“Have you tried 22?”
It’s a long story, but I did not make it as an actor. Despite a great deal of fun as an amateur and a few professional successes, I had a hard time passing auditions or surrendering myself to the ridiculous displays of emotional fluency demanded by directors or workshop leaders. Not only could I not do it, I’d be surprised they’d even ask for such contrivances. Disillusioned and tired of failing at a process I couldn’t respect, I dropped out of the business. It’s one of my life’s great disappointments - if not mysteries: how did I completely miss the boat on the dynamics of storytelling and imagination, subjects near and dear to my heart?
I listen to podcasts when I lift, and once I’m done with my usual John Oliver, NFL commentary, and coronavirus science updates, I branch out into new territory: military history, Malcolm Gladwell, and most recently, film criticism. Approving of the recent version of DUNE, one critic asked, ‘Isn’t it nice when characters are mature adults who make smart and sensible decisions? They actually control their emotions and take time to consider their actions instead of acting like hyperactive teenagers driven by emotions and hormones . . . It seems like a luxury from a bygone era, but it brought me to a pretty interesting conclusion about [modern movies]: they’re written by children for children - or rather, people with the intelligence, attention span, and emotional maturity of children.’
Villains today are lightweights. He compares the coldly efficient Darth Vader to the STAR WARS franchise’s newest embodiment of evil, the brooding, impulsive, conflicted man-child Kylo Ren, incredulous that he’s the best they can come up with.
The real victim in this case becomes the hero, who is only as strong as the villain he or she defeats. If an audience senses that a villain is no real threat, then they’re less invested in the hero and subsequently the story.
When he’s not ‘out in Edinburgh getting absolutely rat-arsed,’ The Critical Drinker, as he calls himself, also rails against poor plotting, which gives way to snarky humor and special effects, the hallmarks of big spectacles but shallow experiences. His theory is that many modern screenwriters come from such sheltered, privileged lives that they simply have no experience with hardship or danger. They have had no contact with tough, stoic, confident, or self reliant people who know how to keep their emotions or behavior under control. The result is an existence in which they thrive being weak, fragile, spoiled, narcissistic, and emotionally insecure. If they know nothing about handling adversity in a constructive manner, then how could they write about it?
These attacks are aimed mainly at the explosion filled STAR WARS and Marvel Comics extravaganzas that barely pass for narrative. A small minority of original, well produced films, TV shows, and plays do exist, where the characters do not veer from one emotional extreme to the next. That’s the world I aspired to be part of, stories that would thrill, amaze, or amuse intelligent audiences. In workshops, as directors demanded that I be more demonstrative, I’d think, In the shows I watch, the actors don’t do that.
I should have had a line ready, like that from the Critical Drinker, when asked why I kept myself from being emotionally volatile: ‘Because that’s how grown fucking men deal with things.’ Some of us completed the process of growing up. Grief, fear, delirious joy, or anxiety are not supposed to be readily accessible for careless juggling.
That kind of response, however worth it, would have just hastened my excusal by directors busy assembling their paint-by-numbers productions. My consolation usually came a few weeks later, when newspaper reviews would attack their cartoonish shows.
The directors never learned. My contempt prevented me from getting gigs.
It wasn’t until these recent podcasts that I realized others that felt the same way.
Try to imagine the response had a director ever dared ask Gene Hackman what emotions he was feeling, or the laughter that would have descended from the casts of GUNS OF NAVARONE, BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI, or GONE WITH THE WIND had someone tried to manipulate their feelings for effect. In CASABLANCA, in quite possibly the most heroic, emotional scene ever committed to film, cafe and casino owner Humphrey Bogart ‘wins’ the money to send a young couple to America, away from the war enveloping Europe. He doesn’t bat an eye. The desperate young bride, overcome with gratitude, holds it together. It’s the audience that’s a mess.
Grown men overcome adversity. Maybe I should get back into it.
