'Twas Stanislavski Started Trouble

 

Where Straight and Forward Go the Acting

Are contemporary actors but tics and tricks? And how long has this gone on? Looked at The Big Chill of which I’d been curious, but not curious enough to watch, since 1983. It has a cast which all register the same for me. Thirtysomething drama emerged by eighties as a thing. There was (a first?) entirety of cast dancing/singing to old for them/older now for us pop music. It happens “spontaneous” if numbingly repeated for nostalgia service since. I got sense these actors all went to a same acting school, later, as in forty years, becoming a senior class. Some still work doing old folks drama and comedy to stream for the similarly old who won't attend theatres again. Seeing The Big Chill made me seek rinse that is straightforward playing, that is actors taught someway or other than what’s been taught for generations now. I wanted extra strength relief and so chose Richard Carlson, Julia Adams, and Richard Denning in The Creature from the Black Lagoon, 3-D to supply close inspect of craft as practiced by artists there to straightforwardly read lines, swim well, and spear accurately. I rate emotional memory exercise well behind handling harpoons as harbinger of fine acting. Carlson is earnest and Amazon-bound for benefit of science (I mean the South American river, not retail giant), Adams for swimsuit and awesome scream, then Denning for Carl Denham minus warmth and dangerous if challenged for his harpoon. Maybe we should call Creature’s style harpoon acting, as in straight to fine point and never mind nuance. Of water-bearers in the green suit(s) less may be said, but they were straightforward too, whoever occupied scaly skin in or out of water. Method embrace by Creature cast? Not likely. These were there for specific task of getting it done in as simple and coherent fashion as could satisfy needs of a 79-minute running time.

Chances are however that Carlson, Adams, and Denning read Stanislavski, possibly studied him. Most twentieth-century players knew of acting’s Russian revolution and respected what was done there, but what was the Stanislavski technique other than application of common sense? Many would say “Sure, I’ve been doing that for years” when told what Stanislavski taught. To act, he said, was to draw upon imagination and to call up past experience and real-life parallels depending on what emotion was bring summoned. Stating the obvious was in fact what Stanislavski did, and even he acknowledged as much. His theories were after all based upon observation of working actors of his era. Nothing exotic or revelatory here, even if others later tried to make it appear so. Wolves in counselor clothing benefit best where advice is most complicated, actors known as insecure and lured easily to camps that promise confidence. Look at diction schools sprung forth from quicksand that was early sound. Turning brass to gold seemed never so easy. Empty your purse and we’ll equip you for talkies. Stars working fourteen hour days showed up evenings to learn elocution from experts no more that than gas jockeys filling star limousines. Bad enough for players not to have a stage from which to address a visible crowd and receive applause then and there, worse still was working in fragments, performance measured by seconds, reactions delivered in close-up, but reacting to what? Hitchcock told Montgomery Clift to look skyward. But why? asked Monty. Because I’ll need the shot later, said Hitch. But what am I looking at … what do I feel? … impasse and breakdown of star/director communication to follow.

Actors took dim view of a picture’s worth for little joy they had making it, so why bother seeing a finished work? Appreciation seldom came of appearing before a camera with only technicians to look on. Working in theatre meant being paid for time spent onstage, while films went on earning long after you got fully and finally compensated. Late 50’s columns were filled with actors noting bitterly the broadcasts of past films for which they’d receive nothing. Big enough stars got percentage deals, were bought out later for cheap, ripped off along ways of so-called “ownership,” their family with an empty sack rather than legacy Dad hoped would last. Note what happened to Burt Lancaster’s share of many features he did for United Artists and elsewhere, his children discovering after the star’s death that his share of revenue was now someone else’s. William Holden said in an interview toward the end of his life that he’d been in only three or so films that were worthwhile. Too few actors realized how precious they were to a public for simple reason they never heard claps from those entertained, let alone at theatres far-flung they could not enter unless disguised and anonymous. Gene Raymond told a story to collector/historian Barbara Ryan of how lousy Flying Down to Rio was to work on, botched scenes, poor direction, blah writing. The star visiting New York some months later was stunned to find Flying Down to Rio mopping up at Radio City Music Hall. Why crowd to so poor a thing as this? he asked. To get his answer, Raymond donned overcoat, slouch hat, and thick glasses to stand on line and watch Rio amidst fan crush. What he saw was every bit the sorry show he expected. Who could figure so fickle a public, said this actor who like others saw neither sense or logic to a picture business seemingly divorced from art.

Where film bested the stage was at places it could capture however distant, too real to simulate behind footlights. None of nineteenth-century artifice, no matter how skillfully applied like by Belasco, could capture true snowfall as location-shot movies could. Histories speak of turning points in the art of acting. We know, or are told, that Stanislavski disciples blew Broadway backward with 1905’s The Chosen People, Alla Nazimova being Russia’s emissary of “New Acting” as it was understood, if barely, by provincials used to melodrama or broad comedy. Wasn’t new acting, however, going on already in films? Emotion there had to be conveyed without benefit of words, which required till then untried technique. Stage pantomimes lighted ways perhaps, Chaplin an early one to find film ideally right for his style of expression. I’m wondering if outdoor staging, at long last free of stages, laid place for truer revolution in acting than could ever be case where confined by curtains, or soundstage walls. If under-sky performing lent freshest-ever reality, then who were those that ran, rode, and climbed but masters in the art of realism? William S. Hart had been successful on stage, could have stayed there, but sensed opportunity unique but barely explored so far by film, getting out among hills and weather to breathe truer life into drama till then stuff of recitation and restricted movement. That Hart rose to levels not ventured toward by actors before is obvious from looking at westerns he’d make … and write … and supervise himself. Why not anoint Bill highest priest of “New Acting”?

