Just the mention of playing role of Othello makes Ronald Coleman's Anthony John start hallucinating. Triggered by this project suggestion, Anthony finds himself murmuring lines from Shakespeare's tragedy while walking down the street alone and sitting by himself in restaurants.
Anthony's total commitment to his craft of fantasy, unfortunately, takes a deadly toll on his private life. Signe Hasso's Brita understands this, and instantly fears for her ex-husband's--now co-star's--happiness.
Here's a modern tragedy, scripted by Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin, of an actor who just couldn't leave his role at the stage door.
"When the actor starts believing he's the character he's playing, that's the time to fire him," remains a wise theatre management adage.
It's a darned good principle, too.
When the actor fails to maintain an "invisible wall" between himself and his co-actors, that's the time for some concern. Although practioners of the Stanislavsky tradition may achieve great "truth" in their work, they may not realize that this achievement is more "relative" than "absolute" and can become a "double edged-sword."
Anthony John's "character-absorption" tendency, while earning him a "great performance," conversely yields a decidedly unconstructive home life. Unless the actor finds some kernels of project idealism to enhance his personal development, the entire enterprise may be negligible.
Milton Krasner's dark cinematography and Miklos Rozsa's dissonant score supports George Cukor's pessimistic direction. Likewise, Walter Hampden's advisement for the "Othello" sequences adds authenticity to the Shakespearian flavor.
In the end, we have a shattering drama, holding within its fold a grave thespian caution: "it's only a character being played, not real life."
For his fine work as Anthony John, Coleman received an Academy Award.
Anthony's total commitment to his craft of fantasy, unfortunately, takes a deadly toll on his private life. Signe Hasso's Brita understands this, and instantly fears for her ex-husband's--now co-star's--happiness.
Here's a modern tragedy, scripted by Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin, of an actor who just couldn't leave his role at the stage door.
"When the actor starts believing he's the character he's playing, that's the time to fire him," remains a wise theatre management adage.
It's a darned good principle, too.
When the actor fails to maintain an "invisible wall" between himself and his co-actors, that's the time for some concern. Although practioners of the Stanislavsky tradition may achieve great "truth" in their work, they may not realize that this achievement is more "relative" than "absolute" and can become a "double edged-sword."
Anthony John's "character-absorption" tendency, while earning him a "great performance," conversely yields a decidedly unconstructive home life. Unless the actor finds some kernels of project idealism to enhance his personal development, the entire enterprise may be negligible.
Milton Krasner's dark cinematography and Miklos Rozsa's dissonant score supports George Cukor's pessimistic direction. Likewise, Walter Hampden's advisement for the "Othello" sequences adds authenticity to the Shakespearian flavor.
In the end, we have a shattering drama, holding within its fold a grave thespian caution: "it's only a character being played, not real life."
For his fine work as Anthony John, Coleman received an Academy Award.