An actor is in his essence a contradiction, an oxymoron, something that is not even. An actor lives from being another person. And the more it gets rid of itself and more and with more passion it is not, it is it in a more intense and better way. He kept Marlon Brando that an actor is a person (perhaps not-person) who only participates in a conversation if he is about him. And although he sounds like what it sounds like and as it sounds (that is, bad), it really makes sense. Vanity is the way of being of him in the world in the best of the senses. If he looks closely, an actor is a crackedly extreme version of any of us in general. All, with an Instagram, depend on the judgment of others. But an actor is in the essence of him nothing more than that: the incarnation of a trial. His work is him, his body, the tone of voice, the infinite desire for him.
Valga reflection to make room at which it was the last film in competition of the best festival in years. Even decades 'The eyes of Tammy Faye', signed by Michael Showalter, is from start to finish, his protagonist. That he is not actor but actress. Jessica Chastain gives life to the Evangelist telepreting that announces the title and makes it convinced to cancel, of disappearing, not being Jessica Chastain, in each of the frames. And she gets it.
So far we had seen her lend her image to how much woman would cross her on her way arranged always to be autonomously, independent and voracious. Since barely ten years ago, he began to claim his place in the world with work so disparate as 'Take Shelter' or 'Bredes and Ladies', its evolution on the screen has been to grow up to its most absolute and intimate extinction in movies that go From 'the darkest night' to each of the three versions of 'the disappearance of Eleanor Rigby' passing through an unreunciable adaptation of 'Miss Julia' by August Strindberg and by the exhibition of power that is 'Molly's Game'. And she always unique in her ability to be any less Jessica Chastain.
And from the first to last sigh, the whole film is her so compliment as a pertinaz. And even proceed. Chastain does not hesitate to stay at all times in an unstable equilibrium between caricature, truth and simple suicide. And so she advances in a waste of himself that points to an unrepeatable actress, a perfect denial of herself.
And arrivals at this point, the light went out. The director-known for comedies as delicately serious as 'the Tortolites' and, above all, 'the great disease of love' - strives to manage so much interpretative effort without getting it completely. The film goes blindly, drowned by the ballast a script stopped at the same point, without being able to concentrate on any of the serious matters through which it goes through. The relationship of political power with evangelical churches and ease of handling; The difficult reconciliation of salvation and wealth, or the most intimate disease of a capitalism condemned by its moral impossibility of justice appear as arguments just targeted. And without more development than the simple and quick mention of him.
It would be said that the whole film, probably without remedy, lives dazzled by the performance of an actress that, suddenly, is not. That is, she is with all the consequences.
For the rest, and after contemplating that festive and very entertaining tribute to Tintin that Alejandro will have complete in the series 'La Fortuna', everything is aware of a more complicated palmarket to elaborate than ever. Two bets: 'Earwig', by Lucile Hadzihalilovic, and 'who prevents him', Jonah Trueba. We will see.Updated Date: 24 September 2021, 15:22