Sunday Morning Review -- Evening

For decades I went to movies on Wednesday mornings or afternoons, or Monday evenings. For awhile theaters offered half-price Tuesdays and I saw everything then; just me and a handful of widows. On more than one occasion theaters screened films solely for me. While I enjoyed that, Die Hard really should be seen with a crowd.

Over time I forgot that most of the American movie-going public went on Friday or Saturday night. There were a couple of reasons for my schedule, most important being that I was usually in a show that performed on those nights. When I wasn't performing or rehearsing, I was sleeping because I worked the breakfast shift at a popular diner. In those days, the few times I went to the movies on the weekend I resented the crowds and the prices.

Since my schedule has mainstreamed, my friend Cathy and I have developed a semi-standing date for a movie on Saturday. I admire Cathy's stamina because she still works those grueling breakfast shifts on the weekend, but she still has more than enough energy to grab a quick sandwich and a movie.

Last night we saw Evening. I was particularly interested in it because Michael Cunningham adapted the screenplay. When the movie started I discovered he also produced the film.

Michael Cunningham wrote The Hours, A Home at the End of the World, Flesh and Blood, and Specimen Days. There may be another one, but I can't tell you what. I've read them all except The Hours, which came out as film before I got to the book. I thought The Hours was a turgid film, but I honestly enjoyed Home/World and Flesh. Specimen is exactly that, and should only be studied in a lab. At his best, I find Cunningham to be a competent writer. He's a little florid in passages and I don't think it's hard to spot the lines he thinks demonstrate his brilliance. Still, as a writer I'd kill to have his career and I think I'm capable of turning out a Specimen, so I find Cunningham inspirational in a strange way and try to keep up with what he's doing.

And then there are the actresses, led by Clare Danes. Danes is the Michael Douglas of actresses. I swear that I can't stand to watch her, and yet I enjoy every performance that she gives. Here she plays the lead role of Ann and gives a classic demonstration that there are differences among an ingenue, a leading lady, and a character actress; they require different skill sets. Some actors, if they're, lucky can handle two of those categories, but I cannot think of one who can be successful in all three. (Cameron Diaz or Michelle Pfeiffer might come close.) Even Meryl Streep struggled mightily as an ingenue. Glenn Close's attempts at dewy innocence are laughable. Danes did exceptional work as an ingenue, and her earnest approach to acting might turn her into a credible character actor, but as a leading lady she's got too much spark.

Leading actors, particularly in American film, are required to be the blank canvas upon which the audience can project itself. Movie audiences expect the story to revolve around them. Danes is too distinct and it's difficult for an audience to stand in her place because she's just too interesting to watch. Her skills have been honed on the stage where the audience does not expect to be brought into the story. In the live theatre the audience accepts its role as spectator and enjoys having a story told to them. As a stage actress, I'm sure Danes is superb because she is so interesting to watch, but she hasn't perfected the blank-canvas banality of a leading lady. Just sitting on a rock, watching a sunset, Danes is more watchable than any American actress. But I'm aware that I'm watching her not experiencing the sunset. When Streep or Close sits on a rock and watches a sunset, you experience the sunset. In Evening Danes tries for a textured banality, but it's a performance that feels corseted and Danes comes across as almost a little bored. She'd much rather be playing the Close role.

On the other end of the spectrum is Patrick Wilson, who is saddled with the unenviable role of the object of everyone's affection. Wilson too is a stage-trained actor, and he seems to understand the concept of active banality. Yet he goes too far in the other direction. He seems to be relying on the editor to shape his steeley stares into a performance. He's an attractive actor, but not so attractive that we can believe someone pined for him for fifty years simply for his beauty. He's not Warren Beatty. Wilson needs to bring some inherent charm to the role. Oliver Platt is no matinee idol, but by god he'd make you believe that someone carried a torch for him for fifty years. Wilson seems to be channeling Keanu Reeves with his stony face and flat delivery.

The real rush performance comes from Hugh Dancy, who is saddled with an even more difficult character. He suffers from "Confused Sexuality." As I understand it, this is a change from the original novel and as such I think is clearly a Cunningham creation. The character creeks and smacks of cliche -- almost a Cunningham signature -- but Dancy plays it straight and makes every over-wrought emotion believable. Dancy is the only actor on screen with whom Danes has any chemistry, which makes their storyline all the more powerful. Not just as a gay man, but as an actor I find Dancy's performance worth the price of admission.

The truly depressing aspect of this film is the realization that the supreme acting talent of my generation -- the actors my generation watched and thought, "Wow! I want to do that" -- are relegated to supporting roles. Being of a certain age, they play the matriarchs and the aged now. Close dusts off her Stepford Wives performance and tries to pass it off as new. It's a good performance, but its disappointing to see a lack of originality from an actress who was once astonishingly fresh. Streep gives a lovely subtle performance and it's clear that she will be as brilliant -- if not more so -- as a character actress as she is a leading lady. Vanessa Redgrave is horribly underused in this film. She is required to die. She does.

When a movie is over I like to reflect on it, assess it's strengths and weaknesses. As Cathy and I left the theater we followed a man who was ranting about how bad the film was. I instantly hated him and wished for my Tuesday matinee crowd. The widows are just thankful to get out of the house. I hadn't formed my opinion but I was sure it was mostly positive. And these days I find I have a diminishing tolerance for those who go right to the negative. It's too easy.

Evening is not a perfect film, but I will pick up the novel and study it. And I'll return to the film and study it. For those interested in writing there is much to be learned here and for those interested in the study of acting there is much to be enjoyed.