Friday, February 27, 2015
By Craig Brown for the Daily Mail
Published: 01:05 GMT, 3 February 2015 | Updated: 01:51 GMT, 3 February 2015
Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones were outstanding in The Theory of Everything, but an unknown extra did not waste her moment of glory
Who is the most memorable actor in The Theory Of Everything? Some would say Eddie Redmayne as Stephen Hawking. Others would point to Felicity Jones, who plays his wife.
But, for me, the outstanding performance passed unnoticed by critics and came from an unnamed woman who didn’t even rate a mention in the long list of credits.
Admittedly, you only catch sight of her for a few seconds, and she has no lines, but, my goodness, she puts everything she’s got into her brief time on screen.
She is in only one scene — the one in which Hawking goes to a performance of Wagner in Geneva (in reality, London’s Royal Opera House). Most of the audience is seated as Hawking arrives in his wheelchair and has to be lifted into his seat. Of those who glance towards Hawking as he is brought in, some look sympathetic, others concerned, others slightly curious.
The exception is a middle-aged extra, sitting in the row just behind Hawking, slightly to his left. The woman in question was clearly determined not to waste her precious moment of glory. Unlike the others in the audience, she doesn’t just look sympathetic, or concerned, or slightly curious. Instead, she looks wildly sympathetic, unbelievably concerned and manically curious — and all in the course of a couple of seconds.
Then, in an amazingly bravura performance, she switches to an expression of blanket disapproval, before rounding it all off with a look of abject horror, like Nicolas Cage in the remake of The Wicker Man at that unfortunate moment when the villagers decide to funnel bees (‘Aargh! Not the bees!’) into his cage-mask.
The orchestra then strikes up, and all is well for a few seconds. But then Stephen Hawking has some sort of seizure, and has to be carried out on a stretcher, mid-show.
Once again, the surrounding members of the audience look a little put out, or ever-so-slightly concerned — all, that is, except our friend over Hawking’s shoulder. Seizing a chance that comes along only once in a blue moon, she adopts an expression of sheer outrage, like Kenneth Williams being given an enema by Hattie Jacques.
It takes a certain chutzpah to steal the show from Eddie Redmayne in his skew-whiff Buddy Holly specs as he squirms and gasps his way through Stephen Hawking taking a turn for the worse in the middle of a Wagner opera, but this spellbinding extra somehow carries it off. Was she specially selected to sit just behind Eddie Redmayne? Or — as seems more likely — did she elbow her way to that particular seat and plonk herself down, having worked out that this was the prime spot for maximum exposure?
It takes a certain chutzpah to steal the show from Eddie Redmayne in his skew-whiff Buddy Holly specs, but the spellbinding extra somehow carries it off
BBC2's Wolf Hall can be a little hard to follow, largely because the acting is so subdued
In a fairer world, her performance would be awarded an Oscar. She could either be Best Extra — after all, she puts a lot extra into being extra — or perhaps Best Over-Actor.
Overacting is frowned upon at present, but styles in acting are subject to the swings and turns of fashion.
At the moment, I’m very much enjoying Wolf Hall on BBC2, but it can be a little hard to follow, largely because the acting is so subdued. If an actor in Wolf Hall looks blank, it means he has just heard some very bad news. If he raises an eyebrow, it means he’s just heard his wife has had her head chopped off. And if he raises both eyebrows it means that his own head has just been chopped off.
These days, underacting is in vogue, but, not all that long ago, every actor worth his salt put huge dollops of expression into every part he played. Laurence Olivier was not just a great actor, but a great over-actor, gurning and grimacing his way through all the major Shakespearean roles.
In turn, Olivier set the benchmark for everyone else. My earliest prolonged exposure to the actor’s art was watching the likes of Benny (left) and Miss Diane in the TV series Crossroads for 25 minutes, five days a week, 52 weeks a year for a good ten years.
The marvellous thing about Crossroads was that you always knew what was going on. If, for instance, Wee Shughie, the under-chef, suddenly spotted a spider on a blancmange, his facial expression would move within a split-second from easy-going enthusiasm to the utmost alarm.
Ditto the busy-body, Amy Turtle. When Amy answered the motel telephone and her mouth shot open and her eyebrows shot up, you knew for sure that someone unsavoury was on the other end of the line. It may not have been very subtle, but at least we all knew where we were.
Nowadays, the pendulum has swung the other way, and everyone underacts, with the result that viewers flounder around in a fog of unknowing. But that unsung extra in The Theory Of Everything suggests that overacting is not dead, and the spirit of Crossroads lives on.
