Beautiful lies: about Woody Allen’s “Wonder Wheel” …

… and still a bit of the boring stuff

Already the next eulogy on great acting – I can’t help it! Unlike last year, I don’t even have to look for them. They just kind of fall to me. This time it would be my personal suggestion for “best actress”, though it doesn’t matter because she has it already. (Sally Hawkins will be a more interesting choice, I am sure, and to “weigh” great acting is impossible anyway.) But there is still a tiny bit of the boring stuff left.

As I have written already, interpretation, in my experience, is about controlling meaning. It is the act of determining the meaning of a text, and we start getting involved with it as soon as we say anything else about the text than what actually happened TO US when we were reading it. We begin to determine meaning usually when there is something we don’t understand about the text and begin to think about it. We usually understand the text with OUR OWN meaning so, unless our reading is disturbed because there is something we consciously don’t understand, or realize that other people understand it differently, or unless we like interpretation as an activity connected with text, we have no need of it. (It is only the tip of an iceberg anyway, as the lot is certainly done subconsciously, synchronising the content we are picking up with the meaning that is already there, but we don’t need to - or even can - be bothered with that.) In my case, interpretation usually starts when I am not content with my reading, when I have this feeling that there is MORE to the text which I cannot see. (As is usually the case in “Shakespeare”. I find content I like, and which makes sense, but I always have this feeling that there is a lot more which I don’t read. And, as I have written in my last post, concerning the “nature” of a fictional text, there ALWAYS is more.)

And there is always a lot which, for diverse reasons, we cannot know about a text, and which might be important to understand it. Quite often we are, with our restricted point of view, unable to ask the right question(s) which might lead us to the “centre” of a text. If there is a “centre” of a text - as I would describe it: a vortex where the meaning of a text is created, and from where it spreads to all the “random” detail that comes into the text - is a question that depends on our philosophical point of view. It presupposes that there IS a text, kind of like a physical being that “does” something, so it is basically a naïve and “naturalistic” way of looking at it. But, as I am well aware that I cannot “access” the text directly in any way, I am probably not THAT serious about it - philosophically, I mean. It is rather what I already called a “working metaphor” before: a useful way of looking at something BECAUSE it works. For me, this vortex movement – or rather the potential of a text to create this movement IN ME - is what constitutes a fictional text and makes it different from other kinds of text which don’t need my personal involvement to exist. Nothing that is going on in non-fictional text  - basically! - requires a PERSON to come into being. It can be “covered” by semantic common sense, specialized knowledge about the subject of the text, and general theories about what our world is like.  

Controlling meaning by interpretation is always kind of taking the text away from me – which I don’t like, for reasons I have written about already – and putting it in some kind of established historical and philosophical context, referring it back to its “source”, the author, or, worst of all, submitting it to literary theories (which, in my opinion, are crap because they usually “take out” the human content and make a hash of the text – something that no sensible person would want to read). So, starting to think about the text I am reading, I find contradictions and bits I don’t understand, or find that other people understand it differently, and then I NEED interpretation. But is there a SENSIBLE way of establishing meaning?

Reading my posts about the “Tempest” – where the only thing I really knew about the text was that I didn’t understand it at all – I noticed that I already use a method to control meaning if I have to do it. Though probably not often enough to make the most of the text I am reading. I am not that fond of it because it is kind of “destructive”, but I was surprised to find that I STILL consider it the only REASONABLE method of determining meaning. I already wrote all of this somewhere, but only now it makes COMPLETE sense because only now do I have the complete context.

