Trailer for Ralph Fiennes' Coriolanus

The Audition short film - Promo Clip

The Great Acting Blog: "The Audition Lowdown" Check out a clip from the film, above.   For those unfamiliar with the film, The Audition is about an actor, Tony Wallis, who is being seen for a part in a play. He breaks the ice with his interviewer then starts to speak the lines of the play, and it's here that Tony's problems start. Each time he speaks the first line, the director interjects to explain that Tony is not saying the line correctly, before repeating back to Tony how he wants it said. The trouble is, Tony can discern no difference between the way he is saying it and the director's way, but instead of speaking up, he pretends that he can discern a difference, in order to please the director. I described the film (charmingly I thought) as a “tragedy of manners”, because it is essentially a tragedy in the sense that Tony brings about his own downfall through his own choices*, and of manners because on the surface the two characters, bound by the professional behaviour of their trade, appear to be trying to give eachother what they want (it is more normal for the objectives of the protagonists to butt against eachother). The script is very slight and gentle – had I sent it out into the commercial world, it would probably would have been fed into the sausage grinding machine – and therefore I knew the visual aesthetics needed to be pared down, minimal, in order for the tension of the scene to manifest itself. Co-incidentally (or perhaps not), this is just the kind of cinema I love, and so the film is made up of static, frontal shots, and I tried to find a simple formalism for each. Similarly, the script itself is formalized, with a great deal of repetition, but it's also disciplined and precise, the dialogue appears to be naturalistic at first glance, but each line becomes almost like a mantra as the scene unfolds. I love this deliberateness in conjunction with the minimalism,  the film becomes simultaneously flat and theatrical as a result. And with the sound, I had wanted this hissing background noise which I think gives it that quality of someone-just-turned-on-the-camera-by-mistake. And so to the acting. I have self-directed myself many times, and do so even when working with a director – I believe it's crucial for all actors to develop this ability to look objectively at their work, in the same way a painter or a carpenter may look at theirs, and make adjustments accordingly.** The Audition is a fiddly, technical script for an actor, largely because the action alters almost line by line, and you have to be alive in the scene all the time, you have to listen and pay attention to your scene partner, you cannot just turn up with your mapped out characterization, kick back and knock the lines out. No sir. Well yes, you could do that but then you'd generalise the scene, and as I said above, there would consequently be nothing on the screen to look at, the nuances upon which the scene depend, will have been rubbed out - then you haven't got a film. So, what you need to do is stick to very disciplined lines of actions, and focus completely on doing the action throughout the scene. Whilst doing that of course, you're focussed on what your scene partner is doing, because what he is doing will determine what you will do next (note – this may not be in line with your careful planning – deal with it, that's the whole point), everything you do is in response to what your scene partner is doing, and in service to your action. What your performance effectively becomes, is a moment-to-moment improvisation (within the strictures of the text – when there is one), continually working out the best way to accomplish your action within the reality of the scene (ie – as it actually unfolds in performance, not as you rehearsed it). You obviously need to be switched on in order to do this, it's challenging and scary, but it means that your acting will be full, you'll express yourself with all your body and personality, every gesture, every inflection, will be true, provocative and various. I would like to explore further the notion of people within a professional context, I.e.- scenes like The Audition, where the character may be feeling all kinds of emotions under the surface, but is bound by  professionalism to maintain self-control, and continue to go through the motions of a business meeting, even when the character clearly isn't getting what he wants. I think this situation creates a very interesting tension, an ambivalence is brought forth, and watching someone wrestle to keep his professional dignity in place is interesting, it also helps to create that "theatrical flatness" (or, "flat theatricality") I was talking about. Similarly, in terms of the visual aesthetic, I would like to develop further the notion of deliberateness with simplicity, within a naturalistic setting. Next month, I hope to do another script of mine, Phone Box Gun, which is a short film noir, so perhaps I will be able to employ these ideas there.   * all the way through the film Tony thinks he is doing the right things in order to get what he wants, but he is finally frustrated from accomplishing his goal by these self same actions. ** On the subject of actor's self-direction, it's worth reminding ourselves that Sir John Gielgud directed a production of King Lear, with himself in the title role, when he was aged just 25. Originally posted in The Great Acting Blog. Www.thegreatactingblog.posterous.com

The Great Acting Blog: "The Audition Lowdown"

Check out a clip from the film, above.

