Actors vs. Movie Stars

            In Sin City, someone says of Marv, Mickey Rourke’s character, he “had the rotten luck of being born in the wrong century.” Although Frank Miller wrote these words years before the movie came out, I think this is a perfect description of Rourke's career. He’s not crazy; he was just born too late. If Rourke was born a half century earlier, then his decision to become a boxer at the midpoint of his career would’ve been accepted more, I think. Besides that, though, I think the type of actor Rourke was would have been more accepted back then.  He was always a bit off, he was a guy who everyone knew was great, but he wasn’t really used the right way. Everyone wanted to make him a movie star when he was an actor. And that’s a big distinction. People like Tom Cruise are movie stars, excluding a few standout performances. People like Daniel Day-Lewis are actors. It’s the difference between what Jack Nicholson and Robert DeNiro used to be and what they are today. Movie stars need to have presence; they need to be able to bring people into movies. Actors need to have ability; they need to make their character believable.

This didn’t used to be the case. People like Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne, and Jimmy Stewart were obviously movie stars, but they were also actors first and foremost. And people like Peter Lorre and Claude Rains, who were performers under contract, had the same attitude, even if they weren’t the leading man. Being a character actor back then was something more acceptable than it is today. Lee J. Cobb is one of my favorite character actors because even though he played a similar part in each movie he was in, it never felt like he was short changing the audience and he managed to put these performances in great films like “On the Waterfront” and “12 Angry Men.” But I’m making it sound like these guys were just doing the same thing over and over again and that’s not really the case. Most were excellent actors who embraced side roles. While the posters clamored for the beauty and the handsome lead, some of the best performances were unheralded to the outside world. The main reason for this, I suppose, is, of course, appearance. Look at Peter Lorre. Lorre starred in the film “M” and gives a masterful performance as a murderer on the run. He gives a monster humanity. The problem, though, is that the only way Lorre could get a starring role is for him to portray a murderer. He looked shifty and strange, and so he that’s how he was cast. Talented artists like Lon Chaney and Boris Karloff had to become monsters in order to get leading roles. As time went on, more and more the pretty faces had to do less and less. If you looked good, it didn’t matter if you could act or not. This continued until it’s ballooned into modern cinema. Now I’m not saying that pretty people can have a career without having any kind of talent. But what I am saying is that people like Brad Pitt, Charlie Sheen, and Colin Farrell probably wouldn’t get as much work if it wasn’t for their decent looks. This, to me, is the difference that’s come to hurt Rourke and others like him. Rourke grew tired of being placed into a role that didn’t fit him, and as a result left to find something more accommodating. Granted, taking a job where you get punched by other people repeatedly would not have been my first choice as a second career, but Mickey needed to find himself apparently. But had he been allowed to be an actor and not the face of eight different blockbuster movies, I wonder what would have been.

Now we see Rourke and while he doesn’t headline as many films now, I think he’s happier. He’s allowed to work on his craft. For some people, that’s enough. I think people like Tim Olyphant or Ian McShane are more concerned with doing something they love and getting paid for it than they are with anyone else’s opinion of their work. And that’s why they should’ve been around in the old days.

Olyphant, McShane, and Rourke are guys who have great ability, but don’t get much attention in the Post-Matrix world. Michael Madsen is another example. Madsen has become the go to neo-noir tough guy. He pops up in “Thelma and Louis,” takes on Val Kilmer in “Kill Me Again,” and probably has his most recognizable role in “Reservoir Dogs.” It seems like Madsen uses the same acting techniques that a lot of the older actors did. He’s very minimalistic in his approach, caring less, more often than not, about how a line is said, than with the actions that accompany it. He shows us more than he tells us. In “Kill Bill,” the performance is understated. He rarely, if ever, even raises his voice. But we see his remorse with his body language as he’s being abused, the look in his eyes when he speaks to his brother, and the look on his face as he gives the heroine a task he knows she’ll overcome. He doesn’t do more because he doesn’t need to. In “Reservoir Dogs” he never loses his cool. He’s very methodical about everything he does, and he seems to be having fun with every step he takes, like he’s not taking it for granted. And that’s why he’s scary. There are plenty of other people who give old school performances as well. It seems like Steve Buscemi studied under Peter Lorre for decades sometimes. One of my favorite actors fits this description well, too.

Ron Perlman had to wait until he was 54 to get his first major starring role in the film “Hellboy.” But when it came, he was more than ready to breathe life into the monster that defies his destiny. Perlman has spent decades under makeup, in TV shows like “Beauty and the Beast” and in movies like “The Name of the Rose.” The makeup, though, presents little problem for Perlman. He manages to convey everything even if he’s hidden under devil horns and a red face. But don’t let me pretend like he hasn’t done his share of terrible movies as well. He was in “The Adventures of Captain Zoom in Outer Space” and “Police Academy 7”(Police Academy 7? They made seven Police Academy movies? Jeez.) for crying out loud. But despite this, Perlman has managed not only to carve out a career, but a successful one, that’s lasted three decades and given him a loyal following. Perlman isn’t the best looking guy on screen usually, and he’s not usually given the biggest roles. But when he’s on screen, he’s almost impossible to ignore. He possesses those classic qualities that are almost forgotten in a world of “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” Perlman is in a class with Gary Oldman and Alan Rickman. He’s never too big for a part, he’ll provide a great performance, and he loves his job. What’s special about his performances, though, is that it seems like he’s watched the masters and is giving them new life. He manages to blend Chaney’s facial expressions in with Karloff’s body maneuvers, and throws in Brando’s empathy as well. Perlman manages to show us who he’s supposed to be immediately while making us want to find out more about him. What’s fascinating is that we take him for granted. When he shows up, we know who he is, and we know that he’s there to help or that he’s the bad guy and then we move on all without him hardly saying a word. In “City of Lost Children” Perlman plays a circus strong man trying to find his little brother. Now, first off the film is entirely in French and our friend Ron manages handles the language perfectly. But aside from that, we find his character likable and become attached even though he doesn’t say a word for almost twenty minutes. His face shows his concern, his body shows his frustration, and his eyes show his honesty all before we even know his name. What’s interesting about the film is that Perlman represents the audience’s entry point. He’s our ticket into and around the world created by Jean-Pierre Jeunet that changes with every passing second. Perlman, though, brings the necessary humanity to a world of dream stealers, clones, and talking brains. His concern and his reactions, in a dystopian world of advanced technology and incredible poverty are how we would react in that situation, and we get drawn in by Perlman’s humanity. And that’s what real actors can do and what separates them from the movie stars: they can incest an audience in a film by making that world seem real, regardless of the size of their role. They manage to make us feel something, be it fear or hope, and they can do it without us even noticing it. Too bad most of them are shoved to the side.