The first thing I do, obviously, when I am trying to determine meaning, is to look for “hard facts” and try to separate them from the “rubbish” – basically every statement about the text that is not VERIFIED. Which means: not related to SOMETHING IN THE TEXT in a way I can explain. This verification is just basic common sense about text which, I think, everybody uses at some point if they want, or are asked for, clarification. And it is the first step to determine meaning because, without it, there are no FALSIFYABLE FACTS. This is, in fact, VERY basic, and very dull, and almost any other literary theory I could think of is more sexy, even something like structuralism. (I even remember a time when I found structuralism very sexy …) The interesting thing for me is that I actually USE this method when I need to “check” on the text I am reading. Naturally, without thinking. And I would never have known this, had it not been for my blog, because I would never have laid down and found proof of it. The most exciting thing for me - and my reason for taking up the issue again - was to realize that I ACTUALLY TRIED to falsify my statements about the meaning of the text. Taking up “The Tempest” again, I established WHY I had been wrong to trust Simon Russell Beale’s “interpretation” completely, and it was great when I found out because it led to a much more comprehensive understanding of the play. And when I noticed this, I remembered that I did the same much earlier dealing with “Hamlet”. When I began to suspect that Shakespeare might have implied that Ophelia actually WAS pregnant BUT DIDN’T FIND DEFINITE PROOF for it I tried to FALSIFY my suspicion and, to my own disappointment, was successful. In this case, I had to rule out an interesting possibility. But, on the whole, my discovery about Shakespeare PURPOSEFULLY creating ambiguity and doubt on this subject - as well as on almost any important issue in “Hamlet”! - led to a much more profound understanding of the text than anything I had envisaged in the beginning. And this is the manner I understand and in which I use interpretation. Probably not as often and as thoroughly as I should, but nonetheless!

So, this really didn’t get too long, but there is still something boring – for everybody except myself – which I have to commemorate here. It was because I took up my “fan fiction” about Tolkien’s “Wandering Dwarves” again, and was, on the whole, extremely pleased with it. And it struck me that I understand now IN WHAT WAY EXACTLY this has been the beginning of the long journey which led me to this place (– THIS place where I am JUST NOW, or will be in a minute when I’ll start “reading” Woody Allen.) When I read my story again it suddenly felt like a hell of a journey!

But why shouldn’t I be pleased when there is a real reason for it? When I realized that I only came here, in the end, because I had written a really good text myself. I already suspected that I often have an “advantage” as a reader on other people who are “just” readers, but now I know exactly what it is. And I know exactly what I gained by writing the text I ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE – without knowing it, of course! The question WHY I suddenly could read Shakespeare – meaning: could get so much out of reading his plays, or sonnets, as I never could have imagined might “be” in a text – just got answered. As well as the question why I suddenly could appreciate great acting in a way I couldn’t before – even tell exactly when it is great acting, and when it is not, and why. Or why I suddenly knew so exactly what I want to watch and read. - I began to notice already while I was writing my story – like I never did before! - that writing a text is also a way of reading it, but of course it is different. It is different because it is also a way of TAKING POSSESSION, of becoming conscious about WHAT IT IS I possess and what I DO to be able to possess it.

(I think this is why it can be compared with acting, only in THIS ONE RESPECT, because acting is also taking possession, usually of a very small and subjective part of the text but in an extremely intense way I can only understand “remotely” by analogy. And only after I had done “it” myself, and knew what being able to do EXACTLY what I wanted to do feels like. I still don’t understand the least bit about what actors DO when they are acting! Like writing fiction, you don’t understand the first thing about it until you are able to do it yourself.)

So, writing a really good text myself, a text that EXCEEDED my own standards, was the reason I am now able to find and APPRECIATE really good text in the way I do. It sounds extremely preposterous, but it is true: only because I did it myself I was finally able to single out the kind of texts that fulfill the standards I established myself. And, strangely, this is what I knew when I was a child of seven. THIS was kind of the only “plan” I ever had: that I had to write this great text, and then I would become who I WANTED to be. I probably thought of becoming a great writer, back then, and didn’t have the faintest idea of what I obviously wanted to be: A GREAT READER.

What I APPRECIATE about text, when I am thinking about it, is almost exactly what I appreciate about people: Intelligence, humour, honesty, truthfulness about their “human content”, “depth” (which translates into complexity when it comes to text), beauty (as in “aesthetical”, so, basically: beauty WITH content), diligence, perfectionism and determination (a text can “know” as well as a person exactly what they want and “work out” how to achieve it), and, last but not least, courtesy (which doesn’t seem to apply to text, but it does because it is very important for me that a narrator treats his/her characters with respect). (My favourite “king-becoming graces” from “Macbeth”: “devotion, patience, courage, fortitude” probably really don’t apply to text …) Of course it was not at all a coincidence that I fell in love simultaneously with the “best fit” – and I knew that there was nothing wrong with it, because THIS TIME I knew from the start that it was finally ABOUT ME that I fell in love and not at all about possession. It was entirely about being able to appreciate, not about being appreciated.

