Skip to main content

On Denzel Washington

 Great actors are sometimes (also) theorists. They might have a theory of acting.


One example is Julianne Moore. In interviews, Moore will identify a misconception: People think acting is "lying," but in fact, it's the opposite. Acting is a way of getting at the truth. If you're a child, engaged in pretend play, you have full conviction that you are a sorceress, or a dragon. Professional acting is an attempt to regain that "child mind" -- and to wear another person's "psychic skin."

On the set of "Friday Night Lights," Kyle Chandler would get impatient if his young colleagues were too demonstrative. "You don't have to do much of anything with your body. If you fully understand your character, and you feel the things that that person is feeling -- then all the important info will come directly through your eyes."

Denzel Washington is on various screens this week in "The Equalizer III"; the film met with disapproval on Ebert.com, but it's really fun. Basically, Washington is a new version of John Wayne or Gary Cooper--understated and extremely confident and always correct. There is no moral ambiguity in the script; the title character never seems uncertain about what to do. At the same time, there's a small mystery; the Equalizer seems to have a strong sense of affection and worry about one particular young character, and you're eager to find out "the secret history" between the lines. Washington can suggest care and concern without dialogue; his eyes tell you that he is withholding certain stories, and so you can't look away. (Something like this happens in "Unstoppable," too; we perceive a kind of sadness and gravity in the Washington character, but we have to wait until Act III until we really grasp the root of the sadness.)

Washington isn't the only reason to see "The Equalizer III"; you also get a little two-hour trip to Italy. Ebert.com, buzz off! I'd pick this film over "Barbie."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...