few I knew who had read it I could see that there was a clear divide in who thought the director was at fault and who thought the actor was instead to blame.

I was reassured to find that the shooting was to be perfectly aligned with the script in the telling of two separate stories allowing the viewer to take part rather than be pressed upon. This is partly achieved by the separate shots (the actors never appear together) and also by the acting approach that both parties want a successful outcome.

I found this whole project embodied acting in its purest form. Knowing your initial objective and super objective then setting off with an open mind and allowing intent listening to shape both the mental and the physical. It was pleasing to see the results in terms of the naturally formed dialogue rhythm and body language. The poor communication highlighted on the screen was countered by fantastic communication off screen making the shoot an extremely efficient, enjoyable and rewarding piece to work on.

The Great Acting Blog: "Acting, Ambivalence, & The Creative Urge"

In Marco Ferreri's Tales Of Ordinary Madness, Ben Gazzara plays Charles Serking, an incarnation of Charles Bukowski, upon whose work and life the film is based. Those already familiar with Bukowski, will not be surprised to learn that Gazzara spends most of the film drunk, wandering from one anonymous,dysfunctional sexual encounter to another, and in between times, managing to write some poetry. Here's a quote from the film's voiceover to sum up Gazzara's lifestyle...

“...Back in LA...I could have kissed the ground...I resisted the impulse. Besides, it was drink I craved, and I had to be back in my kind of town...Hollywood. Everyone thinks it's the playground of the stars, but they pushed on years ago. Now it's my kind of place...dangerous...with pimps, whores, no class rip-off artists, and other hard-core turf shattered types entertaining fantasies too desparate to mention...”

Gazzara's life seems to take a turn when he meets and apparently falls in love with the beautiful but self-destructive prostitute, Cass (played heartbreakingly by Ornella Muti). They engage in a stormy on-off relationship, which eventually falls apart. In the end, Gazzara winds up on a beach, drunk, with his head resting upon the navel of a young virgin, spouting poetry. And it is this final image in the film, which has piqued me to write this blog.

Essentially, Tales Of Ordinary Madness is a film about the ambivalence of the artist – on the one hand Gazzara seeks consolation in the oblivion of cheap sex and cheap alcohol, while on the other hand, there is the need to create work, or create poetry in the film's case, and creating that work requires focus and discipline and energy. In the final image of the film, Ferreri seeks to resolve the artist's ambivalence by bringing these disparate aspects together as one, within a single frame, thus creating relief, and closure.

But what can this mean?

I do not believe that having a personal kink makes one a great artist. Dostoyevsky was a gambing addict, but that isn't why he was a great novelist, he was a great novelist because he had a talent for writing. If you develop a gambling addiction, it does not follow that you will become a great writer. Bukowski himself was an alcoholic, but if you remove the alcohol, he should still have been able to write great poetry. There is, however, a key scene in the film, where Gazzara decides he wants to “disappear” for a few days, “become invisible”, so he checks himself into a homeless shelter and hangs out drinking low grade booze with the bums and the bozos. This is clearly the action of a man who cannot cope with the pressure of identity, the pressure of self-consciousness, and so he tries to relieve himself of such pressure by going to a place where he is unknown, and further, where there is no pressure to be anybody. We might then infer, that his alcoholism and anonymous sexual encounters, are also, in general, attempts to unburden himself of self-consciousness, and of identity. So, what then of his art? If the booze and sex compulsions are not a function of making art, then perhaps all three are driven by the same crisis. Perhaps the artist is compelled to make work because he too cannot cope with self-consciousness, and so the same internal crisis sets off, as in the sex addict or alcoholic. The artist loses himself by immersing himself in his work as oppose to narcotics, and so an equilibrium (ie - relief from crisis) is brought about only whilst the artist is working - . Many actors say they act because they want to become someone else, a spurious claim, as I would be hard pushed to convince myself I actually become someone else while performing, but you get the point. It is a fallacy that actors are egomaniacs, infact, the opposite is true, actors spend their lives learning to pare-back their egos in order to play a diverse range of characters, ultimately becoming a blank sheet of paper. It was Alain Delon who said he was only happy while infront of a camera, becoming miserable after the director shouted CUT.

Ferreri's final image of the film then, this bringing together of apparently disparate and conflicting aspects of Gazzara's life, informs us that these aspects are only different because have we have chosen to split up the means by which we resolve our inner tension. Instead of making art, sometimes we seek relief in sex, alcohol, gambling, or whatever it is that will enable us to escape ourselves. However, it's important to remind ourselves that these self-destructive tendencies do not aid us to create work, infact, they hamper our ability to create work because they drain us of artistic energy, wasting it on empty, meaningless escapades. If we learn to eradicate this waste, we may find that we become more prolific, and the standard of our work improves. Our ambivalence however, can never be permanently resolved, but we can ensure it becomes a powerful motor for our work.