“Possessing” a text is also only a metaphor of the intensity of the relationship I developed with text I was writing and began to transfer to the texts I was reading. And this is all that counts: knowing what I want, and what I need, and how to get it. I know now that I WILL ALWAYS BE ABLE TO FIND IT because what I have gained writing my text is one of the very few things that nobody can take away from me. And I know now that there will always be enough great text for me to “possess” in the future. In any case, there will always be “Shakespeare” – the approximately one third of his plays I haven’t read, and the rest I will always go on reading. I never even had an idea what the meaning of happiness was, until then - approximately five years ago. The existential crisis about four years ago was about what I might do to keep it going. I was right, I had to figure that out, but I did, more successfully than I could have imagined. It is READING AS IF I POSSESSED a text. And “staying in love”, of course. And both things turned out to be easier than I thought because I was right about the method AND the object. It is all about DOING IT, in the end. And I have known this a long time, probably always, as I was so pleased when I realized, about my nephews and nieces, that children don’t really want to possess things. Not like many adults do, which I think is such a bleak mode of existence. They want to be able to DO things. But happiness is probably all about being able to make the most of what we already know, deep inside. And now that’s done, and I can finally go on appreciating – in this case Woody Allen’s latest film “Wonder Wheel” and its “heroine” Ginny, played by Kate Winslet.

Not a very surprising choice for “best actress”, I know! When it is not Cate Blanchett, it is Kate Winslet. In fact, what happened when I saw “Wonder Wheel” was kind of the same thing that happened when I saw “Blue Jasmine”, and it is not really a coincidence that it was Woody Allen both times. I really should start liking him better, and I invariably don’t. But I invariably see his films though I invariably don’t feel like seeing them. And there invariably is this kind of bad conscience about skipping one which I don’t have about other directors. As my blog shows, I am usually not very interested in directors, nor author’s films. I couldn’t even recommend “Wonder Wheel” as if it was this great film because it isn’t. It is just same old Woody Allen, same as last year, same as every year. Which STILL doesn’t mean that it isn’t great.

I was very pleased with taking up what I already did once – “reading” Woody Allen – and discovering anew that I had been right about his films. I really was bored with last year’s (what was it???) but nonetheless very pleased with seeing Ken Stott (my second favourite dwarf of all times!) happily acting the hell out of this rather insignificant character. And I think THIS is even the first reason why Woody Allen is so good. Good for actors because he really likes actors. And actors probably like him as a director because he appreciates them, and of course they like this, and are happy, and when they are happy WE are going to see surprisingly beautiful acting. I suppose, like myself, actors are happiest when they get an opportunity to surprise themselves …

In fact, Woody Allen’s films are kind of like theatre – where actors get leave to step into their characters and go full length at acting the hell out of them without being interrupted all the time because camera, sound, make-up, and whatever, is more important for the making of the film than acting. I have no idea how Woody Allen works and may be totally wrong, but what I see feels like this. It FEELS LIKE THEATRE, and there is certainly nothing wrong with combining the intensity of theatre acting with beautiful, “complete” settings, like Coney Island in the Fifties, which can only be provided for the screen.

But this rare quality – combining both aspects to this degree – is not even the best about his films. At least not for me. It strikes me that I use “films” automatically, instead of “movies”, because “films” is so very European whereas “movies” is American which, in this context, is meaningful. Usually it would be splitting hairs, but Woody Allen’s films are “movies”, with a quality of (Hollywood) nostalgia I don’t like that much. This is probably the reason I never really feel like seeing them, though I know now from experience that something WILL happen when I do. And I am never afraid of what this might be – though I should be! I think the nostalgic “wrapping” has this effect of keeping the stories and people at a distance so that I begin to analyse before they strike home. But Coney Island in the Fifties is a pretence. Due to the exceptional intensity of the acting, the protagonists immediately began to feel as close and contemporary as if they were standing on a stage, thirty feet removed from my seat.

For Ginny’s story the analogy of theatre is even more fitting than usual. Not even because she loves the glamour of theatres and movies and dabbled in acting – until she ended up pregnant. As usual with Woody Allen there is this merciless and profound perspective on the lies that shape the lives - NOT mainly of his protagonists, but “our” own. In this case it struck home when Ginny makes this remark about being a waitress. She insists that, when she is waiting on tables, it is not HER who is doing this: “I am ACTING when I am waiting on tables.” And I think what Kate Winslet does to “prove” this is so convincing, and so totally surprising at the same time, that the sentence didn’t even strike me as lunacy in the first place.

