Director: Duke Johnson
Writer: Duke Johnson and Stephen Cooney
Stars: André Holland, Gemma Chan, Toby Jones
Synopsis: Paul Cole finds himself stranded in a mysterious small town with no memory of who he is or how he got here. As bits and pieces of his past slowly emerge, he attempts to find his way home, but time is slippery, appearances can’t be trusted, and it’s unclear which of his identities is real.
First, imagine that Charlie Kaufman (or a trusted Kaufman disciple, in this case) directed a feature-length adaptation of It’s a Wonderful Life’s emotional climax, where George Bailey wishes he was never born and an angel turns that impulsive, despondent desire into a reality. Yet, as with any adaptation, imagine the filmmaker utilized their dramatic license to turn their George Bailey into the only man in town who can’t remember a thing about his own existence. You can open your eyes now to the tune of Duke Johnson’s The Actor, a fantastic and beguiling number from Kaufman’s directing partner on 2015’s Anomalisa that brings the crisis of forgetting one’s lines to the forefront. Only in the case of this actor – Paul Cole (the ever-reliable André Holland), one of New York’s many rising stage presences to believe that they are Broadway’s Chosen One™ – he’s not merely misplaced his script. It’s his memories, his name, and his sense of self that require recollection, should he dare.
Adapted (perhaps ironically) from Donald E. Westlake’s posthumously-published 2010 novel “Memory” by Johnson and Stephen Cooney, the former’s solo feature debut is a film not so much about memory as it is about what it means to remember, specifically the significance of what we do remember versus what the things we forget represent. Paul can’t even remember that what landed him in the hospital was a chagrined husband taking a wooden chair to his head after discovering that Paul had brought the latter’s wife to his hotel room for a post-performance rendezvous, which seems to be his roadshow routine. This instance happened to occur in Jeffords, Ohio, “somewhere everyone knows their lines,” the film’s narrator tells the audience, “but the only thing real is ‘home.’” Thus begins Paul’s spiraling effort to get home to New York, a nugget of pivotal information he discovers by way of the ID nestled in his otherwise near-empty wallet, which forces him to stay in Jeffords just long enough to make an impression on the locals.
In order to make his way back to the Big Apple, Paul realizes that he will have to work and to assimilate, which would prove far less difficult if he could only remember anything other than his occupation, something his hiring manager at the local tannery notes as a sort of “unskilled labor.” Even more complicating is the fact that Paul’s participation in adultery is illegal in Jeffords, landing the clueless sap in hot water with local law enforcement, led by a vaguely racist police lieutenant (Toby Jones, in one of his many roles in the film). In fact, every supporting actor in The Actor is part of “The Troupe,” which Johnson cleverly introduces in the film’s classically-styled opening credits, narrative tactic that lends itself nicely to The Actor’s theatrical nature. Paulina Rzeszowska’s production design, enhanced by meticulous work from The Brutalist set decorator Mercédesz Nagyváradi, make Johnson’s film look and feel like a stage production, its background actors and objects carefully placed as though they are all parts of a living, breathing tableau. Joe Passarelli’s cinematography, similar to his work on Anomalisa, is never too insistent on suffocating Paul, which allows us to take in Janka Erdely’s stunning art direction. The film’s cityscapes, miniatures that look like oil paintings, would certainly feel out of place in a dentist’s office.
That the aforementioned troupe – all members of Paul’s traveling company – is made up of great performers like Jones, Tracey Ullman, May Calamawy, Simon McBurney, Joe Cole, and Tanya Reynolds is gravy atop the meal, which has a taste that isn’t easily sussed out. Gemma Chan is the only name to be singled out alongside Holland’s; she plays Edna, the most alluring woman in Jeffords, who Paul first notices sitting a few rows behind him in a movie theater. As the two fall in love, we are never unaware of Paul’s desire to return to New York, thus rendering their moments together a fleeting distraction until he has enough coin to purchase a ticket back to the promised land.
But can a standout moment in a man’s life be considered fleeting if every single moment’s lifespan is not guaranteed? Better yet, can any moment be considered a standout if there are only so many to begin with? As everything in The Actor, the idea that Paul and Edna’s budding romance is destined to fall apart might be a misdirection, but their fate certainly isn’t helped by the emergence of memories of from Paul’s past life, which begin to return in flashes as if someone is operating a film reel in his head at 100x speed. As Paul descends further into disassociation – the glimpses of these frames growing more and more prevalent, with Richard Reed Parry’s noir-ish score responding accordingly – Holland’s performance turns from that of a floundering amnesiac attempting to remain afloat in rocky, unfamiliar waters to that of a man desperate to tighten his grip on the things he’s already struggled so much to accept.
It being Holland’s most surreal performance to date isn’t saying much given the emotional onslaught of roles he had been cast in prior, with 2024’s underseen Exhibiting Forgiveness serving as a self-set benchmark for heartbreaking brilliance. Yet, there’s something similar happening here – the strenuous process of a man piecing his life back together after it comes undone in a startling manner. Perhaps that will continue to be Holland’s bread and butter moving forward; to see it done in Johnson’s preferred fashion is nothing short of exhilarating, though, and would be welcome if it were to return in a future performance. Edna’s arc, meanwhile, sees the character shift from bubbly and lovestruck to devastated on a similar dime to Paul’s internal change. It’s a major credit to the excellent Chan, who evolves as a screen presence seemingly every time she appears in a film, playing the oft-undesirable part of the potential partner who gets burned by the lost artist. ever mind the fact that Paul’s disorientation is more evolved than what might be considered typical for a fictional artist. You know the (selfish, egotistical) type.
While no one in The Actor is exactly playing against type, that’s specifically because its titular character struggles to know what his “type” is meant to be. When he eventually returns to Manhattan, it becomes apparent that Paul is a complicated, somewhat unlikable fellow, one whose inner circle is tight but venomous. Is this the man he was… or still is? Early on in The Actor, someone notes, “Why does [Paul] have to get home? If he doesn’t remember who he was, why not just start over?” Considering Johnson’s interest in mortality and existential dread, it would be too close to the easy route, simply letting Paul start anew with new memories or handcrafted old ones. Letting his main man sit in the confusion, while teetering on torturous, is half the fun. Maybe it’s as close to preparing for a new part as Paul will ever get. Given everything he’s learned by The Actor’s conclusion, though, that might not be such a bad thing.
