People who know say acting is really reacting. The best actors aren’t always the ones with the best face, the most commanding voice, the strongest physical presence or even the best timing. They’re the ones who live in the moment; who listen most attentively and react most genuinely to all that is being said or done within the reality in which their character exists.
Given that, the next time you watch “Scent of a Woman” pay close attention and you’ll see an example of some terrific reacting. The entire film builds toward a climactic scene in which Al Pacino’s blind, embittered and suicidal central character gives a now-famous speech on behalf of a young man played by Chris O’Donnell. (It’s a speech which many feel won Pacino the Oscar that year, but more on that in a moment.)
Near the end of that scene, watch the reaction Philip Seymour Hoffman gives when the ruling of the disciplinary committee is announced. Hoffman’s character is a spoiled rich kid who it turns out is not only rich and spoiled, but spineless as well.
When the announcement is read and the hundreds of students seating in the auditorium erupt in raucous cheers, Hoffman tilts his head back and rolls his eyes as though he were the most put-upon young man in the world. With one tiny gesture, and without saying a word, he becomes privilege and petulance personified; and his reaction serves as a very-real counterbalance to an otherwise over-the-top, almost ridiculously cinematic moment.
Up to that point, Pacino had spent the last ten minutes of screen time chewing every inch of the scenery he could get his hands on. His monologue, while commanding, is one not so much spoken as it is barked. In fact, having just seen it again recently, I almost felt like I was watching an audition monologue by an out-of-work actor a little too desperate for work.
I’m not trying to slam Pacino here. He is, after all, a titan of the American stage, not to mention Michael Corleone (and that should count for something, right?) But in a society in which the new watchword seems to be “transparency” – and I’m talking about in everything from accounting and government to the medical arts – Pacino spends virtually his entire Oscar-wining monologue committing the cardinal sin of his craft; he is being transparent. He actually dares to pull back the curtain and let us all watch him act.
Hoffman, on the other hand, simply is the pouty, doughy little rich kid who hasn’t gotten his way.
As a matter of background, I should say I once had the occasion to watch Phil Hoffman work, up close and personal. In the aftermath of 9/11, I left a job with ESPN in New York and spent a few months volunteering at MCC Theater, a terrific little Off Broadway theater started by Bobby LuPone and Bernie Telsey.
Phil directed MCC’s first show of the year and handful of times I sat in the house during rehearsal and watched how his eye for detail and his uncanny instinct for just the right gesture would come into play. He would urge his actors – inspire them really – to find tiny, almost imperceptible moments that might shed light on some aspect of their character’s backstory. I know now from watching Phil Hoffman then that seemingly innocuous gestures like head tilts and eye rolls can often be every bit as intentional as spoken lines of dialogue.
Ironically, I once read a New York Times Magazine profile on Hoffman in which he said he was not fond of his performance in “Scent of a Woman.” Maybe, but when a actor is that talented and that demanding of his gifts, he often sets a higher standard for himself than any critic or viewer could ever set for him. And he is certainly more critical of his own choices than anyone else could ever possibly be.
All I know is that in one fleeting moment of screen time Philip Seymour Hoffman offers anyone willing to notice a fleeting glimpse into the staggering talent and craftsmanship that have made him one of the finest screen actors of all time.
You want to see some great acting? Watch the climactic scene in “Scent of a Woman.” Only keep your eyes focused left, and don’t blink. Because while the guy on the right may have walked off with some hardware that year, in the amount of time it takes a a petulant kid to roll his eyes and exhale, the guy on the left acts circles around him.