THE BATTLE still rages over the overall merit of Star Wars: Episode III
— Revenge of the Unfortunate Anagram. But one thing is not in
dispute — the plank-like acting of Hayden Christensen, who plays Darth
Vader. His portrayal of the most evil force in the galaxy has been likened
to “a laidback surfer dude”, “an immobile puppet” and “a recently diagnosed
haemorrhoids sufferer”. The key theme here has been the monumental
inexpressiveness of the performance.
Great screen actors underplay. Bad screen actors overplay. In the middle, like
a jellyfish you can prod forever with a stick, resides the Wooden Actor.
Usually blessed with blandly pleasant looks, they can sustain careers with
inert puréed inoffensiveness. Richard Chamberlain, Richard Todd, Michael
Wilding, Michael York, Robert Cummings, Robert Taylor. Even the names are
interchangeable.
Hayden Christensen was actually quite decent in Shattered Glass, the
drama about a disgraced journalist. And in Episode III he has to
struggle with already infamous dialogue while gazing into Natalie Portman’s
dead-planet eyes.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“It’s only because I’m so in love.”
“No, it’s because I’m so in love with you.”
But when faced with terrible lines and a director with no interest in
modulated performances, actors have to learn to protect their performance.
They have to fill up for each scene, devise bits of business to sell the
scene and summon up that extra voltage for the close-up, all without
overacting.
This latter pitfall is not a problem for classically wooden actors. They are
like those good-looking girls who grew up never having to develop a
personality to attract attention.
With so many actors, one is looking for the off-switch: the hyperactive
comedians, such as Robin Williams or Jim Carrey; or the shouting Method
victims, such as Gary Oldman; or Al Pacino playing blind. But with the
Wooden Actor, one starts off looking for the on- switch, then concludes that
even if the lights were on, no one would be home anyway.
In the old days, with the heavy lacquer of English class, blandness was often
camouflaged by the costive conventions of drawing-room drama. Everyone had
to be so well-bred, it was hard to tell blandness from good manners.
The modern figleaf is the avalanche of special effects. But, as Star Wars
proves, an iridescent CGI universe only highlights that organic quality of
the truly wooden performance. The adjective is well chosen. Wood is after
all technically alive, but how can you tell?
Superficially, a wooden performance is made up of the same elements as a great
piece of underacting. Alain Delon, for example, seemingly does nothing in Le
Samourai, his stoic minimalist 1967 gangster classic. He sits in his
room, he feeds his pet bird, he wears a trenchcoat and he smokes.
Occasionally he kills someone, but he doesn’t show much change in his
features when he does. And yet it is a riveting piece of acting, fully
charged with layers of buried emotion and longing, haunted with weary macho
romantic fatalism.
Now compare it with, oh, any performance by Keanu Reeves, the world’s most
famous wooden actor. Watching him convey thoughtfulness on screen is like
watching a puppy scrabbling to get out of an empty bathtub. One day he’ll
make it and it’s sort of fun to watch, but it never resonates with the
filigree of heartache or the voltage of merry cunning.
Reeves is not a slacker. He really puts a lot of effort into his performances.
He knits his brow and works himself up into the appropriate
frenzy/rage/ardour. But he can never break free of his trademark sleepy
befuddlement. He has, as the saying goes, no range.
Interestingly, the same can be said of many genuinely effective actors. Joel
McCrea, a limited leading man, showed the way to triumph here. “People say
I’m a one-note actor, but the way I figure it, those other guys are just
looking for that one right note.”
Thanks to The Matrix Reeves’s one right note is cosmic befuddlement and
he does have exotic features. If he had a more vanilla handsomeness, he’d
now be with Billy Baldwin, Chris O’Donnell or Rob Lowe handing out leaflets
at Democrat rallies. And Reeves does have that sense of mystery so vital for
movie stardom that has nothing to do with conventional acting skill. While a
guest at the Actors’ Studio, Burt Reynolds was asked to identify that vital
ingredient. Reynolds, who was certainly a wry, sexy A-list king in his time,
said he got the answer from Shelley Winters: “A sense of danger.”
Her litmus test was to ask of a leading man, even in the PC age: could you
leave him alone with your girlfriend? (For scientific consistency, one has
to assume a sober, non-predatory girlfriend.) A run-through of some
incontrovertible stars — Sean Connery, Richard Burton, Clark Gable, Errol
Flynn, Russell Crowe, Arnold Schwarzenegger — provides the answers: no, no,
no, no, no, absolutely not.
Still, it is not a definitive test. Tom Cruise conveys plenty of menace on
screen, but one feels any girlfriend would be safe during his babysitting
shift. Conversely, no female should sensibly be left alone with Jude Law,
but he has yet to convey really genuine threat on the screen. But with
Christensen, one would feel considerably more relaxed. Likewise pretty much
all of the plank hall of fame: York, Chris O’Donnell — and definitely
Chamberlain since he came out in his memoirs. They all seem so nice,
reasonable and helpful. It’s what you want in a neighbour, not in your hero.
Top ten wooden actors and dynamic duos (not)
BRING ME THE FIRELIGHTERS
1. Daniel Craig
2. Hayden Christensen
3. Richard Chamberlain
4. Gwyneth Paltrow
5. Michael Wilding
6. Michael York
7. Robert Cummings
8. Nicole Kidman
9. Kris Kristofferson
10. Lady Penelope
MEET MR AND MRS WOOD
Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman (Star Wars Episode III:
Revenge of the Sith) The probe to Mars found more signs of life.
Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez (Gigli) Dumb Mafia thug meets
lipstick lesbian hitwoman. Watch the splinters fly.
John Travolta and Lily Tomlin (Moment by Moment) Beach bum
woos Malibu housewife. They talk. A lot.
Sean Penn and Madonna (Shanghai Surprise) The light comic
touch of Sean Penn and, er, Madonna.
Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins (The Blue Lagoon) An
island paradise uninhabited by humans — right till the end.
