"Thou, O king, sawest, and behold a great image. This great image, whose brightness was excellent, stood before thee; and the form thereof was terrible. This image's head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, his legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay. (Daniel 2:31-33)
As metaphors go, Nebuchadnezzar’s dream is a fairly obvious allusion to the flaws found in us all; the fragile foundations upon which we build our beliefs and bona-fides. In Spike Lee’s Red Hook Summer, Clarke Peters delivers a performance in which he becomes an all-too-human embodiment of Nebuchadnezzar’s vision; a man divine in countenance, shown teetering (thanks to a third act, right-hook revelation) on feet crumbling to dust as we gaze on with a mixture of fascination, fear and, ultimately, empathy.
When Da Good Bishop Enoch Rouse is preachin’ - standing beneath a fluorescent cross, the summer sweat streaming down his face as he rails against the secular and spiritual evils that plague his parish - we are caught up in the passion that pours from his heart and we feel the pull of the Word in his calls to come to Jesus. His audience is rapt, entranced by the golden glow of his countenance, and even his grandson Flik Royale, devout atheist that he is, is seen smiling in appreciation at the power of Bishop Enoch’s words.
Outside of the church, Grandpa Enoch is a firm, yet fair, man of sterling character and iron-clad resolve. He is trying to save his grandson not only from the fires of hell, but the slow-burning disillusionment of living in a world that, for all appearances, cares little for his participation or presence. Peters work here is undemonstrative - subtle, never showy - reflective of a true man of God fighting for his kith and kin with a mixture of humility and methodical tenacity.
Then comes the moment when Lee and writer James McBride open a brutally literal Book of Revelation...
Suddenly, Peters’ character goes from a nuanced, if one-dimensional, totem of religious authority, to something so compelling, so perfectly human, that when this revelation comes, it hits not only with a shocking force but also a soul-stirring sense of pity. This idol of a man - this ideal of a man - has been revealed to be just as damaged and fragile as Nebuchadnezzar’s monolith. That this doesn’t completely derail what has been, until now, been a fairly straightforward coming-of-age tale, is a testament to Peters’ skill not only as an actor, but as a man of profound humanity. In lesser hands, Da Good Bishop would collapse under the weight of this newfound revelation, becoming a hollow farce of the figure we knew before. But Peters reaches deeper, and brings forth a quiet strength that shows there is still a little iron left in his foundations; a strength that may just be enough to carry the weight of the cross he’s been asked to bear. You may not be able to forgive Bishop Enoch for his sins, but thanks to Peters exceptional work, you can certainly see the integrity of his suffering, and hope that maybe someday this great image of a man my find his way back to a state of pure and solid grace. " - Donald Carder
"Leonardo DiCaprio's career is singular in its varied trajectory over the last two decades, beginning with his naturalistic performance as Johnny Depp's mentally challenged little brother in What's Eating Gilbert Grape, for which he received his first Academy Award nomination. Soon after that, his back-to-back leading roles in blockbuster hits Romeo + Juliet and Titanic catapulted him to mega-stardom and off-the-charts teen heartthrob status, which he wisely eschewed by collaborating with Martin Scorsese on several films and taking on equally serious roles in weighty dramas such as Revolutionary Road and J. Edgar. And here, DiCaprio shifts gears yet again; his role as 'Monsieur' Calvin Candie, a flamboyant and sadistic Mississippi plantation owner, in Quentin Tarantino's wildly anachronistic treatment of slavery in the Old South Django Unchained begins what will hopefully be another new phase in his career.
As Candie, DiCaprio oscillates seamlessly between sociopathy and Southern gentility, all while adopting a flawlessly laidback Mississippi drawl. We see many chilling layers to his character early on from his first appearance in the private room of the Cleopatra Club, as he sips daintily on a Polynesian Pearl Diver ("Do not spare the rum!") following a gruesome spectacle where he mercilessly urges two of his slaves to fight each other to the death for his entertainment. Shortly thereafter, he orders another slave to be chewed alive by dogs, the horror of which is contrasted by the incestuous tenderness and doting he displays towards his widowed sister, Lara-Lee. We are as charmed and amused by his verbal sparring with his house servant Stephen (played by Samuel L. Jackson) as we are terrified and menaced by the lesson on phrenology that he recites over the skull of Old Ben.
What makes this a particularly exciting development in DiCaprio's career is not so much that it marks the first time he has played a villain but that he does so with refreshing doses of humor and self-parody that we have not seen him portray in his other films to date. He has great fun with this role, and his enthusiasm is infectious. The theatricality of his acting style lends itself well to the rich characters and colorful dialogue of Tarantino, a director who, among other things, is known for helping already gifted actors reach even greater heights." - Kevin Dufresne
"One of the most common praises of Amour is that it completely avoids sentimentalizing its subject, the life of an elderly couple as the woman’s health rapidly deteriorates. This achievement, which makes the movie feel so much realer and rawer than the phony tearjerker alternative, has most often been credited to filmmaker Michael Haneke’s screenplay, which is undoubtedly where it originated. But the lead performances by screen legends Emmanuelle Riva and Jean-Louis Trintignant are equally responsible for the successful delivery of such unfettered storytelling; they make the viewer feel for the characters without actively soliciting empathy, which makes the material come across as that much more honest and resonant.
