The Keanu Reeves School of Acting

by Thomas M. Pender

Fans of the performers mentioned herein will no doubt cry “Foul!” and state films in which their idols were astounding.  I hereby disclaim that yes, just as all good actors may have a bad performance here and there, bad actors may trip and actually perform well on rare occasions.  I’m talking about career-length patterns of badness here.

Acting is the art of being able to convince an audience that you are going through a fictional experience via the power of your actions and reactions.  The better you are at emoting, the more the audience will believe that you are the character you portray.

Understanding this, there are some “actors” who have made much more money than you or I for no reason at all!  While listed as actors, they make no attempt whatsoever to emote . . . or pretend to emote . . . or raise an eyebrow . . . or fluctuate a monotone.  These automatons truly astound me, as people keep paying to see them in films!

I laughed aloud when I learned that Keanu Reeves had been cast as the robot Klaatu in the remake of the classic science fiction film The Day The Earth Stood Still!  What type casting!  You need someone to act as though they have never once made a facial expression?  Call up Mr. Reeves!  Although best known for the cartoonily animated character of Ted Logan in the Bill and Ted “dude”fest films, Keanu Reeves has peppered silver screens with emotionless characters such as Matt in River’s Edge (the one film in which his apathetic nature was key to the plot), the plastic-mannered cop Johnny Utah in Point Break, the too-proper Jonathan Harker in Dracula, the expressionless Johnny Mnemonic, Neo in The Matrix franchise . . . this isn’t happenstance, this guy thinks this is a “style”!

Tim Robbins has directed many a fine film, but like Quentin Tarantino, should keep himself behind the camera!  Robbins started out quite animated: the freaked-out “Merlin” in Top Gun, the horny Ebby LaLoosh in Bull Durham, and the Pythonian-Viking-y title role of Erik the Viking are all fine examples of facial and vocal expressions of emotions.  Ever since he zoned his way through Jacob’s Ladder, however, he seems to have never recovered.  He never raised or lowered his verbal dial tone a smidge throughout Mystic River, The Shawshank Redemption, or even his new-ager cameo in High Fidelity.  It seems Robbins is more than comfortable in “sleep” mode.

I can think of one film – one! — in which John Malkovich did not play a walking doorstop.  His comic turn as the Hannibal Lechter ripoff Cyrus “The Virus” Grissom in Con Air did inspire my laughter, simply because it was delightful to see Malkovich try for once in his illustrious career!  He is the king of monotone delivery and unaffected personae, from the dim Lennie Small in 1992’s Gary Sinise version of Of Mice And Men to the cold Gen. Simms in Mulholland Falls to the deflated Herman Mankiewicz in RKO 281 to the calculating Tom Ripley in Ripley’s Game . . . not a smile in the bunch!

Speaking of non-smiling, David Duchovny seems bored with his own performances in just about everything he does, from X Files to Playing God to . . . hell, everything he’s ever done!  Let’s just be honest about that.  While his eyebrows may occasionally suggest the hint of an emotion, his flat, monotonous, sleepy and sleep-inducing, robotic, automaton, dial tone voice suggests nothing but . . . nothing!  He seems unimpressed, disengaged, catatonic, and about a dozen other Roget words for not a good actor.

I do, however, have the next big idea to get all of these guys working in an impressive way.  Picture it: Keanu Reeves, Tim Robbins, John Malkovich and David Duchovny starring in Night of the Living Dead!!!!!!!!!!!

Bonding With Garrett

by Thomas M. Pender

As my middle son grew from infancy to school age, there were some significant moments in our relationship.  To prove that Garrett is just as naturally goofy as his dad, I’ll tell you that the first sign of our unique connection all started in his butt.

Yes, his butt.

Garrett’s toddling derriere apparently could sense my presence, and it would seek me out, seemingly without his head’s or eyes’ knowledge!  I was seriously amazed by this.  I would come into a room where Garrett would be extremely busy, either standing in the middle of the living room staring at something on the TV, or concentrating on a toy, and I’d sit.  I loved watching my son just be himself, and I would quietly take a seat to be his audience.  No matter how silent I was, as soon as my long legs were folded up on the carpet to form a lap “chair,” Garrett would gravitate . . . backwards! . . . and plop his diaper-wrapped rear end down on his dad’s legs, all while continuing his activity.

I was amazed, I was stumped, and I was very, very flattered.  I never once witnessed this maneuver with another member of the family, nor did he ever turn to see who was behind him.  It got to the point where I would deliberately sneak into the room and stealthily come to rest behind his peripheral vision, but he was never fooled.  Garrett’s behind knew when Dad’s lap was present and available.  His radar never failed, indoors or outdoors.  Once, I came outside to find him playing in one part of the covered patio, and a birthday present I had given him months before still sitting in the box in another part of the patio.  I commenced to pull out the parts and tools, and to put together the rider toy, when suddenly, the instruction sheet was knocked aside by Garrett’s tushy.  Plop! He happily continued on with his activity, not minding at all that I now had to work around him . . . and neither did I!

This little skill started to fade around three years of age, and by the time Garrett was almost five, his new little brother had taken to lap sitting . . . but never quite “backed into” the job as Garrett had!

Around age two, Garrett became a television hog (which I take partial blame for!).  In any room with a TV screen, Garrett would zip right over, and turn the silent box on.  One particular afternoon, I found myself repeating and re-repeating the phrases “No, Garrett,” “No,” and “No TV, Garrett.”  Growing weary of the repetitive repetition, and without a better idea, I simply spouted nonsense at the child . . . which sounded to me rather like amateur Japanese!  The first time I did this, my child stopped his procession to the TV immediately, turned to me curiously, and laughed uproariously!

Now, Dad had started a game, which would last about a year.  Garrett no longer sped to the television screen, ignorant of any present parent, in order to turn it on.  No, sir!  Now, my son would start slowly toward the box, and turn his head over his shoulder with a wide smile to make sure I caught him.  It was no longer the television noise he was after; it was the weird noise coming from Dad’s mouth!  I always tried to make it a unique form of gibberish each time.  I just loved the rapid-fire giggle reaction!

Around Garrett’s third birthday, he and I went out for a father-son afternoon.  After lunch and a romp through the mall, the birthday boy announced that he wanted to go to a movie.  I foresaw this as problematic, since his eyes were already starting to droop.  The young man would not be dissuaded, however, so off to the theatre we went.  Garrett wanted to see a noisy, silly cartoon, which I would have happily taken him to see, had I not foreseen that he would soon be unconscious and Dad alone would be left to “enjoy” the animated hijinks.  I therefore sent my son to the window, and had him ask for two tickets to Clint Eastwood’s Mystic River.  Sure enough, after two “Who is that guy?” questions and five minutes of film, my child was out cold, with both of his arms snaked around my left arm.

I enjoyed the dramatic tale of childhood friends who experience tragedy, then reunite as adults, only to have one of their children experience another tragedy.  Still a young father, I was emotionally affected by Sean Penn’s paternal anguish in the film.  Not the macho type, but not wanting to look silly, I fought the tears as Penn cried over his daughter.  Just then, shortly before the end credits rolled, my son Garrett awoke, crawled up into my lap, wrapped his arms around my neck, and said, “I love you, Daddy.”

Commence waterworks.  Forgetaboutit!

I’m happy and proud to say that even as he is about to turn eleven, Garrett still brightens when he sees me.  I know girls, pals and cars will soon distract him from thinking his dad’s “cool,” as happens with all boys-into-men, but I do have these snapshots of our private times together, when it was just me and Garrett and our love for each other.

Thank you, God!