My wife got me hooked on a new series last night. Damnit. It’s ‘The Missing,’ on Starz. The main character (or one of them) is played by James Nesbit, whose performance in Five Minutes of Heaven I thought was nothing short of stunning. Recognizing that moment when a film or a show sinks its teeth into you is one of life’s pleasures. A fair amount of what I watch/read/listen to is easily placed into the category of entertainment for entertainment’s sake, and whats wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. That said, part of what draws me to certain things — I suppose I’m speaking primarily of films here — is the all too infrequent ability to get seriously reeled in by a story. Suspension of disbelief, in a literal, all-encompassing sense, isn’t truly possible (and even if it might be, I reckon that’ll be the domain of virtual reality ... and then, probably not for another 20 years). But there *is* a certain threshold of suspension, past which the brain compels an emotional investment (whether immediately conscious of it or not); the ability of a writer, director or actor to elicit that kind of investment requires a skill set so finely honed that it demands to be respected. And this investment can be brought about by the performance of one actor, in one role, even in the context of a movie that might otherwise be … you know … shite. Far from being embarrassed by it, I’m actually quite grateful for this personality quirk that allows emotions to be extracted from me. A film performance can be every bit the work of art that any painting or sculpture is. And while I might not always understand, from a contextual or critical standpoint, why one thing is “good” and another thing isn’t, I can feel it in a manner that isn’t always necessary to put into words, anyway.
Posted on: Tue, 02 Dec 2014 13:46:18 +0000