People, even including show biz types, try to accept a movie on its own terms, as some sort of removed reality. Then if they really stop and think about it, they recognize an actor doing good work, a director in charge, designers getting it right. As concerns the actual nuts-and-bolts of filmmaking, that’s usually the end of it.
As an actor you sometimes go one step further: “Oh, nice line reading…nice subtle reaction there… I love the way he walked out of the room..” Stuff like that. But usually not much more.
Today, though, watching the last half hour of IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, something more occurred to me. This is something I could have, maybe should have, thought of long ago. But I didn’t, so leave me be. I’m doing the best I can.
What I’m thinking about starts in the movie with the missing $8000. I know I don’t have to explain that because we’ve all seen the movie. Anyway, that’s when George Bailey’s life really, ultimately goes straight to hell. For the next extended section of the movie, Jimmy Stewart plays anger, fear, desperation, all the bad stuff. And he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.
Then, finally, after Clarence has done his magic, George gets it. The snow starts falling again, his lip starts bleeding again, Zuzu’s petals make their return. And George Bailey is happy. He’s as happy as anyone in human history has ever been. Jimmy Stewart has to play that, and he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.
But what really occurred to me for the first time today was… The scenes with desperate George probably took a week to film, at the least. And every day of that week or more, actor Stewart had to be at the very extremity of anger and fear and desperation over and over again. He probably had to be suicidal for a full day.
Then, thank God, the misery is past and it’s time to be happy. This is no easier, believe me. Stewart had to be at the opposite extremity now, happier than humans are allowed to be. He had to experience and evince pure joy. For another week. Every day, over and over, he had to smile till his cheeks hurt, laugh and make it real, love all these people who are, really, just other actors.
This sort of acting, in extremis, is difficult on stage eight times a week, really difficult. So difficult, in fact, that it’s often not really achieved. But to do it over and over, day after day, for a week or more, first maximally miserable, then impossibly joyful, that was Mr. Stewart’s assignment. Something almost impossible, I’d think. But there it is. The proof of it is on the screen and it is undeniable.
And, though it’s really beside the point, it’s still worth remembering that this was the first performance for an actor after years of war. Genuine war, in his case. Actual dangerous, life-threatening, soul-changing war.
Mr. Stewart…Bravo. Brav-the-damn-o.
