Actors Playing Actors
You can feel the question hanging in the air: Is she going to pull it off? For anyone who has seen the trailer for "My Week With Marilyn," in which Michelle Williams plays Marilyn Monroe, one of the most famous movie stars in the world, you know what we're talking about. Williams is a wonderful actress indeed, and is blonded, powdered and dolled up à la Monroe, but is she as wonderful as Marilyn? Is she even remotely approaching the nature of Marilyn-ness? She is too intelligent an actress to do MM a disservice, but how can you capture the essence and power that were distinctly owned by Marilyn? Is it even worth trying?
The early reports are mixed, and some are discussing Oscar nomination, but we will have to wait to see for ourselves. With that, we've taken a look at other stars who decided to step into shoes more famous than their own -- always a risky predicament. Some soared, some sank, and some, well, the shoes almost fit too well.
The almighty Katharine Hepburn? Even the seemingly indefatigable Cate Blanchett, the Meryl Streep of our time, had a tall (with long, lean slacks) order with this one. How do you play the iconic Hepburn, she with those unmistakable shaky enunciations, feminist but feminine viewpoints, practical but madcap mannerisms and distinct unconventionality without becoming a parody of the fearlessly unique star? We've seen Martin Short do Hepburn's nephew as a hot dog vendor -- at least I hope we've all seen that SCTV sketch. If not, you've really missed out -- so we know it's not so hard to venture into Frank Gorshin mimicry (how wonderful it would have been had he added Hepburn to his arsenal). But unlike the other stars in Martin Scorsese's "The Aviator" (Gwen Stefani as Jean Harlow? Uh, no...), Blanchett pulled it off, and she won an Academy Award to boot.
Though the movie itself and some its facts are problematic, the torrid, tragic tale of the great Frances Farmer, a superb actress from the 1930s who wound up institutionalized in atrocious, unfair conditions, is drop-kicked into the stratosphere by Jessica Lange. Lange not only looks like Farmer but also embodies everything we've ever read about the talented star. Lange's ferocious, fearless beauty and take-no-prisoners performance saved what could have been yet another studio mangling of the life and legend of a notorious woman. Giving us what Farmer was -- an intelligent woman struggling in the often alienating business of show, a woman with soul; natural born talent; a real, thinking, searching brain; an outspoken temper; inner demons; and pure beauty -- Lange crafted one of her greatest roles in "Frances," a performance almost as iconic as the actress herself.
This was one of Robert Downey Jr.'s triumphs, a movie often cited as a supreme example of his wasted brilliance during a troubled time in his career, when he found himself in jail, looking at a grim future in Hollywood. Of course all of that changed, and he's now one of the biggest, most beloved stars working, but we wish he would again take on a role this complicated and tough. What shoes to fill -- the famous Chaplin, from his early days in London music halls to Hollywood royalty and then exile. Though the movie itself is a bit disappointing, suffering from, perhaps, the need to show every detail of the icon's life, Downey is a revelation, from impersonating Chaplin's vaudeville routines (which couldn't have been easy; the man was a genius after all) to translating his inner life and his personal, professional and political struggles. It's a lovely, respectful, graceful performance and a beautiful tribute to Chaplin.
Though Carroll Baker did a fine job as the beautiful, talented and distinctive blond bombshell Jean Harlow, the picture is a rather tepid affair. Released only a month after a more quickie, low-budget version of Harlow was seen on-screen (starring Carol Lynley and directed by Bill Sargent), Joseph E. Levine's version is superior but still lacking. The 1930s icon, with her troubled, sometimes bizarre family and love life (one of her husbands, producer/director/screenwriter Paul Bern, committed suicide two months after their marriage, amid mystery and nasty rumors) and her early death at 26, presented a passionate tale to tell, but, alas, the movie is just there. A lifeless script, a shallow treatment and a weirdly cast Peter Lawford as Bern hurt "Harlow." Interestingly, a book by Tom Lisanti about the two movies and their cinematic faceoff has just been published, titled "Dueling Harlows: Race to the Silver Screen." Though both movies don't exactly befit the Harlow legend, at least an interesting back story resulted from them. Harlow herself made it look easy (and if you want a wonderful depiction of her talents, just watch the woman herself in "Bombshell"), but playing Harlow has got to be hard.
Playing the genius Lon Chaney is one thing; having another genius -- and a genius for very different reasons -- portray him is quite another. Like Chaney, James Cagney was a superb physical performer. The man could say as much with the rage in his eyes as he could while casually tap-dancing down a flight of stairs. His migraine meltdown in "White Heat" is so powerful, it's almost infectious -- you can get a headache from his torment. And what that man can do with a grapefruit. And yet, as touching and lovely as Cagney is to watch depicting Chaney, one of the greatest and most innovative screen actors of all time (he made only one talking picture), the entire film falls a bit flat around him. Never mind that the movie takes quite a few liberties regarding the facts; it just doesn't convey the brilliance and, no doubt, haunted inner life of Chaney and lacks on-the-nose biopic observations. And to be fair to Cagney,
Let's see if any modern actor could star in a biopic about him. As Cagney asked, "Whaddya hear? Whaddya say?" Well, we say no.
