[Part 3 of my Screened Narrative series. For parts 1 and 2 dealing with the screenplay and director, respectively, click here and here]
Previously, we looked at the pivotal role played by the director in creating a movie or television series. As maestro of the production set, directors weave their clamorous charges through peaks and valleys to lift the still images and stock archetypes of the screenplay into the dynamic, organic flow of narrative time which defines both the silver and small screens. But every choir contains its star soloist, and while directors hold the ultimate reins no matter who else joins them, the only other set piece in the grand film chessboard to match or surpass them in audience recognition is the acting crew. Moviegoers are enamored with “stars,” those lucky few whose performances on screen elevates them to a form of immortality envied by even the great Taoist sages.
But what makes a good actor or actress? Or, more specifically, what qualities should actors possess to best bring the characters of the screenplay and in the director’s vision to life? Acting is the most mercurial and elusive element of the film team, and so cannot be spied through a single one-size-fits-all filter. Only when we step back and see the full panoramic spectrum of the craft can we truly appreciate those who stand on the other side of the curtain rise.
Contributor 3: The Actors
Many are under the misconception that because they have seen so many movies they understand acting. Developing an eye for performance is difficult and requires hard work, diligent study, and possibly acting classes, and even some acting to fully understand the craft. - Jeremiah Comey
The quote above highlights the inherent difficulty of pegging down the meat and potatoes of this most slippery of performance crafts. As the most visible element of the cinema creation process, actors draw our eye and move the narrative along. Characters are the vehicles within a story; whether as avatars, inserts, or objects of voyeuristic glee, few stories stand in the absence of characters. Naturally, you’d expect this to place actors at the very nexus of on-set importance, right?
Well, yes and no.
A lot depends on what approach you take on the matter. Actors, especially strong leads, evoke intensely personal and psychological responses from an audience that even the most artistically manipulative directors and cinematographers can barely elicit. This means that opinions on acting vary based on audience connection, star charisma, and the various methods and schools which buttress the profession. Due to this inherent complexity, the usual straightforward and linear-logical approach I tend to take with this series will fall short.
Instead, I’ll take a look at the ways through which both the audience and filmmakers view acting and connect to actors based on the role and expectations placed on them. To form a complete picture of what acting means to the business of screened entertainment, I’ve split its function in the production into three parts, each corresponding to a different aspect of acting's je ne sais quoi: the actor as extension of the director’s will, represented by the film or television extra; the actor as character conjurer, best typified by the professional thespian; and lastly, the actor as mirror of the audience’s social and psychological expectations, reflected in the charisma and persona of the movie star.
Living Props
What can be said about extras and amateur non-professionals in a production? They seem inconsequential, usually have little to no speaking roles, and are as nameless and forgettable as a stone in an English poppy field. They’re hardly what comes to mind when you think “actor,” and yet no film or tv studio set would be complete without them. Extras, in fact, form the foundation stone of the acting pyramid through one simple fact: they remind us that actors persist at the behest of the director.
Recall that while directors and screenwriters share a shaky equality in the production process, everyone else on the set dances to the tune of the one literally calling the shots. To embrace acting at its bare bones means to look at what the director demands from it. For one, actors create a sense of place; they are, in this strictly utilitarian sense, extensions of the director’s command of location and space. As a corollary, these additional faces in the crowd also add a sense realism to a scene. These are two vital pieces of the creative process that rarely get mentioned in a script beyond a minor footnote, and yet can change the tone and color of a film sequence. A restaurant with only two people at any time but the witching hour looks and feels unnatural, and unless that’s what the filmmaker’s going for, the audience will tell that something’s “off,” even if they can’t put it into words. As extras, as actors, these anonymous groups add a much needed depth and volume.
Besides film extras and their underappreciated value, the non-professional performer exists as another category of the “actor-as-director’s-prop” enterprise. They differ from extras in their ability to command the camera’s attention for a while, or even have speaking lines. They add another value to the screen: authenticity. Authenticity is no mere synonym for realism; there’s a subtle difference, particularly when an audience’s reaction enters the equation. Authenticity speaks of what appears to be genuine, based on expectation or experience, while realism handles the brunt facts of a scene (or the world at large).
Take After Life, a 1998 Japanese film by Hirokazu Kore-eda. As a humanistic supernatural drama whose central theme involves how the memories we make in this life affect what we experience in the hereafter, Kore-eda peppers his film with live interviews of people’s fondest memories. Are the testimonies from these performers “realistic” in the way discussed above? Who can say how realistic a past-life review is “supposed” to be. The key thing is that these interviews lend an authentic feel to the subject matter; the amateur performers move, laugh, break down, and emote in ways which ring true to the audience. Put another way, the difference between realism and authenticity can be chalked up to our level of scrutiny. We take reality for granted, and only notice it when something tilts our view sideways — like watching actors stroll into a downtown London subway during the evening rush hour and seeing only 3 people waiting for the next train. Meanwhile, authenticity demands that what we’re seeing on the screen lines up with how we’d expect it to go in real life - which, ironically, sometimes forces a director to break realism in order to preserve what the audience holds as “authentic.” So while being an extra demands no greater investment from the actor than what you’d expect from a fake tree on a school play set, the amateur actor has the altogether harder task of being natural — not ACTING, but being. Even if they’re fulfilling a role outlined in the screenplay, the director didn’t bring them on board to play a part. Above all else, they need to be authentic, as moviegoers are unusually adept at detecting artifice in a performance.
