Distance Learning Film: Different Performances of the Same Character
Acting is a little bit more particulate than non-performers may give the art credit for. Often enough, the assumption is made that acting is just about being a literal clone copy of whomever one is portraying. That may not be every performer’s angle, however. There are many different approaches that have spawned over the hundreds of years of the art of performance. With that in mind, here comes a curious question: is there any right way to portray the exact same person? I would state outright that, no, there isn’t one perfect way to act as a character, outside of giving a strong performance in and of itself. Acting is largely interpretational, and history has given us many examples of familiar characters being tackled in different ways. Today, I’m going to quickly cover some of the different types of examples where the same character has been reinterpreted by multiple performers over time.
The Same Character in Different Remakes
The most common example you’re going to find are the amounts of actors that play the same character in different remakes. For this, I would argue that these shifts are largely due to directorial visions, time periods when films have been released, and also the performers themselves. Remakes can also be culturally different (think Infernal Affairs versus The Departed, and how the different communities will affect the characters and how they are perceived by their actors: a thrilling Hong Kong crime drama versus a gritty Bostonian thriller). For me, there’s no better example than the miraculous story that seems to be told successfully a plethora of times: A Star is Born.
The first A Star is Born came in 1937, with an already established Janet Gaynor playing Esther. She vows to become a Hollywood actress, and is aided by an alcoholic acting veteran. She is shy and considerably reserved, but she knows what talent she is capable of. Gaynor was already an Academy Award winner (the first for Best Actress ever) well before this film, so her rise to superstardom was experience she could play off of in this particular role.
In 1954, Judy Garland acted in the first remake as Esther. The first notable change is how this George Cukor version is heavily a musically-driven tale (considering Esther’s singing capabilities and the numbers in this version, as well). Garland herself had experienced hardships for years before this role, which was slated as her return to dominating Hollywood (and is often considered her greatest role). Still, all things considered (including Garland’s struggles versus Gaynor’s successes), Garland still plays Esther as a shy performer with immense, untapped talent.
In 1976, Frank Pierson’s more contemporary-feeling remake starred Barbara Streisand as, well, Esther. At this point, Streisand had multiple Grammys and an Academy Award (she would win another Oscar for Best Original Song for this remake). The film itself was made less as a tale of redemption for a Hollywood icon, and was more of a song-and-performance vehicle for performers that were well established by now (Kris Kristofferson, included). Still, that shyness of Esther’s character remains.
Finally, we have the much-more recent A Star is Born, featuring Lady Gaga as… Ally. Esther is no more, but the character is still very much the same, despite the name change. This film interpretation has more in common with the 1937 original, as the songs featured only are shown as actual performances (in a way that renders a good portion of this film as non-musical in nature). Still, “Ally” sings, and her career is heavily music based. Compare 1937 Esther’s Oscar hopes with 2018 Ally’s dreams of winning a Grammy. And yet, once again, this interpretation of the exact same character is reserved, and calmly spoken.
What can we take away from these four examples? The time periods that these films were released heavily change how Esther/Ally are portrayed. In 1937, talking pictures were used in the mainstream for around ten years. Cinema was still developing into its new sound-picture entity that would remain for decades. By the 1954 version, musical pictures were defined and greatly established, as well as a star like Judy Garland who was fighting to get back into acting on a big level. The 1976 A Star is Born felt more like a then-modern tribute to the 1954 version, with current musical structures and massive names. In 2018, music itself was largely different, and Bradley Cooper used this remake as a vehicle to comment on the shifting natures of the state of music and the industry itself. Four completely different objectives, and four entirely different actresses all took on the same role. The role of Esther/Ally has the same criteria: a budding artist that is unsure of herself, and thrives once they are discovered. How they have been interpreted is different enough to give us a palette of this one character, showing us the changes a director and/or performer can make, plus the cruciality of context.
Different Interpretations of Fictional Characters
Although this can also play into the same explanations of the previous section (considering remakes), I feel this deserves its own slot, especially when the same character is being approached by different performers around the same time periods. Besides, I think characters that are a part of franchises, series, and other multi episodic entities are highly open to interpretation. How should a performer approach a well known character? I know that Esther from A Star is Born is a familiar name, but put her up against Shakespeare’s Juliet or Anna Karenina, and you’ll see the gap I’m talking about. Some characters are so engrained in our pop culture (on a literary or cinematic level, amongst others), that any approach to how they should be performed is a dubious task. Does one play it safe and familiar, or go the distance and create an idiosyncratic performance?
For this section, I’ll look at a few of the different takes on the DC Comics super villain Joker. The first iteration I will look at is Jack Nicholson’s version in Tim Burton’s Batman. This was a pivotal film in the history of comic book flicks, as it set a tone for how comics could be approached when adapted to film. Nicholson may have had Cesar Romero’s Joker from the Batman television show of the ‘60s as inspiration, but Burton and Nicholson vowed to go darker. Nonetheless, his Joker is still cartoonish, but arguably much more frightening. He talks a little strangely, in both an unrealistic and a creepy way; you can sense that this Joker doesn’t exist, but you’re too scared to know what to do if he did.
