Sunday, March 8, 2009

Short and Sweet

So how ‘bout them Oscars, eh?

There you have seven more syllables of coverage than I planned to impart. Mindful of those hallowed, hollowed words, “If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all,” I’ve said precious little on the subject of Hollywood’s preeminent circle jerk. Ah, but if forcibly induced to praise one element of the voters’ conduct, I would point to their uncommonly equitable extraction of two performances that, from a timechecker’s standpoint, lie somewhere between “cameo” and “sub-supporting role.” Doubt’s Viola Davis and Revolutionary Road’s Michael Shannon had roughly a dozen minutes apiece—the length of time it takes Hugh Grant to clear his throat—yet they managed to generate two of the year’s most galvanizing creations. Davis’s single scene in Doubt was a Big Scene, and was lamentably edited as such, but the volcanic brunt of her talent reaches the screen with near-negligible dilution. Denied the luxury of a character arc, she handily and unfussily does without one, arriving on cue fully formed and formidably layered. For all the sturm and drang over alleged misconduct, the party whose reactions resonate most is neither assailant nor exponent, but attestant. Her scene is a movie in miniature, and it proves to be far richer than the one encasing it.

Shannon’s project is perhaps even more formidable. With two short scenes and no histrionics, he’s required to personify candor in a landscape of self-deception. If the Joker was an agent of chaos, John Givings is an agent of authenticity—a man whose penchant for truth casts him out of the order that aches for his vision. In the same way Givings renounces any compulsion to play a role in life, Shannon eschews crazy-sane mannerisms and extrudes dialogue with the precision and impact of heat-seeking missiles. We believe in the “hopeless emptiness” of postwar suburbia not because the screenwriter spells out its ubiquity, but because Shannon points an impassioned finger in its direction and chillingly asserts his pity for its heirs.

Would these turns have forged deeper impressions if they'd been granted more time in the spotlight? Hardly so; I might even argue the opposite. Sometimes one or two-scene roles reverberate on the grounds of their brevity. Just look at the record. In mere minutes they can be iconic (Alec Baldwin’s corporate motivator in Glengarry Glen Ross) or ironic (Christopher Walken, name your poison), sublime (Gene Hackman’s blind Samaritan in Young Frankenstein) or ridiculous (John Wayne, claiming the last word as the Roman centurion in The Greatest Story Ever Told). I confess to a special fondness for Dean Stockwell’s “Ben” in Blue Velvet, a performance that covers all bases in equal measure. Introduced as “suave,” perhaps the one adjective simultaneously vague and redolent enough to convey a sense of his bearing, he delivers an outrageous pantomime to Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams,” projecting the zonked-out vacancy of a man whose delights extend well beyond the drugs he procures from Frank (Dennis Hopper), but also the urgency of one who’s oddly equipped to preside over a moveable feast of debasement. He may look like a clown, but it’s his circus. Brother, suave ain’t the half of it.

So again I open the floor to debate: Which portrayals of limited scope have struck the most clangorous chords?


3NT said...

I'm not sure if it's in the precise spirit of the cameos you describe here, but in terms of "portrayals of limited scope," I feel compelled to throw in my lot with John Doe from Se7en. The way Kevin Spacey captures this figure of inhuman dogmatism—who still manages to retain a rational foothold in our world, and is all the more frightening for it—really just flattens me. He is the projection of everything that Detective Mills (Brad Pitt) must disavow to maintain the coherence of his straightforward liberal-moralistic worldview. We will never know "what happened" to John Doe to turn him into the monster we see in the back seat of the police car, cooing to Mills about the disingenuousness of simply writing him off as "insane." One thing is certain, though: backstory would not matter in John Doe's case. We will never understand him; he defies all registers of "understanding." He embodies such defiance. He is a two-legged disruption of liberalism; he lives and breathes intolerance, and does so ecstatically. The scene after he has voluntarily given himself up, when he is sitting in the interrogation room seeping his tea, will haunt us forever. He looks into the two-way mirror and his lip curls slightly—into an incorrigibly deviant, self-satisfied smile. And we know realize the truth, perhaps more so than anytime else in film, of Nietzsche's famous words: when you stare into the abyss, the abyss does, indeed, stare back at you.

Also, and in a similar vein, Barry (Jack Black) from High Fidelity—another momentous role of "limited scope."

harrylime said...

Spot on. I'd like to believe the awards Spacey claimed for The Usual Suspects belong as much to John Doe as to Verbal Kint. Not that Verbal is anything less than a tour de force, but it's humbling to consider that these two personages, so imperative to modern cinema, were rendered by the same actor in the same year. You leave me nothing to say about Doe, so we'll just let him speak for himself:

"Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention."

harrylime said...

Oh yeah, we should hear from Barry too...

Customer: Hi, do you have "I Just Called To Say I Love You"? It's for my daughter's birthday.

Barry: Yeah, we have it.

Customer: Great, great, can I have it then?

Barry: No, no, you can't.

Customer: Why not?

Barry: Well, it's sentimental tacky crap, that's why not. Do we look like the kind of store that sells "I Just Called to Say I Love You"? Go to the mall.

Customer: What's your problem?

Barry: Do you even know your daughter? There's no way she likes that song! Oh, oh, is she in a coma?

3NT said...

Barry: Holy shite. What the fuck is that?

Dick: It's the new Belle and Sebastian...

Rob: It's a record we've been listening to and enjoying, Barry.

Barry: Well, that's unfortunate, because it sucks ass.

3NT said...

One more minimally-scoped-but-maximally-resonant character behind whom I feel obliged to throw my pseudo-scholarly weight: Fenster from The Usual Suspects.

Interrogation Cop: What are you saying?

Fenster: I said he'll flip you.

Interrogation Cop: He'll what?

Fenster: Flip you. Flip ya for real.

Oh, Benecio. I could listen to you speak humorous not-quite-English all day long.