The Consummate Professional
Extras and non-pro performers lay the bare foundation for what directors expect from their actors — the ability to extend their vision of space, realism, and authenticity. So far, we haven’t touched on what should be an actor’s most important job: bringing characters to life. And herein lies the domain of the professional thespian. They are the bread and butter of the entertainment industry, the working Joes and Janes who’ll likely never win an Oscar or an Emmy, but without whom neither parades of ostentatious pomp would exist. And yet even here, they still live or die by the words of the director. Though actors do have direct access to the characters as embedded in the screenplay, much of that has been subject to modification by the director, and so their role remains bound to whatever the big man or woman with the megaphone demands of them.
This relationship differs from the dynamics of the theater world. There, actors almost have the rule of the roost in how they interpret characters in the script, and exercise a level of artistic control out of reach for all but the most renowned film actors. This all falls back to the tight grip film and screen directors have on time and space within their medium. Plays and other live-action performers operate on real-time, which presents the perfect frame for actors to shine. But for the screen, everything operates on film time -- which remains under lock and key with the director. Directors cut, edit, and snip time into sequences as the narrative demands, and can thereby stretch or shrink an actor’s presence beyond his or her control. Directors mold every external aspect of how audiences see the actors; through close ups, editing, and angles, the control of a character’s presentation that stage actors utilize so effectively through presence and projection gets neutered by a wide angle shot or an unflattering close-up. While extras and non-professional players stand out explicitly as instruments of the director’s will, even experienced thespians earning a steady paycheck aren’t far from that label themselves.
That said, directors demand a bit more from their front liners than just to stand and “be real.” The most critical trait of the role actor is expressiveness. Since the camera can zoom in and hold the actor’s entire face or frame in view, a talented director has within his or her power the means to construct emotional and engaging scenes just from disjointed stills of the actors alone. But little can compensate for an unphotogenic face or a stiff carriage. It isn’t all looks, of course; convincing gestures, appropriate body language, and the outward manifestation of inner turmoil all combine to elevate one actor’s depth of expression above another. But above all else, directors demand the ability to offer up crucial impressions or moods from their actors at the right time. Even in live studio shows or sketch comedy series, the closest most screen actors get to the creative control seen in theaters, the film crew - through camera long shots and close ups, as well as the timed use of cut-aways - controls more of what we see of the on-screen players than we realize.
If an actor’s expressiveness holds the pass leading to their place in a director’s vision, then what of those much-vaunted acting methodologies? They have their role, even outside of the star vehicles to be discussed below. But once we establish that the director’s control of film time and space places performers almost totally in his or her hands, we recognize that an actor’s abilities do not exist in a vacuum. It doesn’t help that there are as many ways of analyzing acting methods as there are both actors and scholars of acting combined. In general, actors sparkle and shine when they embody the emotions demanded of a scene. This runs deeper than just expressiveness. No matter how the director uses them, good actors can’t just “act” their emotions; they need to feel them, embody them, and use them to carry the scene. The deliberate decision ahead of time to evoke an emotion leads only to mechanical mimicry, and even if the actor can’t tell the difference, the camera and especially the audience will.
Much of acting, therefore, is built on expressing naturalistic reactions within a scene, and recognizing its subtext. That oft-stated cliche of good acting being reacting has a germ of truth, since reacting to a scene shows engagement and competent actors project their emotions through timely (and sometimes unexpected) reactions. This really hammers in the wedge between filmed and theater acting. Though reactions also matter to stage thespians, the camera holds the power to capture an actor’s face and body posture in a way that can’t be replicated in a live action production. Likewise, the primacy of the camera and actors’ reactions thrusts a scene’s subtext to the forefront. On stage, bereft of the benefits of a closeup, everything must be conveyed through dialogue and posture. But the camera’s all-seeing eye misses not one inch of a facial tic, not a single roll of the eyes. Whatever your lines, as an actor, both the director and the audience scrutinize your performance for the unspoken gestures which lift the full meaning of the lines above the page.
So with all of that said, what, exactly, makes a “good actor?”
Good acting is being and feeling completely in the “now” of the film reality in which you participate, and then effectively and convincingly communicating this to the audience.
You need to be expressive, but you can’t ape feelings; you need to show emotion, but without the nasty stain of premeditation. To be a good actor, one must take the film’s gestalt as your reality, and act as if your feelings in a scene carry as much meaning as they do in your real life — because, in that moment and time, they do. Films do not “capture reality”; they forge one, and actors must fit as comfortably into that “reality” as if it were the real world. This truth, at the very least, provides a way forward to successful acting in any medium.