The large leap to Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight shows a few things: the evolution of the source materials on hand for such a performance (including a number of super sinister Batman graphic novels by now). Ledger turned his Joker into more of a real person, with an organic (yet still eerie) voice (he famously replicated Tom Waits’ quirky Los Angeles drawl for this role). Physically, he stands like an actual criminal overlord would: with hunched shoulders, a dominant stance, and a complete lack of regard for where he points his weapons. This Joker, while still clearly a comic book villain, feels possible in our world.
Eleven years later, Joaquin Phoenix took on the same character, this time in his own stand alone film Joker. Being an origin film, we see this character more as Arthur Fleck before he becomes the face of evil. Incorporating actual disorders — neurological and physical — into the character, Phoenix gives his character an uncontrollable laugh and a sickly thin appearance. He trips over his own words, and panics due to society’s cruelties often (unlike Ledger and Nicholson’s much more confident, threatening Jokers). As Fleck transitions into Joker, he slowly becomes more comfortable in his own skin, and his demeanour changes. He begins to be super bold, to the point of lacking empathy entirely. He is considerably colder than the other Jokers, maybe because Phoenix was able to flesh out his character over an entire arc for a whole film (rather than simply be Batman’s nemesis).
As a bonus, we have Mark Hamill’s voice acting work in Batman: The Animated Series, which is far more comical and extreme to match the cartoonish style of the show; yet he still remains serious, to some degree (as to pose at least some sort of a threat throughout the grim series). This voice is much more put on, but it’s because Hamill doesn’t have to make this character match our reality in any way. He is able to play with the drawn shapes that make up the show through voice, and he meets this animated realm with tonal perfection.
So Joker as a character resembles different statements on society, and is sculpted around specific narrative necessities (is the Joker the star of the storyline, or is he just an antagonist?). Approaches, motives, and creative freedom will greatly affect the outcome of a character, even if it’s one we all know and love. The Joker will forever be an anarchistic symbol of societal defiance and unexpectedness, but these four (out of countless) takes are enough evidence of how one literary character can result in endless possibilities. Ledger and Phoenix both won Academy Awards for their Joker roles, so there’s also that piece of film history; the Joker may just be an incredibly well conceived character, that’s open to many iterations.
Different Interpretations of Real People
Fictional characters can be greatly interpretational. However, how much can a performer steer away from their sources when they play real people? A big misconception, I find, with biographical performances is that an actor or actress must play their role exactly like the real person. While that makes for easier comparisons, at the end of the day, film is still its own medium. If a film is meant to play as real to its source as possible, then that goal is apparent. However, I believe that an actor making a role their own should still be allowed. Is Jesse Eisenberg in The Social Network bad if he’s not playing Mark Zuckerberg exactly as he is in real life? I’d say no. We still get a meaty, substantial performance by an interpretation of a real person.
A much discussed example is the debate between the two Truman Capote performances of 2005 and 2006, between Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote and Toby Jones in Infamous. Hoffman — who won an Academy Award for his role — plays Capote in his own way, while matching his voice almost identically. It’s his physical traits that are more Hoffman than Capote, but I feel that he still nails the mindsets of every scene perfectly, even if his Capote is largely interpretational. Besides, his voice is so spot on, it doesn’t feel like an impression at all.
Then, we have Toby Jones in Infamous a year later. Jones’ vocal performance feels more put-on, like an actor playing Truman Capote (and not being him). However, his physical acting is much more based on how Truman Capote himself would behave, so it’s more of an authentic take on the real person if we’re considering these comparisons. Since Jones also turns in a great performance, it’s difficult to insist that either he or Hoffman are the better performer when both approaches are quite different. At this point, I’d state that one’s preference is entirely based on their own subjective deductions, rather than either performer doing the right or wrong approaches. This remains a strong example of two powerful interpretations of the exact same person, especially considering the slight variations.
If I myself had to pick a favourite, I would go with Hoffman’s take, simply because of the authenticity brought to the role in a cinematic sense. For me, it’s an actor doing what’s best for the actual tone of the film and the chemistry within a scene, rather than perfectly replicating the traits of a living being.
For reference, here is an interview of the real Truman Capote after the writing of his novel In Cold Blood (which stood as the basis of the time periods in both films).
Different Performers Playing the Same Character at Different Ages
When you have different performers playing the same person at different ages, this is usually far more demanding. At this point, creative decision making may be limited. If one stage of a character’s life is displayed more than the others, it’s up to the other “ages” to match the main performance. How does this person walk? Talk? Move? Blink? Regardless of what I said above, this type of matching in a performance is imperative, because it has to match the actual film’s nature itself (whereas a biographical picture can be conjured up with different intentions).