The Great Acting Blog: "Gerard Depardieu In Maurice Pialat's Under The Sun Of Satan"

 

Gerard Depardieu plays Dossignan, a rural priest engaged in an intense spiritual struggle, a struggle so demanding it regularly brings Depardieu to ill health, one feels even worse might befall him if he didn't have his Dean, Menou-Segrais (played by Pialat himself) to mentor him. An encounter with Satan leads to a powerful revelation, which compels Depardieu to confront the promiscuous local girl, Mouchette (Sandrine Bonnaire),  about her troubles, an action which ultimately leads to tragedy. Essentially, Under The Sun Of Satan is about the individual's existential struggle, but by coding this struggle as religious in nature, Pialat elevates the film beyond mere drama, beyond the everyday, while at the same time maintaining a surface naturalism, and in so doing, he has presented us with one of the great masterpieces of cinema. However, Pialat could not have accomplished this without Gerard Depardieu in the main role, whose talents are uniquely suited to the form this film takes.

Depardieu is a physically powerful man, it is immediately obvious as soon as we see him on screen, but what makes him interesting is how rarely he employs his physicality as his primary mode of expression – most of the time he is very still, and only moves when necessary, he doesn't use his body to dominate the scene. Depardieu is charismatic for sure, but he is compelling to watch because when he does move or speak, he is so simple and direct, there is no huffing or shuffling of feet, no cod naturalism, he just does it, in the moment: bang,  and this directness can be alarming at times. The point is, Depardieu is a naturally talented actor,  (more and more these days, I think acting is simply a talent), he has a gift, and that is why he is not ponderous in performance: he decides what he is going to do swiftly, and then he just does it. We may call this instinct. Here's Maurice Pialat talking about Depardieu:

“He has a way of understanding things a lot faster than everyone else, which is the mark of intelligence....He's amazing at getting into character, or letting the character get to him. There is this sort of chemistry. I should know how it's done, but I don't know how he does it...when it comes to Gerard, it's just astounding. You don't need to condition Gerard. He's able to look in one direction and joke around with someone, then turn around with a sad expression on his face.”

Yes, we can sum this up as talent. And I'd go along with Pialat's definition of intelligence. While acting is not an intellectual pursuit, I think mental strength and the ability to think quickly are extremely useful qualities for an actor to possess. The other point about natural acting instinct, is how it can so easily be nullified by an insecure director (especially when the instinct belongs to a young and insecure actor) -  an insecure director is one who overburdens the actor with reason – which is in effect a rejection of the acting instinct, a rejection of the instinctive actor (ie – a rejection of the talented actor), and the stodgy, second rate actor is preferred, because the second rate actor can (and most certainly will) explain away every moment and every gesture of their performance - they have conceptualized it, and what you end up with is something closer to a lecture than a performance, and it's dull to watch, so we (the audience) “appreciate” the actor's technique because we've nothing else to be delighted by, but of course, this reassures the director that the actor is not making any “mistakes”,  which is exactly the reassurance the director was seeking in the first place, when he rejected the instinctive actor, in favour of the stodge, conceptual actor. Top tip: there are no mistakes in acting: everything that happens is engendered by the truth of the moment, whether we like it or not, whether it fits our plan or not. It's only the second class actor who treats his performance as a school exam, ticking boxes, avoiding “mistakes”, the first class actor just goes for it courageously, and that is why he is so great to watch (so, the only real question for the actor is whether he wants to be a first or second class actor, and once he has chosen, he may proceed accordingly). The truly talented actor cannot always explain how or why he is acting well, most of the time he doesn't know how or why.* If you asked Depardieu what was happening after shouting CUT, he would just shrug and light up another Gitane. Lets learn to recognise this instinct, this talent for acting, and instead of being intimidated by it, let's nurture it, or it may be lost to us.

As Andre Frossard said of Under The Sun Of Satan, it's a film which wrestles with the great questions of life, of evil, of death, of redemption, and it's a film where bodies are “only instruments of salvation or perdition”. In some respects, we're lucky Depardieu and Pialat found eachother,  and went on to make Under The Sun Of Satan – because this particular film gave Depardieu the opportunity to exercise his talent to it's fullest, and in so doing,  a rare example of the true power of the actor is committed to film.  Depardieu's physical bulk is a red herring, it is the man's spirit we respond to. He offers us an insight into the inner workings of the human soul, and his body is simply an instrument to deliver this insight. In this sense, Depardieu and the film are one. Acting then, in it's very highest form, allows us to observe body and soul working in combination – it's a visceral, emotional, sometimes enlightening experience.