I had to THINK about this sentence, but only a fraction of a moment, to assess that she is right. I know I couldn’t even work as a waitress because my acting skills are so insignificant. I am probably acting in front of my computer as well, but my computer is of course totally indifferent towards my acting, and my colleagues are used to my mediocre representation of myself. (Even if I improved a great deal, they probably wouldn’t notice.) But in a greasy spoon of the kind where Ginny works you get all sorts of people, and they don’t let you get away with anything.

In this case I lack the means to describe what Kate Winslet is doing, and why it is so great. It might well become my favourite acting experience in 2018, but it is, of course, too early to say. As I just decided on 2017’s, and probably decided on 2016’s as soon as I saw it, I can describe the DIFFERENCE, though. As to the KIND of acting, Richard Armitage’s Red Dragon and Sean Bean’s Tracey were very much the same thing. I both loved them for their sublime beauty which comes out of complexity. When I can see and enjoy all these different “layers” of acting - of voice, face, body, movement, accent, and so on - come together in this way. In both cases, “changing” into this exceptional and singular character was one of these big feats of acting where every detail is important and has to be absolutely perfect, where nothing can be left to chance. Kate Winslet’s Ginny is “the other kind” of great acting I know. Which appears absolutely simple and straightforward on the outside, and infinitely “deep” on the inside. It is mostly face acting, and I usually don’t appreciate it in the same way unless it is so great. In this case, it was probably even more significant than anything of the kind I have ever seen because Ginny is ABOUT acting. Her whole life is acting. I might say she is acting FOR HER LIFE because her survival strategy is to be for everybody else what they expect her to be, and, by this, to get out of them what she needs. And this ability is about the only thing she HAS, apart from good looks. There are easily three completely different people “in” her, with under-categories! In the end, I think, even a fourth person when she is drunk and starts acting “for” herself, so as not to have to admit that her life has just gone to pieces. And the absolutely explicit and convincing way Kate Winslet does this actually made me change my mind - or at least finally have a big think - about these issues of lying and acting. Not about the ART of acting - which is mostly not lying but revealing - but about the significance acting and lying has in real life. (It was already “brewing”, I realize, as I was thinking of “reading” Claire Underwood’s interview for some time …)

The greatest moment of the film is probably when Ginny is standing in front of that public phone, the receiver in her hand, and suddenly stops acting, suddenly stops doing anything at all, just finally “acting” on the truth of the situation … though acting, in this case, just means to cease doing anything. Everything kind of falls from her: who she thinks she is, who she wants to be, what she thinks she should do, or what is right, or what we do when we are not thinking, automatically, as she is waiting on tables. Everything stops; the world, and Ginny, come to a standstill. And, if this is what happens when we stop acting, and lying, and doing whatever we do WHEN IT IS NOT US – why would we ever want it??? My thought, when I left the cinema, was why “we” have such an issue still with something we are doing so well: lying and acting. It is what we live on, day after day, when we are NOT US but are acting what other people want, need, expect us to be. Expertly, beautifully even, with utter perfectionism …

I don’t know MY answer to this question, but asking such a question IN THIS WAY – so as to make us look at it in a different light -  is pure Woody Allen. And his METHOD of asking is to use ingenious actors for the job. I actually cannot think of anybody else than Kate Winslet for this character. I don’t know that either, but I take it that Woody Allen writes most of his films for certain actors. (That would be even more like theatre, in the “old days”.) Same as in “Blue Jasmine”: Who else but Cate Blanchett should have played her? And this is great – that only this one specific great actor could have “put” the question in the right way. It is completely acknowledging the singularity of their “acting personality”, and there is probably no greater compliment to an actor you can think of. Skip the Oscars! But THIS is definitely Oscar material – if not this, what should be? Though, this time,  nobody who matters will see it because it is just same old Woody Allen all over again. Pity!!!

