I was recently asked by my friend/director (she has produced and directed two of the shorts I wrote) to make a “special guest appearance” at her scene studies class. The class is one targeted towards directors working in film and traditionally they have worked with assigned actors of assigned genders – two women, two men, a man with a woman. They can use scenes from existing film scripts or ones they are working on. My friend chose a scene from the Billy Wilder film “The Apartment” and I was hauled in to play a third character (a trailblazing event, apparently) -- the bitchy, drunk ex-girlfriend of the heroine’s (married) boyfriend.

I should point out, no typecasting was involved. Or so I tell myself.

Being in one of those commercial rehearsal rooms on the west side in the Garment District evoked many ghosts, but – that’s another story. When our “The Apartment” scene was done (“Oh, you’re not a real actress? But you were so good!”), I watched the other two scenes, which were from original scripts the directors had written.

And God help me, I do love actors (and actresses – I use the term gender-neutrally.) They’re infuriating creatures, but when they’re on, I can forgive them their hi-I-love-you-bye-I-love-you hugs, their massive insecurity, their general (that is, generally-speaking) illiteracy, their solipsism (go look it up, actors). My friend/director sat by my side during these scenes, eager for my opinions, and somewhat surprised by them. “Tell me about Mary,” (name changed) I whispered. “Really?” she hissed back. “Her?”

The thing about Mary was that I couldn’t tell, looking at her, whether she was beautiful or plain. Not ugly – actresses are never ugly (or else I would have been one) – but just ordinarily symmetrically-featured with no glaring exceptions of cheekbones, lips or eyes. During the scene and its many redos, “Mary” was both hard and plain, and hard and beautiful, depending on what she was playing and what the emotions of the scene demanded. The dichotomy kept me watching, and watching intently.

Far more engaging, n’est-ce pas?

And the thing is, for most of us, that is true of the people we love. Are they beautiful? Or is it their smile that makes them beautiful, or their solemnity, or their intensity, or their insouciance? With someone merely pretty – or very, very pretty – one thinks, am I here, am I worthy of being here, or am I merely audience? With a plain/beauty, one thinks, I see you, I see you in me, can you see me? And me in you? I think you might. I hope you will.

I want to do a piece on the beautiful females of film who have played the "drab" one (usually accomplished by putting them in cardigans and dyeing their hair brown) but that is for another time (and maybe for a place that pays $$ :)).

Labels: acting, beauty

posted by Elizabeth at 8:05 PM