list-o-mania
from the cluttered wishing to be categorized brain of Nathaniel R
Compiled in February 2006 using a complex mathematical formula [snort] involving number of films, clarity of obsession, quality of work, and other *undefinables* (such as previous films, awards show appearances, publicity, tv, & stage work) that influence me even though the list is meant to be about 2000 through 2005 only for more on the workings of this list -check out the introduction
Actors
of the "Aughts" 10-6 (The Top Ten. Hooray!) |
previously 20-11
In the mid-nineties when ER made George Clooney a star and the movies offers began to pour in the most common media reference point was David Caruso. That actor had spent one media-sensation big season on NYPD Blue only to bolt for the silver screen's green pastures. The sceen wasn't kind and Caruso's stardom paid the price, never advancing from there and retreating from the limelight. Hindsight is 20/20 but it should have been obvious to all that Clooney wouldn't be suffering a similar flame-out. His stellar career was forged from years of hard work and humble service (it doesn't get much more humbling than
secondsixth banana work on Facts of Life and other sitcoms) to the medium. What's more he didn't even leave ER when he began to dabble in the movies. He waited until the movies had welcomed him with open arms. His stardom was not a rapid won-the-lottery gift but a cautious pay your dues promotion: he's a lifer.This might go a long way to explaining how he remains so stubbornly likeable despite "having it all" and, more pointedly, possessing a charisma and confidence that tilt towards the smarmy and cocky in the wrong light. The other explanation is that he has a natural gift and is smart enough to knows who does the best gift wrapping in town. Clooney's consistent relationships with top-shelf auteurs like the Coen Bros (O Brother Where Art Thou, 2000 and Intolerable Cruelty, 2003) and Steven Soderbergh (Oceans 11, 2001 and Solaris, 2002) have sharpened his natural comedic gifts, stretched his dramatic range, and slowly amplified his star wattage. He obviously wasn't just hanging out in his trailer either. In the aughts he's become a huge force offscreen producing, writing, and directing features. Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2003) was a shaky I'll-try-anything directorial debut but he proved a quick study. His second attempt Good Night, and Good Luck. (2005) netted him two Oscar nominations. That same year he brought new dramatic gravitas to his shady operative role in Syriana (a third nomination) and won his first Oscar. I say first because, with his talented hands in so many movie pots, I don't think it will be his last.
George Clooney turned 45 this year. He's fully acclimated to huge stardom and he continues to age gracefully. It's easy to picture him in his sixties with Old Hollywood elegance and ease of stardom continuing to fit him like a well tailored birthday suit. He was born to wear it.
I never loved Christian Bale until he terrified me. To my mind, he's delivered the two most physically disturbing images of the decade. My Bale conversion came during my first viewing of the extremely undervalued American Psycho (2000) where he manages to both turn the audience on and then turn on the audience --a frighteningly sick sex-god coup, his nauseating bloodlust and his handsome musculature exploding from the same black hole of narcissism. The second spooky/revolting image is from a film I have never seen, The Machinist (2004). To this day when I see the famous movie still from it in magazine articles or websites, I immediately turn the page or click away. The image is of an emaciated man (Bale as it turns out but you'd hardly know it) with his neck wrenched to the side as if its attempting to detach from the starvation of the body. I can't look at this image. Why would an actor do this to himself?When he is given less challenging material to work with I still wonder what possessed him. Why the mighty-ab'ed hero of Reign of Fire (2002) for example --a paycheck? He doesn't seem to be having a good time with it like his co-star Matthew McConaughey who plays it like grand camp. In Laurel Canyon (2003) a film filled with jagged sexed up characters he surprised me by being the most repressed and square among them. This from The Velvet Goldmine and American Psycho star? And after that dead-eyed Psycho turn I was initially distrusting of the genuine warmth and kindness emerging slowly from his small role in The New World (2005). Given his skill with dualities and his penchant for characters with strange possessions (glam rock, murderous urges, paranoia) he probably hasn't been more perfectly cast than he was in Batman Begins (2005). I'm not sure about the end result though. I believe he could've gone deeper with the role and I hope the sequel is more raw and less blockbuster calculated in order to give his identity shifting a larger playground. I want the editing to be still this time. I want the camera to take a good long uninterrupted look at him.
But then again, looking might not mean seeing. Like Samantha Morton (#5 in the actress chart) I find this actor impenetrable. I love to watch his work but I never feel, not even remotely, like I know what powers it. Even when he is (literally) naked onscreen I am left with the notion that there's still much more to see.
