There's an initial, intoxicating charm to the manner in which Duke Johnson employs surrealism in his solo directorial venture, "The Actor." Starring the exceptionally talented André Holland, the film showcases a theater performer who, after enduring a brutal head injury, finds himself grappling with amnesia. His assailant? The enraged spouse of the woman with whom he's entangled in a torrid love affair. While we don't witness much of the inciting incident, Johnson offers fleeting glimpses at the outset, painting a vivid picture of the harrowing event.
Co-director of "Anomalisa," Johnson adapted this screenplay, penned in collaboration with Stephen Cooney, from Donald E. Westlake's pulse-pounding thriller, "Memory." The novel is a relentless ride, its drama immediate and matter-of-fact. In "The Actor," Johnson opts for a different tempo, slowing it down to sculpt his film like a dream you might admire but ultimately struggle to recall.
As Paul Cole (Holland) awakens from an unintended slumber, his vision is hazy, the operating room gradually sharpening into focus. Johnson momentarily immerses us in Paul's groggy perspective, placing us squarely in his shoes. A doctor inquiries about the actor's identity; Paul responds with palpable hesitance. The altercation was vicious, involving the police. Paul, we swiftly realize, is fortunate to be alive.
Set in the 1950s, somewhere in the heart of America, Paul's affair with a married white woman stirs scandal within the community. A subtle undertow of racism surfaces, yet it remains unexplored to a satisfying depth. Holland, with his expressive eyes and nuanced portrayal, brings some facets to light, but even his talent has its limits with such meager material.
Shortly after Paul's awakening, local authorities banish him from the suburb. With scant memories and limited funds, the actor boards a bus to a languid factory town. There, he secures lodging, a job, and encounters a girl—Edna (Gemma Chan of "Let Them All Talk" and "Crazy Rich Asians"), a costume designer. Their bond blossoms into love.
Collaborating with "Anomalisa" cinematographer Joe Passarelli, Johnson envelops Paul's experiences in an enchanting, ethereal glow. The visuals are soft, cloudy, as if shrouded in a translucent veil, while transitions between scenes possess a feathery, light-as-air quality (edited by Garret Elkins). Richard Reed Perry (of "Eileen" and "The Iron Claw") crafts a score of spectral beauty, and Paulina Rzeszowska, who handled production design for Rose Glass's "Saint Maud," constructs an equally haunting realm.
These elements amplify the film's dreamlike quality, prompting questions about the reliability of Paul's life narrative. All of it? Some? None? People are shaped by their environments and relationships. Isn't the Paul in Ohio equally authentic as the one in New York? Perhaps. But upon returning to the East Coast, the actor discovers an old self starkly divergent from his imagination.
"The Actor" provokes intriguing contemplation but struggles to sustain engagement. Johnson's film engages intellectually, pondering identity's construction. However, he finds it challenging to convey the gravity of these questions. Paul's journey can feel erratic, even aimless, as he struggles to piece together his life. Scenes unfold in fits and starts, perhaps mirroring his flickering memory, but they suffer from the dedication to blurring the boundaries between dreams and reality. The seductive allure of Johnson's surrealist experiment fades, replaced by frustration at its opacity. A hint of uncertainty isn't detrimental in a film, but the uncertainty should ignite a thrilling sensation.
Occasionally, "The Actor" ignites with inspired romantic sequences and humorous reflections on the performing arts. Holland and Chan's chemistry makes it effortless to invest in Paul and Edna's relationship; their romance is compelling and poignant. Though Paul's life in New York is occasionally too vaguely portrayed, it provides Johnson with an opportunity to satirize the theater's melodramatic aspects. It also lets Holland explore different avenues to express alienation and a terrifying disarray. Only if these elements coalesced into a film that didn't feel so scattered.