Meet Tracey! (You can skip the boring stuff)

If the “Globes” are any indication, the Oscars will become particularly bleak and boring this year. Anticipating this, I decided to celebrate my personal best acting experience of the year, though it isn’t even something that came out this year but already a few years ago. Apparently, the second season of “Accused” came out on dvd in 2014, and was filmed already in 2012, so the rate these things go it’s already ancient history. But I was SO ESPECIALLY PLEASED to meet Tracey that she has to be commemorated in my little hall of fame. I’ll explain why, but there is still a bit of the boring stuff first.

Rereading my blog of the last months I discovered to my amazement that I hadn’t been kidding about the doctoral thesis – even less than I thought. At least not as to what the “internal value” of a doctoral thesis is in my opinion. Which is to find out something important about the subject I am interested in by investigating it. And this is EXACTLY what I did. I didn’t really know it, not even until now, though I began quite early on to describe it. But, going over my “Tempest” posts again, I realized that I had done more than I had seen until then. I realized that I had not only developed a strategy to improve my reading but “implemented” a method of interpretation as well by observing what I am actually doing reading and dealing with fiction. And I realized as well that the reason this really worked for the first time is in fact that I applied the CORRECT CONCEPT of the “nature” of a fictional text.

Now, to avoid the big lump this time I’ll cut it into smaller portions. So, this is the first bite of the boring stuff about the fundamental question:

WHAT IS THE TEXT?

The funny thing is that this question not only didn’t get addressed ONCE during my almost six years of studying literature but that I didn’t even miss it. At least this is how I remember it though, thinking about this now, it can hardly be true??? But, even though there certainly were a few theories hovering in the background, the question doesn’t appear to have been very important. And my teachers were probably right not to address it in a binding fashion. With these subjects, there is nothing so dangerous as commitment … Nonetheless it is funny, and kind of incredible, that I answered the question now, without asking it, about thirty years later.

The answer is, of course, breathtakingly simple:

THE TEXT IS WHAT WE READ.

I suppose there is even a greater fear of simple answers in an academic context than of commitment. Of course you can’t just repeat what everybody already knows. But neither that nor the consideration that it belongs to the dead-born theory of reader-response criticism makes it any less true. Now I remember that, having written my master thesis with zero success the way I saw it, I had this “epiphany” that all these theories are crap because – though they might FEEL convincing and sufficiently sophisticated – they are no use at all if you are looking for RESULTS. (And I told my professor so (in my oral exams!) – though, of course, not in these words. Funny, when I think about it …) I like it now that I actually LEARNED something writing my master thesis, and that I was mature enough even then to see through the bullshit. I didn’t, for a moment, consider that it might have been my fault that I hadn’t been successful. Well, confidence is good, but not always. I am still very suspicious of being so pleased with myself lately, though I know I don’t give this impression. But I can’t help feeling successful when I have got everything I ever really wanted, and one of the three things I ever wanted is being able to do THIS. Dealing with text in a sensible and productive fashion. (I suppose we never know what we REALLY want until we get it, there is always a big portion of sheer luck. But the outcome still feels like success.)

I think I even knew the reason(s) back then, why these theories are crap, but I was still too much involved in the bullshit to figure it out. As most fictional texts, and especially those that literary critics value, are incredibly sophisticated compared to “average” human thinking and feeling, critics tend to think that their theories have to be AS sophisticated. There are even good reasons for this thinking, especially if we look at what damage “stupid” theories like psychoanalysis – probably not stupid as such but a blunt instrument where fictional text is concerned! – can do to a text. Nonetheless, this is poor thinking, and there is no need for more than a bit of philosophical common sense to figure this out. It might be that deconstructivism has put an end to this dilemma once and for all BECAUSE it is a great theory. It is the first theory that took the potentially infinite “nature” of a fictional text into account. Nonetheless, what comes of it when it gets applied to fiction tends to be even more ludicrous than what usually comes of other doctrinal theories. I thought I understood why, but I don’t. I don’t think I even bothered with how it was supposed to work in the end. Intuitively, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been in fact the end (and the undoing) of literary theory because everything somehow didn’t refer to anything but itself anymore. But I don’t pretend to know anything, I am out of touch now for more than twenty-five years. As it appears from “far off”, literary critics are now mostly preoccupied with ideological issues, like black women stuff, or subjects like eating and shitting in literature. Certainly all very important issues AS SUCH - where no need will arise to bother with the “basics” of text science ever again. And this would be exactly what was to be expected.