The first time I took notice of this actor he was bathed in a cloud of smoke. The smoke was lit by Conrad Hall the multiple Oscar-winning cinematographer for Road to Perdition which certainly helped. Craig's catchphrase in the film, "it's all so fucking hysterical," was uttered in the midst of polished and beautiful tableaux and given it's placement it felt incongruously filthy and juvenile. But also exactly right... someone needed to take the piss out of the film. Once devoted to Craig I went back and viewed the 90s picture Love is the Devil in which he plays the rough trade lover to Francis Bacon (pure Daniel Craig porn for fans that movie is. Seriously.) This actor's gift for illuminating masculine hostility and pain has been a highlight of the movies he's starred in ever since. His performances in Sylvia (2003) as Gwyneth Paltrow's philandering husband and in The Mother (2004) as Anne Reid's sexual drug of choice are both refreshingly without concern for the audiences favor; he's only telling the strange truth about these selfish emotionally stunted men. When he graduated to leading roles in 2004 (Enduring Love) he proved his ability to anchor a film. In his followup lead role in the gangster film Layer Cake he was superbly contained (at first) and winning (from start to finish), reminding one of the 60s cool of Terence Stamp, another icy eyed Brit (who, come to think of it, also excelled at sexually charged characters.) Other roles this decade have asked a little less of him (Tomb Raider, 2001 and Munich, 2005) but have thankfully expanded his name recognition.
Which leads us to "Bond, James Bond."
After endless casting rumors it came down to Clive Owen or Daniel Craig to lead the longest running of all film franchises (40+ years and counting). Someone give that casting guy a raise. Either actor would have made a superb choice. They both possess the proper mix of chilling charisma (Bond is "licensed to kill" and the audience is supposed to want him to get away with it) and roughed up beauty, the kind that would presumably keep the female fans happy but also not alienate the male fans who might deride a finer specimen as a "pretty boy." Not that Bond has been really "butch" since Sean Connery, but you catch my meaning. Still, people do get worked up about change, any change. The loud and angry outcry from unhappy Bond fans who think Daniel Craig a horrible choice for 007 is itself 'all so fucking hysterical.' I can only assume they've never seen this actor in action.
Though Peter Sarsgaard had scared the bejeezus out of me with his malevolence in Boys Don't Cry (1999) I didn't really appreciate his potency as an actor until the underloved The Center of the World premiered in 2001 (my review). The movie's romance between a pornography addict (Sarsgaard) and a stripper (Molly Parker) was, I think at heart, a one act two-hander and possibly better suited to a theatrical exploration. What made the film special was the minimalist (or dead-eyed depending on your patience) acting and the resultant maneuvering room for the audience's ideas about the relationship explored. It didn't catch on in arthouses which was a shame since it's one of those films that's fun to argue about after a screening. Since I am virtually the only person on the planet that likes this film it's quite possible that I'm wrong about its minor qualities. But it plays well in my memory which is more than enough for me (I saw it only once.) However shaky my recollection may be, at least I wasn't wrong about Sarsgaard.
In the past five years Sarsgaard's done solid and intermittently very good work in a number of films such as K-19:The Widowmaker (2002), Garden State, Kinsey (2004), Flightplan, The Dying Gaul, and The Skeleton Key (2005). But when it comes right down to this he made top ten for his absolute perfection in Shattered Glass (2003, FB Gold Medal). The film itself isn't much to sing about but he's a sensation as a mild mannered editor wound ever tighter by the disapproving scrutiny of his direct reports and his righteous fury at the renegade journalist (Hayden Christensen) who could destroy all of their careers. I've been slightly disappointed in the intervening years that filmmakers keep returning to Sarsgaard's now patented emotional cork-popping moment (it's his version of Julianne Moore's oft repeated crying jag) but if this tactic doesn't work as well in Kinsey (2004) or Jarhead (2005) as it did in his reputation-making Glass turn, it's at least easy to understand why they do. That sudden flash of lightning captured in an nondescript bottle was a truly memorable and entirely human special effect.
l sometimes feel a tiny sense of propriety with Clive Owen. It stems from the shallow "I saw him first!" school of idolatry. In the early 90s I saw Close My Eyes, his second feature made when he was 26 or 27 years-old, on video. In the film Clive Owen has a very ...um... close relationship with his screen sister Saskia Reeves. When I first discovered video editing in 1994 on my college campus and was mixing movie moments together I made sure to include this one particulary long held close up of Clive Owen in the edit. The shot climaxes with him suddenly opening his eyes. If a film has copious nudity (this one did) and what you most remember is a closeup of the face, that actor is one to watch.
After Croupier (1998 but released in American in 2000) made it's way around the world, I knew that Clive Owen was no longer mine. I was just surprised that it had taken that long. He belonged to film buffs then. After his triumphant star turn in Closer (2004) in which Clive Owen showed Julia Roberts, Natalie Portman AND Jude Law how it was done (Oscar nomination, FB award, etc...) he belonged to everyone. The truth is I was a little scared to keep him to myself anyway. It's the eyes first and foremost: intense, troubled, with more than a hint of "i-mother-f***king-dare-you" in them. Just watch him in Gosford Park (2001), King Arthur (2004), Sin City (2005) and that excellent series for BMW, The Hire (2001-2002) and see. His voice is his second most powerful weapon. He means business. Only a mesmerizing actor can utter stage-bound lines like the ones he spat out in Closer "A heart is a fist covered in blood!" and make the audience freeze rather than giggle. Clive Owen is not to be trifled with.
next page: 5-1
The List Such As It Is Right Now (February 2006)
100 -91 / 90-81 / 80-71/ 70-61 / 60-51 / 50-41 /
40-31 / 30-21 / 20-11 / 10-6 / 5-1