The granddaddy (or grand-mommy) of all films with icons impersonating icons, "Mommie Dearest" is not just a movie but something of a milestone for both the stars playing and being played. And also for many viewers. How can anyone come out of that movie the same? How does one ever look at a wire hanger as a normal object again? The movie, based on the iconic Joan Crawford and adapted from her adopted daughter Christina's famous tell-all biography, became an almost immediate camp classic after a mostly negative critical reception. The story, in which the child-hungry star adopts Christina, only to make her life a series of hellish showdowns, was not a flattering portrait of Crawford and probably unfair, but Faye Dunaway (who will not discuss the part, alas) matched her with divine diva relish. Dunaway must have understood Crawford on a deeper level, far deeper than simply relating to another actress (Dunaway, like Crawford, also worked with Bette Davis). She channeled Crawford, from her hunter's-bow lip liner to the inner tumults of the troubled star. Though the performance is large and sometimes hilarious, Dunaway understood Crawford enough to give her moments of vulnerability and pathos. Though Dunaway is reportedly not proud of the role, and too many viewers saw Crawford as a woman who goes insane with the Comet cleanser (and not as the often brilliant actress of "Mildred Pearce" or "Humoresque," among so many other pictures), it's a movie that, if you watch it enough, is strangely on Crawford's side. The performance is just too fantastic, too operatic, too iconic, and you have to respect both Dunaway and Crawford by the end.
This could have been a career killer for James Franco. James Dean? How many young actors have worshipped at the altar of the too-young-to-die star, the icon of wounded sensitivity, the gorgeously cool, street-wise yet vulnerable young man who needed not just love but respect and artistic fulfillment? Too many to count, and too many who would think twice about portraying their idol. First, it would be too easy to dismiss the performance as nowhere near the ballpark in terms of Dean's looks and acting style. And second, the performance could become too inexorably linked to the actor (that guy who played James Dean. Who is he?). Franco, no stranger to multitasking and Method research, was not going to get lost in the shuffle or become any kind of question mark, even as he beautifully loses himself in the role, becoming a persuasive and poignant version of Dean. He deservedly won a Golden Globe for his performance and became the James Franco we all know and love (or not -- ask some about his Oscar-hosting gig) while respecting Dean's life and art. Franco: a rebel with a cause -- perhaps too many causes.
The brilliant Judy Garland had so much crammed in her relatively short life (she died in 1969 at 47) that it took a three-hour miniseries, and thankfully a terrific three hours, to tell her tumultuous professional and personal life properly. From the perspective of Garland's daughter Lorna Luft and with a fantastic Judy Davis as Garland, the movie is no whitewash, but it's never exploitative or lazy. It covers Garland's long career, from the child star who was hugely famous with Mickey Rooney (and then, of course, as Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz") to the adult who struggled with addiction, relationships and family, and does so with sadness, sensitivity and, importantly, joy. Davis, who lip-syncs Garland's famed singing voice, captures the essence of Garland in a performance that is intelligent, real and heartbreaking. She really studied Garland, and she's so electric and vibrant, you get the feeling that she's possessed by her. Biopics can come off as painting by numbers, but this one manages to relay the specifics, plumb the depths and kick up its heels with laughter and love.
Thanks largely to a wonderfully cast Sienna Miller (and with much riding on her from Edie fans like me and millions of others) George Hickenlooper's "Factory Girl" works in spite of its numerous, annoying flaws. Miller's impressive turn as Warhol muse/youth-quaker Edie Sedgwick, the drug-addled, fabulously fashionable and little, lost decadent girl, saves the picture. No one can really look like Edie, save for the sheared bleached hair, the chandelier earrings, the eyeliner and the black tights, but Sienna channels her look splendidly. And, even better, she gets Edie's intelligent, measured (and sometimes slurred) speaking voice down perfectly. Edie was troubled, but she was no dummy, and Miller grants her this dignity. Still, the film relies too heavily on Edie's relationship with a certain iconic musician (Hayden Christensen doing a covert Bob Dylan) and focuses on Edie chiefly as a victim. Edie was screwed up, obviously, but was she simply a victim? No way. Edie was something of a Holly Golightly, a fab, endless party who attracted many but eventually wore people out. Instead of hailing from Hicksville (Golightly's secret), Edie was well educated, but she had deeply disturbing family troubles (suicide, probable incest) that she both buried and, in a strange way, extolled by flitting the night away on loads of speed. But she was still a madcap light that burned fast, a drugged-out screwball heroine who didn't get Cary Grant or William Powell at the end of the picture. The woman was an absolute charmer -- electric, the living embodiment of the now. Surely the picture could have given us some of her fearless excitement as well? Miller was certainly up to the task. Still, it's worth watching for the fashion tips alone.
Edward D. Wood Jr. may have been labeled the worst director of all time, but dammed if he didn't love to make movies. That's how Tim Burton saw it in his wonderfully sweet "Ed Wood," a movie that works as Hollywood satire, a real-life biopic and a valentine to all those misfits cranking out grade-Z pictures we've grown to love, hate or even, at times, regard seriously. Johnny Depp plays the 1950s director of such camp classics as "Glen or Glenda?" and "Plan 9 From Outer Space" with the perfect blend of overenthusiastic, gee willikers zeal and a humanity that's surprisingly touching. His moments with Martin Landau's Bela Lugosi, a sad has-been with a morphine habit, are so tender that the film works equally well as a tribute to Lugosi. Gorgeously directed in black and white, terrifically scored (the theremin is a nice touch) and exceptionally cast (Bill Murray is a standout as Bunny Breckinridge), "Ed Wood" shows that trash often has more soul than the slick, big-budget dreck coming out of Hollywood.
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