A prime example is the character of Vito Corleone in The Godfather and its sequel. In the first film, Marlon Brando plays an aging don on his last legs. He has many years of wisdom behind him, and has made his mark enough to comfortably keep taking charge, with confidence in his son succeeding him when needed. His voice is rough, and with a tinge of an accent (indicating he moved from Italy to America at a young age).
By the time The Godfather Part II came out, Vito Corleone was a well known character; Brando won Best Actor at the Academy Awards for this role. Robert De Niro was brought on to play a younger Vito in this sequel, so he had to match Brando’s character exactly, whilst still capturing the salad days of the same person (as they matured and learned how to take control). Here, Vito speaks Italian almost exclusively, but with a similar enough voice that you can believe that Brando’s Vito was the end result of De Niro’s. His physical demeanour and habits are exactly out of Brando’s textbook from the previous film, creating the illusion that this could very well have been a younger Vito, despite the character not existing.
It is mandatory that these performances line up, as to not ruin the magic of filmmaking. Creating a visible gap would separate a character as different performances, when the illusion should be seamless.
Characters Remade from the Silent Era
Not a frequent situation, but still a fun example to dissect. How does a character from the silent era get remade? Well, this kind of take is the opposite of the previous lesson on the same character at different stages of life. This is almost entirely up to the imagination of a filmmaker and/or performer, especially because you can now decide exactly how these characters sound. Of course, there might be a reliance on the physical nature of a character, as to resemble the source material at least somewhat. Many silent films were hyper stylized visually anyway, so the work is cut out for future iterations. At this point, the role becomes almost a tribute to a previous form, since there is still a dependency. If the subsequent, remade performances aren’t heavily anchored on the visual nature of a silent film, then they are as interpretational as the previous examples based on fictional characters shown above.
Here’s an interesting example. F.W. Murnau’s German expressionist classic Nosferatu features the Count Orlok that has been burned into pop culture for almost one hundred years at this point. Without a voice, we have to rely on title cards to voice the vampire lord ourselves. Still, we get Max Schreck’s creepy performance that is entirely based on what he can do physically, hence its staying power as a frightening cinematic character.
Of course, you can consider Nosferatu having been remade countless times, if you consider the film the Dracula adaptation that it is (name changes were to avoid copyright problems). However, I’m sticking to literal reinterpretations of Nosferatu. This includes Werner Herzog’s art-horror remake Nosferatu the Vampyre. Here, Count Orlok is renamed back to Dracula, and is played by Klaus Kinski. Kinski actually talks in this version, so it was completely up to him how he should sound. Vocal performances — as we know — greatly change a performance entirely, since there is now a whole side of a character that was missing before. Kinski’s Dracula gets changed as a result. No more is he just a ghastly face with evil intentions. Now, he feels like a lord that is addicted to blood. Notice in the following clip how he barely feels dominating. He feels almost out of control, like he can’t contain either himself or the situation. His voice is menacing, but it slightly shakes out of uncertainty as well.
We end on a more comical approach, in E. Elias Merhige’s fictitious story of how Nosferatu was made called Shadow of the Vampire. John Malkovich plays the filmmaker F. W. Murnau (toss this example in the interpretations of real people section), while Willem Dafoe plays “Max”, who is actually the vampire you see in the film. Dafoe is a cartoon villain here, with an even stronger German drawl than Kinski (who actually is German) has (perhaps both performances having German accents of any sort comes from Nosferatu’s German expressionist nature, despite the film not having actual talking in it).
Satires and Parodies
With that Dafoe impression, we end off on the lightest set of interpretations: satires and parodies. Obviously, performances here will be grossly exaggerated for comical effect, but there still has to be a semblance of the source material to work at all (otherwise, what’s the punchline?). Usually voices or body languages get mocked; imagine goofier annunciation, or obnoxious physical habits like loud chewing or heavy walking. Since these performances are meant to mock (to varying degrees) their source materials, there is still a hint of an impression here, which is an asset that can get overlooked by filmmakers that make terrible parodies (where do I start with these examples?).
As for good parodies, I have a prime case for you. Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein is a hilarious parody of both Frankenstein and its stellar sequel Bride of Frankenstein. In the original films, Henry Frankenstein (played by Colin Clive) is a power-hungry toyer of lives, who gets caught up in his own experiments. Pay attention to the excitement in his voice, and the astonishment in his eyes.
Then, we have a similar moment in Young Frankenstein, where Gene Wilder plays Frederick Frankenstein (“That’s Franken-Stein”). Okay, so Frederick is meant to be the grandson of Henry (well, Victor in the original novel), but we all know this is a spoof of the actual Frankenstein character. Here, Wilder looks possessed, and his voice gets beyond excited; he sounds like a demonic hyperbole. Considered one of the great parody performances of all time, it’s mind blowing to witness how well Wilder plays his own Frankenstein, whilst showing how close to the truth he actually is; how different is he actually from the original performance, despite the humorous spin?
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.