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Published: 01:05 GMT, 3 February 2015 | Updated: 01:51 GMT, 3 February 2015
Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones were outstanding in The Theory of Everything, but an unknown extra did not waste her moment of gloryWho is the most memorable actor in The Theory Of Everything? Some would say Eddie Redmayne as Stephen Hawking. Others would point to Felicity Jones, who plays his wife.
But, for me, the outstanding performance passed unnoticed by critics and came from an unnamed woman who didn’t even rate a mention in the long list of credits.
Admittedly, you only catch sight of her for a few seconds, and she has no lines, but, my goodness, she puts everything she’s got into her brief time on screen.
She is in only one scene — the one in which Hawking goes to a performance of Wagner in Geneva (in reality, London’s Royal Opera House). Most of the audience is seated as Hawking arrives in his wheelchair and has to be lifted into his seat. Of those who glance towards Hawking as he is brought in, some look sympathetic, others concerned, others slightly curious.
The exception is a middle-aged extra, sitting in the row just behind Hawking, slightly to his left. The woman in question was clearly determined not to waste her precious moment of glory. Unlike the others in the audience, she doesn’t just look sympathetic, or concerned, or slightly curious. Instead, she looks wildly sympathetic, unbelievably concerned and manically curious — and all in the course of a couple of seconds.
Then, in an amazingly bravura performance, she switches to an expression of blanket disapproval, before rounding it all off with a look of abject horror, like Nicolas Cage in the remake of The Wicker Man at that unfortunate moment when the villagers decide to funnel bees (‘Aargh! Not the bees!’) into his cage-mask.
The orchestra then strikes up, and all is well for a few seconds. But then Stephen Hawking has some sort of seizure, and has to be carried out on a stretcher, mid-show.
Once again, the surrounding members of the audience look a little put out, or ever-so-slightly concerned — all, that is, except our friend over Hawking’s shoulder. Seizing a chance that comes along only once in a blue moon, she adopts an expression of sheer outrage, like Kenneth Williams being given an enema by Hattie Jacques.
It takes a certain chutzpah to steal the show from Eddie Redmayne in his skew-whiff Buddy Holly specs as he squirms and gasps his way through Stephen Hawking taking a turn for the worse in the middle of a Wagner opera, but this spellbinding extra somehow carries it off. Was she specially selected to sit just behind Eddie Redmayne? Or — as seems more likely — did she elbow her way to that particular seat and plonk herself down, having worked out that this was the prime spot for maximum exposure?
It takes a certain chutzpah to steal the show from Eddie Redmayne in his skew-whiff Buddy Holly specs, but the spellbinding extra somehow carries it off BBC2's Wolf Hall can be a little hard to follow, largely because the acting is so subduedIn a fairer world, her performance would be awarded an Oscar. She could either be Best Extra — after all, she puts a lot extra into being extra — or perhaps Best Over-Actor.
Overacting is frowned upon at present, but styles in acting are subject to the swings and turns of fashion.
At the moment, I’m very much enjoying Wolf Hall on BBC2, but it can be a little hard to follow, largely because the acting is so subdued. If an actor in Wolf Hall looks blank, it means he has just heard some very bad news. If he raises an eyebrow, it means he’s just heard his wife has had her head chopped off. And if he raises both eyebrows it means that his own head has just been chopped off.
These days, underacting is in vogue, but, not all that long ago, every actor worth his salt put huge dollops of expression into every part he played. Laurence Olivier was not just a great actor, but a great over-actor, gurning and grimacing his way through all the major Shakespearean roles.
In turn, Olivier set the benchmark for everyone else. My earliest prolonged exposure to the actor’s art was watching the likes of Benny (left) and Miss Diane in the TV series Crossroads for 25 minutes, five days a week, 52 weeks a year for a good ten years.
The marvellous thing about Crossroads was that you always knew what was going on. If, for instance, Wee Shughie, the under-chef, suddenly spotted a spider on a blancmange, his facial expression would move within a split-second from easy-going enthusiasm to the utmost alarm.
Ditto the busy-body, Amy Turtle. When Amy answered the motel telephone and her mouth shot open and her eyebrows shot up, you knew for sure that someone unsavoury was on the other end of the line. It may not have been very subtle, but at least we all knew where we were.
Nowadays, the pendulum has swung the other way, and everyone underacts, with the result that viewers flounder around in a fog of unknowing. But that unsung extra in The Theory Of Everything suggests that overacting is not dead, and the spirit of Crossroads lives on.
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