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Kim Stanley (#110 of 2)

The Mystery of Screen Acting: An Interview with Author Dan Callahan

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The Mystery of Screen Acting: An Interview with Author Dan Callahan
The Mystery of Screen Acting: An Interview with Author Dan Callahan

Most film critics have a pretty good handle on what it is a director does, what a cinematographer does, what an editor does. Acting, however, remains a little bit mysterious. That's why writers who know enough about the craft of acting to not just describe what they see in a performance but break down how the actor is doing it can be counted on only a couple of hands. The trick is to translate acting technique in a non-academic vocabulary, making it comprehensible to an audience of non-actors. You have to train your eye. You have to know what to look for, the “tells” of falsity or indicating, how to perceive a sketched-in performance as opposed to a full one.

It's difficult to write about acting well. If it were easy, more people would do it. The rare writer who writes about acting really well, longtime theater and film critic Dan Callahan can home in on why and how a performance lands, or doesn't. He pays attention to the actor's technique, the actor's tension, the prosody of the actor's voice, all of these being “tells” as to whether or not the actor is truly engaged, or pumping up something artificial to fill in the blanks. This is tough stuff, but reading Callahan is an object lesson on how to do it.

Callahan's first two books were biographies, the first on Barbara Stanwyck (Barbara Stanwyck: The Miracle Woman), the second on Vanessa Redgrave (Vanessa: The Life of Vanessa Redgrave). In both, Callahan moves behind the confines of traditional biographies. Traditional biographies often lead us through the events in an artist's life, giving us backstage stories, maybe a couple of anecdotes, maybe some description of how the artist's work was received. Callahan gives us all that, but also gives us his analysis of the performances, leading us to an understanding of Stanwyck and Redgrave not just as subjects, but as artists. Why is Vanessa Redgrave so good? That's not as simple a question as it might seem. One of the great gifts of Callahan's writing is that he makes you want to re-watch movies you've already seen, hoping to pick up on all the things he's illuminated.

Callahan's latest book, The Art of American Screen Acting: 1912-1960, is made up of profile pieces and artistic analysis of the major figures from the silent era up until the moment before the collapse of the studio system. With chapters on Lillian Gish, Gloria Swanson, Bette Davis, Louise Brooks, Joan Crawford, Cary Grant, James Cagney, Ingrid Bergman, Marlene Dietrich, to name a few, it's a lush and complex look at the art of acting, and how it developed alongside the development of cinema itself. Callahan looks at the rupture represented by Marlon Brando, adding some necessary shadings to the almost universally accepted simplistic reading of Brando as an “improvement.” The earlier, more heightened style is still seen as “lesser” in many circles, or “over the top,” “heightened,” “phony.” In the book, and in our talk about it, it's clear that Callahan is determined to set the record straight.

Kim Stanley’s Private Moments

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Kim Stanley’s Private Moments
Kim Stanley’s Private Moments

The name Kim Stanley might not mean anything to most people under fifty, but anyone who saw her on stage during her ten-year Broadway heyday (from William Inge’s Picnic in 1953 to Inge’s Natural Affection in 1963) still raves about her frayed immediacy and her predilection for unearthing the most painful emotions. Stanley was the queen of the Actor’s Studio and a prized pupil of Lee Strasberg. She went as far as she could with his most dangerous acting technique, affective memory, the substitution of an actor’s real life emotions for the feelings of the character they are playing. Stanley was a Jeanne Eagels for the Freudian fifties, and she seems to have viewed her profession as some kind of adjunct to psychotherapy. An acquaintance noticed something in her “like a high C held too long.”

Such intensity exacted a high price, and Stanley seems to have paid it willingly, even gloatingly. In Jon Krampner’s extremely valuable new biography of the actress, Female Brando, he answers a lot of questions about what went wrong with her career and her life. After a disastrous London production of Chekhov’s Three Sisters, Stanley retreated from the stage permanently, and there was little word about what had happened to her, other than that she’d had a nervous breakdown. Krampner digs to the bottom of her mystery and what he reveals is as upsetting and suggestive as the tales of the remaining few who remember her work on stage.