A Star is Born
If acting involves the authentic inhabitation and communication of a film’s reality, what extra push propels the everyday worker to the heights of stardom? The movie stars peppered in the bank rolls of Hollywood, Bollywood, Nollywood and other cinema constellations are without a doubt the first thing that pops into our minds when we think “actors.” In reality, they are a distinct minority, and we should avoid judging the fortunes and talents of a lucky few against the everyday realities of the working actor and actress. But that only begs the question: what, exactly, does it take to become a “star,” and how do they differ from the rank and file actors?
First, a caveat: for simplicity’s sake, I focus specifically on Hollywood’s star system. The American film industry is the oldest, most well-known, and generally most lucrative in the world, and so dominates most discussions of the entertainment industry even as international competitors continue to rise the world over. Therefore some details of the star system as discussed here may not reflect worldwide; Bollywood, Nollywood, and China’s burgeoning film industry, I imagine, each have their own approaches to the luminaries of their respective businesses.
One key element about movie stars is that they are as much a product of the public as they are of their particular talents and skills. Stars take the mantle described in the last section — convincingly inhabiting a film reality and getting it across to the audience — and somehow use it to burrow into the filmgoers’ imaginations. Exactly how that happens, particularly why one star hopeful makes the climb while another following the same formula stumbles in the dirt, only Rota Fortuna and the Movie Gods know for sure. Fame can’t be forced, and while studios spend considerable time trying to “stoke” their audience’s appetites, the manufactured fame vehicle offers no greater guarantee of success than a Joe Nobody just starting his acting career with little or no support.
However, we still have grounds for taking a stab at the commonalities of fame, if not its genesis. About the one thing that unites members of this flickering, fragile club is their reliance on personifying archetypes to capture the audience. Most actors align with a particular “groove” as they develop a corpus, and audiences as well as producers take notice. Though any actor may fall into type after making a film or two, stars usually combine this with exceptional talent (or even just a “look”) and/or fortuitous cultural timing to elevate themselves in the public consciousness. John Wayne’s tough-guy Western avatar, or the breezy, libertine charm of Mae West, may seem to lie within the nebulous domain of talent, but their fame drew just as much from their respective cultural statics — either the longing for an idealized Western masculinity among Cold War fears, or the taboo thrill of satisfying the erotic pulse in a young, liberalizing medium.
By capitalizing on the reigning zeitgeist, competent and/or charismatic actors achieve a status in the public eye beyond their personal gifts. This cements the actor’s persona to their audience. Persona is not personality; an actor’s real personality may differ sharply from their on-screen persona. This persona may be meticulously cultivated, as with the myriad of great genre specialists, especially comedians; or it may develop spontaneously, or even be thrust upon an unsuspecting actor by a studio desperate to extend the life of a series of serendipitous successes. If taken too far, an actor’s persona could easily lead to that dreaded prison of typecasting, fame’s blinder where today’s meteoric success leads to tomorrow's obsolescence.
But what, exactly, does stardom change compared to the actor types discussed above? In one word, everything. Stardom shifts the dynamic of power on the set ever-so-slightly away from the director’s hands. Stars bring with them a whirlwind of informal power to a movie, fueled by an alliance between movie producers and the adoration of an enamored audience. Stars may snatch a share of the director’s coveted control over film time, demanding adjustments to camera shots, close-ups, and other snippets of movie reality that can make or break a film. Particularly prominent stars can even shape the evolution of a script's characters, while screenwriters often feel compelled to mold characters in the likeness of a particular star’s luminous persona. These acts have the interesting side effect of creating as close to an actual power split between the director and the film’s main lead or leads as possible. Though a film star’s “power” remains informal and fuzzy around the edges, even the most dictatorial directors stay alert to the many ways their movies can unravel if they flub on cooperating with a star who was “born” for the role.
Conclusion
The variable nature of acting forbids any simple list of how to recognize acting. So instead, look out for the key cores of each type of actor, and what they bring to a film:
For our extras and non-professionals: A sense of realism and authenticity reign here. Extras add to a film by how little they actually stand out, drafting a believable scenery through their inconspicuous presence, while amateur actors should get the audience to see a particular scene or scenes as authentic to their understanding of the world - even if it doesn’t line up with “actual” reality.
The professional actor has arguably the hardest job on the set after the director — being the primary and deeply personal vehicle through which the film or series expresses its own unique reality. They accomplish this primarily through the range of their reactions and emotions, and while virtuosity with dialogue can push a talented thespian to the precipice to greatness, it counts less with the silver or small screens than in the theater world. Instead, good acting must embody a scene’s emotional truths — a vague and fickle objective dependent upon the right looks, the right lines, and the right sentiments and reactions in order to cement the work's constructed reality and sweep the audience along through momentum. Those who master this difficult and highly intuitive skill may, with a good bit of luck and the right environment, ascend to stardom, where the goal now includes getting moviegoers to respond to and approve of an actor’s signature persona.
Acting is undoubtedly the most recognizable cog in the production line machine. It is also the most protean and difficult to peg down; so much of the craft is intuitive, and I lay no claim to any authority on how acting “should” be in any given work. But by recognizing the different actor categories and where they fit into the director’s grand vision, we may better judge how these essential players bring the script to life.