Great actors show us something we cannot see anywhere else.

 

 

*There is the famous story of Laurence Olivier, who came off stage furious after giving a particularly brilliant performance of Othello. Backstage, one of the cast members said; "Larry, why are you so angry, you were brilliant tonight", to wit Olivier replied; "that's exactly why I'm so angry, I haven't got a clue how I did it."

Trailer For Maurice Pialat's Under The Sun Of Satan

Bela Tarr's The Turin Horse - Opening Scene

 

Via Jesse Richards

The Great Acting Blog: "5 Best Performances In Films I Happened To See In 2011"

Here are my 5 selections for this year. I based them on the fact that they piqued me in an unusual way, asked me to re-examine my own work, or I saw something in them that I loved, and wanted to define. I have excluded performances I have already blogged about earlier in the year, and, where possible, I've added the trailer for the film in question. Please feel free to add your favourite performances in the comments section, I'd be fascinated to hear your suggestions. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed Christmas, and I wish ou all the best for 2012. Cheers! James.

 

We Need To Talk About Kevin (Lynne Ramsay)

 I suppose it is something of a cliché to praise Swinton these days, but the truth is, I think she has improved with age. While she has often made bold choices, she's unusual in that she has seemed more committed to cinema in general, rather than her own individual performances. It is only in recent years that she seems to have relaxed about performing. If you look at her earlier work (e.g. - with Derek Jarman) there is an actressiness about her work, as though she was giving a performance in the style of an actress giving a performance, indicating an unease. Nowadays however, she is more committed to her performances, and it shows. Last year's I Am Love was comfortably her best work, but I believe that has been topped by We Need To Talk About Kevin. In the latter film we are seeing a master craftsperson at work, as demonstrated by the sheer breadth of Swinton's expression in the film. She is in an enormous number of scenes, and each require something slightly different from her, and Swinton delivers absolutely. Scene by scene, she gives just what is required, offering subtle variations of action, and she does so with simplicity, discipline and force. Her look of shock when she arrives at her son's school to discover a tragedy, is utterly heartbreaking. This is an epic performance of the very highest calibre, and I offer it as a masterclass of screen acting.

 

LYDIA LEONARD - ARCHIPELAGO

 Archipelago is, in truth, an ensemble piece, about a family who go on holiday to bond, but seething resentments are brought forth instead. Some of the scenes are painfully tense, even when there appears to be nothing happening. But I have chosen Leonard's performance largely because she is the arch protagonist in the film, it's her snooty, reserved, agro sister/daughter, who seems to cause most of the problems. Leonard pitches it perfectly, she possesses a touchiness which creates the impression she could kick off any time. Again, her performance is very precise and controlled, and so, so true: we believe every moment of it, we've met people just like her, and know how torturously problematic they can be, and it is this truth of course, which makes Leonard so painful to watch. Check out the scene in the restaurant where she complains about her food, but complains just a little bit too much. Brilliantly excruciating.

 

ELENA ANAYA - THE SKIN I LIVE IN

 What a surprise and a joy to discover Elena Anaya! Where have you been, and why aren't you an enormous superstar? Anaya has a subtle screen beauty coupled with that odd mixture of strength and vulnerability (think Emmanuelle Beart's younger, more idealistic cousin, less moody). The course qualities are, of course, inherent in the actress herself, but the point is her well ordered technique enables her to give these qualities full expression. Anaya's performance has a real purity to it, free of the desire to manipulate, and these honest intentions are what make her performance seem so refreshing, and compelling to watch.

 

ROGER LIVESAY - A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH

 Thank God for the films of Powell and Pressburger, otherwise we'd have almost no examples of Livesay's work, because he rarely did films, preferring to work on stage. For me, Livesay is one of the actors I measure myself against - his work always stuns me, and causes me to re-examine what it is I am trying to do. Generosity and humility are the qualities that spring to mind when I think of him. So generous with his talent, total commitment, and giving his all to express the moment as fully as he can for us. But his humility is revealed by the fact that he appears to be completely oblivious to how good he is, he's just doing his job. These qualities, combined with supreme skill and the pleasure in his play, make his performances astonishing on screen. Ever performance of his I've seen on screen, has been a masterpiece. Roger Livesay. One of the greatest actors there ever was.