Trintignant’s role is less showy than Riva’s in that he remains able-bodied throughout while she suffers from myriad ailments following a series of strokes, but one could argue that it was more of a challenge for this very reason. That Haneke’s script allows the actor not a single conventional opportunity to superficially gain the audience’s sympathy (for instance, his Georges doesn’t dramatically freak out when his wife has her first stroke at the breakfast table, instead almost leisurely strolling to the bedroom to get dressed so he can take her to the doctor) makes the work even more difficult. The only way for Trintignant to earn said sympathy is to create a fully-formed human being -- someone we could believe as our own father or grandfather, thereby forging a connection -- and does he ever. Each choice the actor makes feels authentically human; especially in quiet moments, it’s remarkable what he can do with his relatively stoic face. Further, Trintignant is able to retain his core humanity even in the film’s most symbolic scenes, including a nightmare straight out of a horror movie and a particularly heartbreaking moment with a bird.
There’s a highly significant layer beneath the surface of Georges that only fully comes out at the end of the picture, but looking back afterwards, it’s astounding how much Trintignant integrates this layer into his characterization throughout. It has a subconscious effect on the audience, as we’re aware that this man has dimensions with which we are not acquainted -- an early scene sees Riva’s Anne tells him “You’re a monster sometimes” in a passive yet foreboding way -- but we don’t know how they’ll manifest themselves. It’s impossible to go into detail without spoilers, but I will say: if you want to understand how masterful this performance is, think about how delicately Trintignant builds to what happens in the end. He crafts an arc for Georges that is as meaningful as the overarching one that Haneke does for the film. This may very well be the 82-year-old’s final performance, and boy, is it a great one to go out on." - Danny Baldwin
"The point of a performance, the saying goes, is to bring the truth. But how do you perform in a movie that’s all about a lack of truth? Bernie presents a very simple story in a not-so-simple way. Richard Linklater’s film both documents and narrativizes the story of Bernie Tiede, the nicest man in Carthage, Texas. So why did Bernie end up killing an old woman? Numerous people, both fictional and real, offer answers to this question, but none of them are truly satisfactory. What becomes apparent is that explaining this action -- simplifying it into an x or y statement -- is nigh-impossible.
Jack Black’s wondrously complex performance reflects this strange ambivalence the film builds. Charming, precise in language and bustling with energy, Black creates Bernie as an instantly likable character with a magnetic force that extends over him even as he lovingly explains how to embalm a corpse in an early scene. But if Black simply jumped around with a skip to his feet, the film would be shallow. Instead, Black hints at insights in the way his voice will occasionally quiver, the way his eyes can shift from delight to concern, the way his gestures can feel overcorrected. These choices create a totality of a character sans easy explanation, and Black thus forms his performance into a rounded human being, one with many facets and masks yet unable himself to understand his own actions. Most actors know their character; Black never shows himself knowing who Bernie Tiede is, choosing instead to highlight the tension within a man struggling to know himself. And that perhaps, is the boldest action an actor can do when performing a real life person." - Peter Labuza
"My favorite performance of 2012 comes from a baker. I don't mean an actor who prepped for a role as a baker by spending months methodically learning to bake. I mean a baker who now acts on the side. As Hushpuppy's father Wink in Beasts of the Southern Wild, Dwight Henry could have been just another protagonist's troubled patriarch, another one-note obstacle impeding our hero's ability to prosper. Instead, we get a relationship achingly complicated and beautifully specific-- it's the most moving depiction of a father and his daughter I've witnessed in decades. When we reach film's end, we see the basis of Wink's fight, we feel the weight of his journey, and we understand the gravity of his sacrifice. Every outburst is cloaked in love. We never feel Henry posturing like we sometimes do in overwrought dramas. Cliches are utterly absent from the proceedings, and the artifice that emerges after years of desperate training is replaced with pure raw emotion.
Don't mistake the phrase "raw" for "uncontrolled," however; every moment is expertly played, every line read brilliantly twisted, every emotional beat authentically hit with precision. Bakers appearing in indie films don't understand potential awards season ramifications; they merely pursue reality relentlessly. As Shakespeare once said, "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." In Dwight Henry's case, he might be all three. How a man stepping in front of a camera for the first time was able to move me greater than any other experienced actor, male or female, is nothing short of miraculous. It deserves to be celebrated. Perhaps by small children with fireworks." - Russell Hainline
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