What I meant to say: there is nothing wrong with simple tools if they work. As long as something works and gets us the kind of results we want it can never be trivial. Theories are tools, in “text science” as well as in “serious” science. If they don’t work they will be discarded in the long run.

And the idea that only I – and every other person who actually READS a text – can make a valid description of it will never become trivial. I EXPERIENCED it as non-trivial because it made me look at the matter in an entirely different way.

First of all, it makes me view this description as a potentially impossible task – for probably even more reasons than those I have addressed in my post of November 2^nd 2017.  A fictional text is the one thing that can never be exhausted or completely understood. Sometimes this is just great, but it can be scary or uncomfortable as well. I’ll never be afraid of Virginia Woolf (because I’ll probably never read anything of her …) but I am still afraid of taking up “The Crucible” and actually read it, and I know why. It is that I know that, when I do this, the lay of the land will be completely different from what I remember seeing on the stage. And, for some reason, I don’t want to be changed, I want to stay where I am and understand where I am standing. Maybe I am still not through with it … The lay of the land WAS completely different when I took up “Hannibal” after one year, and it was great. In this case, the text suddenly made COMPLETE sense. And every time I take up “Austen” again the scene gets even worse, and I like this a lot. With “Shakespeare” there is often a sense of frustration or challenge at the beginning of something great. I know that I still don’t get “Macbeth” – though I have theories which I don’t take entirely seriously. How can I love something like this, and know it by heart, and not understand it at all??? But this is the nature of fictional texts, and, in this case, it cries for INTERPRETATION – which will be part two of the boring stuff. Rereading what I wrote about “The Tempest” I suddenly realized that I didn’t just struggle with interpretation but that there is in fact a METHOD of interpretation I apply, and have always applied, when it appears necessary. When I am not satisfied with my reading or my point of view gets challenged. Going over my posts I realized that it is always the same thing I do, and I was amused and pleased at the same time that it is exactly what I learned about Karl Popper’s theory of falsification in my first lecture at uni. (Big smiley face …) But this is already part two of the boring stuff. Now, actually: Meet Tracey!

I suppose “we” would all be a bit scared of Tracey – at least when we are under six foot tall (without the heels!) – if we met her in real life because she is an ageing transvestite - with the heels and the tits and the blond wig, and a whole face painted on, and a really BIG mouth on top of that – played by … Sean Bean! (Who would have thought …?)

The way I reacted (thrilled!) when I realized this showed me that my faith in him as an actor mysteriously hadn’t evaporated after about 15 years of seeing nothing of significance by him. I didn’t find Tracey looking for him, I found her following Christopher Eccleston who played the main character in the first episode of the first season of “Accused”. Ordering it, I realized that there was a second season with Sean Bean in it, and he was probably the reason why “Accused 2” made it to the top of my wish list for Christmas. Though this was a strange decision it turned out to be a good one. I didn’t even like “Accused” that much, and don’t care much about court drama, but there are interesting actors and some very good acting. Still, Tracey’s story stands out. It is filmed beautifully, more like a short arthouse film than a tv series. Very “poetic”, with a great soundtrack and a wonderful attention to detail. As if it was the most important thing in the world to give Tracey  a stage where she could emerge in her full glory. As, in fact, it was! She is one of these characters that are a real jewel for an actor, as well, I suppose, as damned difficult to play.