 

JOSEF KRONER - THE SHOP ON MAIN STREET

 Kroner plays Antonin "Tono" Brtko, a lazy and somewhat dim-witted carpenter, living during World War Two in Nazi occupied Slovakia. Kroner is appointed "Aryan Controller" of a rundown button shop, which is managed by and old, deaf Jewish woman (brilliantly played by Ida Kaminska), who doesn't even realise there's a war on. Kroner forms a friendship with the old woman. Kroner's performance in this film is special because of the remarkable way he shows us his character's

ambivalence. There is a scene where all the Jews in the town are being rounded up in the market square, to be sent way to labour camps, and this happens literally infront of Kroner's shop window. However, Kroner has decided that the Nazi's are not going to take the old lady away, so he hides her away in the back room of the shop. The mounts on Kroner as he sits in the shop, while outside, the names of each Jew are read out in preparation for transportation. The scene really does become more and more agonising with every name that is called out. The pressure brings Kroner almost to breaking point, and the genius is how, in this fever pitch moment, Kroner alternates between wanting to protect the old woman, and wanting to give her up to make himself safe. He reveals this inner conflict to us by continually flipping between two conflicting actions, which creates the idea that he is wrestling with himself, with his own nature (which of course he is). Kroner's performance in The Shop On Main Street is a wonderful example of how an actor can express something deeply complex, by performing simple actions.

The Great Acting Blog: "Flipping Between Mindsets"

Before I head back to Ireland to complete filming on Rouzbeh Rashidi's HE (which is going to be an utterly sublime feature, by the way), I intend to squeeze in a quickie short film, called Phone Box Gun. It'll be a Kaurismakian film noir, about a jewellery heist, where I'll finally get the chance to wave a Beretta about and wear a false beard, and further, just because I enjoy making life difficult, I'll also be directing the film aswell as acting in it.

Whenever I've tried my hand at filmmaking in the past, I've gone into it with too aggressive a mindset, which I think is inappropriate. An aggressive mindset is very good for acting (or, indeed, writing) because acting requires short bursts of heightened intensity, which are generated in the moment of performance. Filmmaking, I believe, requires a slow burn kind of energy – a filmmaker needs to be able to function consistently well over the period of time of the shoot, making many decisions, being alive to mishaps. The filmmaker is required to manage other people, which means he needs to ensure he is available for them, and create conditions whereby they can work happily.The filmmaker is at the centre of everything, all eyes are on him. The actor need only concern himself with himself, and the singular act of his performance, and all of his attention is dedicated to that, he need not multi-task – and that's just the way most actors like it,  because most actors are minimalists, it's the philosopher aspect of their work, favouring clarity and simplicity (this becomes very evident when actors move behind the camera), however, this is not a pre-requisite for the job, but certainly a common trait I have witnessed. It's also worth noting that a relaxed body and mind is crucial to the actor's work, and so another reason why they don't want to be pre-occupied with anything else. The poor filmmaker is often under stress, as he skits around, trying to keep all the plates spinning. The life of the actor sounds positively leisurely in comparison to that of the filmmaker, which of course it is, apart from that battle with the awesome which takes place during the performance (I've met more than one director who started out as an actor, but switched because they could not cope with the pressure of the performance). Acting requires a laser-like in-the-moment precision, and to deliver that requires immense discipline, mental strength, and self-control, all difficult, improved only over a long period of practice. Directors need a certain kind of generosity, a magnanimity, because they are handling different personalities, with differing talents – a director needs, to a certain extent, a big tent, whereas actors needs only a sleeping bag. 

To be a filmmaker requires a certain kind of humility: he is responsible for everything, yet much of the production is out of his control. Setting up the shot may take time, it may not go according to plan, but the key is to accept this state of affairs, not grind against it, which will only lead to fatigue and a diminishment in the quality of the work. It's also being aware that everybody else is doing their best, and it is upto the filmmaker to be able to articulate what he wants in a way that is useful and practical to the person he is speaking too. Much of this then, is a preparation issue, being ready to explain yourself, being ready to communicate – if the filmmaker cannot articulate himself properly, he should refrain altogether, and let cast and crew go about their work. I think this is the  aspect I need to work on most. I find managing people to be tedious, which is why I prefer to work with independent types, who think for themselves and take their work seriously, just getting on with it. Also, so much of acting is about energy conservation, and articulating what you want is energy draining. Therefore, directing and acting in the same production, requires compartmentalisation,  flipping between the two mindsets as and when. The point is, committing totally to the scene when acting in it, then, when the scene is over, stepping out of it, and looking at it with a director's eye. 

On Phone Box Gun, I intend to be more relaxed about how the production will unfold, and flip flop more consciously between the mindsets of actor and director, as oppose to jumbling it all together, and pushing it through by force of will. Hopefully, this adjustment to my previous approach, will lead to greater productivity, and ultimately serve the film better.