Author: Thomas Schryver, Aidan Lewis
Thomas Schryver (contributing editor)
There are few movies I want to see less than one starring Jason Statham. That Rogaine-using reprobate is a surefire sign of a 100 percent relentlessly predictable and formulaic action film—a film that probably has a trailer featuring Statham’s character saying something like, “My name’s Chev Martin; if I don’t kill someone and get my shag on at least once every six minutes, my heart is going to explode.”
Have you seen The Transporter 2? My condolences. Have you seen Death Race? Me neither. But guess what, you don’t need to. Because Statham plays the same guy every single time. A gruff voiced, scowling bad-ass British bloke who has the acting versatility of a Stan Lee cameo.
I don’t want to be a film snob, but when I see actors playing the same role film after film, I start to feel duped as a viewer, as if it’s expected that I will forget the half dozen previous films that featured almost the exact same character and catch phrases.
Take Ben Stiller for example. Stiller is a very funny and talented actor, but ever since Zoolander I feel like I’ve been watching him portray the same two basic characters: the pathetic, gravely voiced egomaniac a la Dodgeball, Heavyweights, and Mystery Men, or the awkward guy who just can’t catch a break, such as in Along Came Polly, Meet The Parents, and The Heartbreak Kid. Although Stiller has proven he’s capable of breaking the mold in shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm and Extras, I doubt his film appearances are going to diversify anytime soon.
Then there’s Noel “Wassup Homes?” Gugliemi, an actor whose credits seem to flip back and forth from “Bar Thug #2” to “Barrio Gangster #1.” Gugliemi is great at portraying the stereotypical Los Angeles gangbanger, but after I’ve seen him play an identical role in almost a dozen films, the movies lose just a smidgen of their appeal and originality.
Sometimes these ill-fated actors and actresses can break free from the shackles of typecasting, however. For example, Jim Carrey was able to prove to audiences that he was capable of straying from his rubber-faced slapstick comedic roles by acting in dramatic films such as The Truman Show and Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. Aside from the unfortunate The Number 23, I’d say he’s done a pretty good job at expanding his repertoire of characters.
The one true exception I think we can all make for actors who continually inhabit the same role is the great Reginald VelJohnson, perhaps more commonly known as Carl Winslow on the sitcom Family Matters. In three decades of acting, VelJohnson has rarely had a role that doesn’t show him in a police uniform, but his rotund appearance and mannerisms make him an archetypal law enforcement officer/family man.
VelJohnson’s case aside, until Hollywood learns to take greater risks or more actors and actresses gain the courage to explore new roles, audiences will be forced to watch typecast characters that make plotlines all the more predictable and repetitive.
Thomas Schryver is a senior Philosophy major. He can be reached at tschryver@oxy.edu.
Aidan Lewis (staff writer)
Like many people, I hate it when Rob Schneider appears in a new film, because I know that he will invariably play a loser. Through some bizarre and implausible adaptation, be it sexual, physiological or occupational, Rob Schneider always morphs from or into a sad cosmic joke. Fate thwarts him, his peers reject him, society renders him a laughingstock—and yet he keeps coming back, unremitting, for the same trademark role.
While I can’t say I applaud any of Rob Schneider’s performances, I have to confess that I derive a certain comfort from familiar faces. I actually enjoy actors who only have one character—provided it’s a good one.
Tommy Lee Jones is the first person who comes to mind. He is always the weathered sheriff, the government agent or the tired old policeman reluctantly carrying out his duty. Watch Men In Black, The Fugitive, or No Country For Old Men, and you will quickly conclude that Jones was destined to play a justice seeker. I think he was probably born with a Stetson, a badge and skin like rawhide. But he never bores me; his characters always possess a depth of emotion and a likeability that make them intriguing. I find his predictable gruffness more endearing than banal. There is such a dearth of characters in contemporary film who seem consistently steady, honest, and, for lack of a better word, good, that it’s actually refreshing to see someone so reliable.
Morgan Freeman is another of my favorites; the man just radiates sagacious tranquility. His few movie attempts at villainy only come off as diluted wholesomeness. His roles as God in Bruce Almighty and Lucius Fox in the new Batman movies epitomize his character—the loyal, composed figure of wisdom, who, like Tommy Lee Jones, inspires the same sense of dependability.
Part of the reason I love honest one-persona acting is that it reminds me of an era of film that is almost entirely past. I want more Jimmy Stewarts and Carey Grants, actors who guaranteed a quality performance with characteristic idiosyncrasies that would win the audience’s respect every time. I appreciate the Johnny Depps and Meryl Streeps of the movie world, people who can change characters like clothing, but I still find solace in the familiar faces. I hope that when I’m old and gray, Tommy Lee Jones will still be old and tough.
Aidan Lewis is a first-year ECLS major. He can be reached at alewis@oxy.edu.
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