But this, of course, is often the same thing. I loved the frustration of the actor Kynaston in “Stage Beauty” about having to play male characters because: “What is the point in that?” It is always so gratifying to still discover traces of this vanishing kind of (stage)-acting in British actors. The only time I saw Sean Bean in the theatre (as Macbeth!) he was really bad (sorry!), but Tracey would have done beautifully on a stage. And she is just the kind of character that makes me forget every single disappointment of the past in a heartbeat. That was my first great satisfaction, of course, that I hadn’t been wrong. I knew I couldn’t have been wrong about “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” and “Clarissa” which are, basically, the two reasons I didn’t give up on him. I liked him as Boromir in “The Fellowship of the Ring”, but I think I liked the character more than the acting. Then I was so thrilled about him to play Ulysses in “Troy” because this is one of my favourite characters in literature (the Ulysses of the “Iliad”, not the “Odyssey”!), and Sean Bean would have been my dream cast for him. But the film turned out to be total crap, and it was certainly not his fault, but I was sorely disappointed. I think “Macbeth” came after “Troy”, and I should have given up on him then but, obviously, I didn’t. Sometimes I am really stubborn, and, if I am, I obviously know what I am doing. I remember that I saw him in “Far North” – a beautiful film but not mainly for the acting – and in “Cash” where he played twin brothers. I didn’t like it that much, but the acting was really good. And that was the first time, after all these years, that I thought I might have been right after all. But Oliver Mellors, though probably not as popular, is one of these great iconic and singular characters of English literature, like a Mr. Rochester, Mr. Darcy, or John Thornton. To bring him to life and make him feel absolutely right you need a really special actor who knows exactly what he is doing. Being capable of such mature acting at a young age cannot just “go away” – though experience shows that it does sometimes. But not in this case: As Tracey, the Sean Bean I had seen was finally back, with a vengeance.

Expertly strutting on high heels as if he did it every day might even have been the smallest challenge, but it never fails to impress me. (Of course, actresses have to learn it as well at some point, and I am never that impressed with their dexterity.) The voice is great as well, I don’t think it is easy to get this SO right. And the face, which is, of course, partly nature. This amazing face – which, in my opinion, has become more beautiful and expressive with age - is probably the reason why Tracey suited Sean Bean so well in the first place – or the other way round? But the “biggest” part of the face we see is always face-acting. Actors look as “nondescript” as the next person if we ever see them in the street. This is even more obvious when we are looking at Simon. Simon, as such, is not interesting at all, but without self-effacing Simon there would be no Tracey. Beautiful, brazen, vulnerable, scary, naughty, caring … Tracey. This contrast, and their strange relationship, makes Simon important in his own right. Looking nondescript is not enough. In my opinion, Sean Bean plays him very sensitively when he “slips on” the languorous beauty of Victorian poetry like a soft cocoon. Tracey has absolutely no respect for him and his “camouflage” which she refers to as “deedum shite”. But the cocoon is there to protect her own life, so that she can emerge from it and soar sky-high. We don’t know what will happen to her after she decides to tear it apart and “come out” in front of the court to avoid a prison-sentence …

Of course, this is exactly what I like: this kind of singular character that is so much larger than life – with so much more scope and variety than any real person could ever have. And that - even because of this! - appears so totally life-like. Though I have never met somebody like her, from the first moment I had an impression that I knew her. And I know that this is because I had been waiting for her  - because I wanted to meet her. Which is strange when I am thinking about it. If I met her in the street she would certainly intimidate me. I don’t think I would want to talk to her, neither would I know what to say. Nonetheless she impressed me more than any real or fictional person did in a long time. Even more: thinking of her warmed my heart – and still does. And what is the reason for that?

On the surface we don’t have much in common – if anything at all. The deliberate, artful, and painstaking creation of what somebody wants to be is something that I already found totally fascinating about the Red Dragon - my number one acting experience in 2016! - but it has nothing to do with me. Being deeply moved by Tracey as I was must have something to do with what I want to have in my own life, or understand “through” my own life. And of course I know what this is. By putting on this person, Tracey is actually able to change into what she really is. Not the “false” face, tits, hair and voice are the truth about Tracey, but the person she creates with their help. And this is the most beautiful thing about Sean Bean’s creation that he makes us believe in Tracey as she believes in herself. She knows that she is successful in establishing the truth about herself, and this is the reason she cannot be intimidated or diminished by others. Being who she is makes her vulnerable, and often scared, and it takes a lot of courage. She doesn’t hide, not before others nor before herself. Which means that she can be hurt, and will be hurt because what she wants and needs is hard to get – and will become harder to get the older she becomes. Many people are Simon because it is so much easier. I have to ask myself if I am one of them. Tracey is one of these rare beings that have got completely past the bullshit - at a high prize which she pays every day. It is what makes her more “real” than all the Simons sitting opposite us on the underground.

I know I could never be as brave as she is. Nonetheless she gives me courage, and I have to believe in my affection for her. What we have in common, though it was anything but spectacular in my case, is that I had to make this decision as well: the decision if I wanted to believe myself or others about who I really am and what I really want. 

(I just put “Broken” on my wish-list, by the way. I think I’ll risk it …)