 

For those unfamiliar with the film, The Audition is about an actor, Tony Wallis, who is being seen for a part in a play. He breaks the ice with his interviewer then starts to speak the lines of the play, and it's here that Tony's problems start. Each time he speaks the first line, the director interjects to explain that Tony is not saying the line correctly, before repeating back to Tony how he wants it said. The trouble is, Tony can discern no difference between the way he is saying it and the director's way, but instead of speaking up, he pretends that he can discern a difference, in order to please the director. I described the film (charmingly I thought) as a “tragedy of manners”, because it is essentially a tragedy in the sense that Tony brings about his own downfall through his own choices*, and of manners because on the surface the two characters, bound by the professional behaviour of their trade, appear to be trying to give eachother what they want (it is more normal for the objectives of the protagonists to butt against eachother). The script is very slight and gentle – had I sent it out into the commercial world, it would probably would have been fed into the sausage grinding machine – and therefore I knew the visual aesthetics needed to be pared down, minimal, in order for the tension of the scene to manifest itself. Co-incidentally (or perhaps not), this is just the kind of cinema I love, and so the film is made up of static, frontal shots, and I tried to find a simple formalism for each. Similarly, the script itself is formalized, with a great deal of repetition, but it's also disciplined and precise, the dialogue appears to be naturalistic at first glance, but each line becomes almost like a mantra as the scene unfolds. I love this deliberateness in conjunction with the minimalism,  the film becomes simultaneously flat and theatrical as a result. And with the sound, I had wanted this hissing background noise which I think gives it that quality of someone-just-turned-on-the-camera-by-mistake.

And so to the acting. I have self-directed myself many times, and do so even when working with a director – I believe it's crucial for all actors to develop this ability to look objectively at their work, in the same way a painter or a carpenter may look at theirs, and make adjustments accordingly.** The Audition is a fiddly, technical script for an actor, largely because the action alters almost line by line, and you have to be alive in the scene all the time, you have to listen and pay attention to your scene partner, you cannot just turn up with your mapped out characterization, kick back and knock the lines out. No sir. Well yes, you could do that but then you'd generalise the scene, and as I said above, there would consequently be nothing on the screen to look at, the nuances upon which the scene depend, will have been rubbed out - then you haven't got a film. So, what you need to do is stick to very disciplined lines of actions, and focus completely on doing the action throughout the scene. Whilst doing that of course, you're focussed on what your scene partner is doing, because what he is doing will determine what you will do next (note – this may not be in line with your careful planning – deal with it, that's the whole point), everything you do is in response to what your scene partner is doing, and in service to your action. What your performance effectively becomes, is a moment-to-moment improvisation (within the strictures of the text – when there is one), continually working out the best way to accomplish your action within the reality of the scene (ie – as it actually unfolds in performance, not as you rehearsed it). You obviously need to be switched on in order to do this, it's challenging and scary, but it means that your acting will be full, you'll express yourself with all your body and personality, every gesture, every inflection, will be true, provocative and various.

I would like to explore further the notion of people within a professional context, I.e.- scenes like The Audition, where the character may be feeling all kinds of emotions under the surface, but is bound by  professionalism to maintain self-control, and continue to go through the motions of a business meeting, even when the character clearly isn't getting what he wants. I think this situation creates a very interesting tension, an ambivalence is brought forth, and watching someone wrestle to keep his professional dignity in place is interesting, it also helps to create that "theatrical flatness" (or, "flat theatricality") I was talking about. Similarly, in terms of the visual aesthetic, I would like to develop further the notion of deliberateness with simplicity, within a naturalistic setting. Next month, I hope to do another script of mine, Phone Box Gun, which is a short film noir, so perhaps I will be able to employ these ideas there.

 

* all the way through the film Tony thinks he is doing the right things in order to get what he wants, but he is finally frustrated from accomplishing his goal by these self same actions.

** On the subject of actor's self-direction, it's worth reminding ourselves that Sir John Gielgud directed a production of King Lear, with himself in the title role, when he was aged just 25.

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