An actor's observation

Back before Marlin Brando first hit the Broadway scene in A Streetcar Named Desire back in 1948, acting was pretty generic. You had notable exceptions like Bettie Davis and Jimmy Stewart, but for the most part it was the assembly line technique of muttering lines like "Come and get me, coppers! You'll never take me alive, see! Yeah, see!" (Insert crappy Edward G. Robinson impersonation here) But when Brando came along, that all changed. Acting suddenly became real, something from the gut, something that could hurt actors who weren't careful. It was all because of the Actor's Studio in New York. It altered the way we looked at drama. Film became visceral, all because of a small school of revolutionaries.

Those revolutionaries are dying off now. James Dean made three films then died in a car crash. Brando had his career, went nuts, got fat, then died. Shelley Winters won an Oscar, made The Poseidon Adventure, got really annoying, then died. Just a couple of days ago, an actor probably only a few people have heard of, Anthony Franciosa, died. Yeah, yeah Paul Newman's still around, but with the exception of Road to Perdition, his only big product these days is salad dressing.

As someone aspiring to become something more than what I am in terms of acting, I hope actors today understand the doors that were knocked open by these people. Their numbers are dwindling. Their legacies are eternal. They inspire the actors who today are willing to rip their hearts out and throw them against a wall. Those are my favorite actors: the ones who are willing to sacrifice for the sake of honesty on stage or in front of a camera. Really, it's the only place that people like us are ever 100% honest. The rest of the time, it's a crap shoot.

Thank you Stanley Kuwolski.