If one performs effectively against all-outdoors, shouldn’t we define him/her/they/them as actors outstanding if not more so than those who declaim on flat boards before a stock-still audience? By such measure, let’s propose Randolph Scott or Joel McCrea for Great Actors. If measure is nerve alone, why not Ken Maynard? I’ll go further by nominating Yakima Canutt; as to his alleged falter with dialogue (a finger also pointed at Maynard), how about we credit them instead with naturalistic delivery more like real people (at least real westerners), many of those awkward with proper speech. Of players who were accorded credit for “acting” in accepted sense, what of a Burt Lancaster, who could impress on walled-in soundstages, but watch him work in The Train, physical near to point of human flight, and show us one of any thousand who could approach that level. Lancaster was not Academy nominated for The Train but was on “Laurel Award” short list for “Best Action Performance,” his rivals Sean Connery in Goldfinger, Richard Boone in Rio Conchos, John Wayne in Circus World, and Lee Marvin in The Killers (Connery won). None of these were considered by the Academy, their choices Rex Harrison (the winner), Peter O’Toole, Richard Burton, Anthony Quinn, and Peter Sellers, for most part “talking” parts. We won’t properly appreciate truly physical acting until movies gain parity with the stage, which economically they long since did, but that won’t translate as easily to respect they have not gotten and maybe never truly will.

1905’s New Acting became Old New Acting by the early fifties when Stanislavski’s style, adapted often by others, became, among other Americanized labels, The Method. Anything “New” was good for business, the more so where industry might tender fresh fleet of players unlike stars we had maybe wearied of since the war. This second revolution was less spontaneous than contrived. Why hadn’t Group Theatre members who came to Hollywood during the thirties upended habit? John Garfield of these got close it seemed, till he was ground to convention’s powder. Montgomery Clift was the real deal but looked and was sold initially as a leading man and more of dreamboat same, per publicity for The Search. Besides, Clift never embraced the Method as proposed by others of the emerging cult. It was Marlon Brando who blew rebellion’s trumpet and got sold in knowing fashion as first for Hollywood star-making reborn. Had there really been no true acting in films before him? The Method implied sensitivity and understanding beyond reach of conventional actors, Hollywood ranks called stale bread now that Brando and hoped-for followers pointed toward new directions. Talent appearing on live television was grazed as had been Broadway when talkies arrived. Closed community that was Hollywood felt, at least should have felt, threatened. If Brando demonstrated great acting for a truly first time in A Streetcar Named Desire, what was James Cagney doing in White Heat a couple seasons before? Newcomers were taken serious as was less a case with establishment stars. Watch Cagney spoof White Heat dialogue and delivery in Starlift (1951), then imagine Brando doing same with Desire contortions.

Old films were by economic necessity carny-sold, and artists involved oft got razzed for it, audiences after the war perceived as more sophisticated which meant past ways-must-pass for keeps. Lobby cards barking shamelessly out front became objects of ridicule, if not derision: “Warners’ Magnificent Achievement” said 11X14’s for A Stolen Life, “Warners’ Biggest!!!” was Saratoga Trunk, and Possessed (1947) was a “Tremendous Warners’ Achievement.” Something old, something borrowed, plenty pew. Many called the Method phony, practitioners neurotic as characters they’d play. Veterans, even ones in the business less than a decade, saw flim in Method flam. Robert Mitchum thought learning to be an actor (read: being taught) was like “learning to be tall.” James Garner had most of the fifties and his twenties to realize acting classes were places to stay away from. Each Method performance promised to expose “the unconscious life of the actor,” this akin to seeing nervous breakdowns in progress. James Dean had angst to burn, catnip for youth and immatures to identify with. Old-timers meanwhile plodded along proven ways. When Edward G. Robinson was cast in cheap but fine Vice Squad, he was told “Be yourself, Eddie,” which meant “Be the Edward G. Robinson of old,” known quantity and proven product. Overlooked too was likes of Anne Baxter who called up memories of a family tragedy to enhance her performance in The Razor’s Edge, so why didn’t industry and press make greater fuss over that? (they did to extent of Best Supporting AA in 1947)

Fun for all was up-and-comer Methods opposite older-timers, question being who’d register more “real.” John Wayne got his “New York actor” dose of Geraldine Page in Hondo, result satisfactory. Bogart wasn’t cowed by Rod Steiger during The Harder They Fall, nor Robert Taylor by John Cassavetes in Saddle the Wind. James Dean had ideal foils in Raymond Massey, Albert Dekker, Burl Ives (East of Eden), was more ideally served by Rock Hudson in Giant. Paul Newman did emotional battle with Walter Pidgeon in The Rack and hopefully learned from the elder actor (Newman admitted large learning curve the lot of his early film work). Opposites could and did attract it seemed. New acting was novelty enough to take serious especially where practitioners were willing to speak on the record of their “craft,” something Bogart, Cooper, Gable, their fraternal order, would not have done except to garner a laugh. Persona stars in any case had secret weapons played close to chins, us happier with idols who were least forthcoming. Not sure I’d have wanted revealing memoirs from Robert Mitchum or William Holden. Nothing preserves fascination like not knowing things we think we’d like to know. Return to The Big Chill for a close: Among mostly younger players was Don Galloway of Universal 60’s labor, him coached on traditional terms, direct, to relevant point, straightforward harpoon handling. And here’s not surprising outcome: I liked Galloway best of the lot.