Paul Scofield

Paul Scofield passed away at the age of 86. By all regards a theatre titan and rightful heir to the throne gelded by Olivier and Gielgud in their day. Yet, a crown passed over not thrice but any time it was offered to him.

What’s so remarkable about Paul Scofield is how little he is known. Instead of an actor who couldn’t get “arrested” or the break he might seek, this was a point of willful intention for Scofield. While the emergent cinema era birthed such vast talents and egos of the likes of Olivier and Richard Burton, Scofield quietly trecked himself back home to his family with little regard for the spotlight.

His passing seems to be another pointed blot on a week that sees my favorite director, and by all counts, beloved soul, Anthony Minghella pass at an all too young an age at 54. The timing of these losses is only too poignant in an emergent era where strikes are fought over the landscape of hand-held streaming video, diluted content and accusations that the Best Actor for the Academy Awards was, perhaps, “overacting.”

Rather than republish an account of Scofield’s life (there are plenty of resources) I would simply like to revere here the three roles that resonated with myself and those around so profoundly, and dare I say it, perfectly.

My first encounter with Scofield and most profound was as Thomas More in ‘A Man For All Seasons’. A favorite of my brothers on VHS, he could recount line for line the very speech where Scofield, as More, listens to a young man explain how he would be all too willing to break every law of man in order to reach the Devil himself. Scofield’s patient and weary stare digests every word til he then rises up, with his great voice and conviction, and repudiates the reasoning that a man that would side-step the law at every step to achieve good has nothing left which to do battle. Robert Bolt’s screenplay is no less relevant today than it was then and Scofield grounds it with seeming ease.

The movie ‘Quiz Show’ was one that was acknowledged by industry peers as worthy of Oscar consideration but one the public never really seized onto regardless of remarkable talents as Robert Redford, Ralph Fiennes and John Turturro attached to it. In the years since its release it has become not only a forgotten treasure, but has emerged to me on the very short list of movies that I can consider perfect.

The movie, centered around the dawn of the now-saturated market of game shows, focuses particularly on ‘21’. What plays out is the moral quandary of Charlie Van Doren, the son of the intellectual elite family, as he is oddly enticed to participate in something of a popularity contest of pop intellect. When the prospect that Charlie cheat to keep a lock on his now ratings-high stretch on the show is presented, Charlie quietly acquiesces to the point the scandal comes crashing down. Underneath the surface, Redford and writer Paul Attansio, again prophetically here, illustrate the culture dynamic of having fame for fame’s sake over the authentic, but less dynamic, of authenticity and integrity.

The scene where Fiennes, as Charlie, drops his shoulders and confesses to his father (Scofield) is one we still quote today. The shock and utter disbelief conveyed by Scofield is tragedy encapsulated. “Your name is my name!” he bellows when Charlie wriggles about for moral justification. The heavy lidded and grey features of Scofield with that twinkle in his eye seems to fall piece by piece with the unimaginable realization of what’s taken place. Again, I believe it is a perfect performance and seems so fitting for Scofield to come out of his theatrical hiding to perform.

While Denise Richard’s convinces a judge her 4 year old “really wants to be on a reality show”, the latest celebrity DUI photo pops up and the awards shows all start looking the same, Paul Scofield will pass quietly, gently and with great majesty. Because, for him, the only title he wanted was, “Mister.”

Good night, sweet prince.

Anthony Minghella, "An iron hand in a velvet glove."

Anthony Minghella, the writer/ director of such films as ‘The English Patient’, ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’ and ‘Truly, madly, Deeply’ passed away of complications from a surgery he had on his neck the previous week.

How is it, in just writing those words that I am still in disbelief? It’s probably because Minghella was such a vital creative force and a lover of life, people, books, music and such an endearing soul to listen to, that such a feeble word as “complications” doesn’t seem appropriate for such abrupt news and finality. Yet, ‘complications’ seemed to be Minghella’s forte in every aspect of his work. He would let nothing be easy on screen. No love was without cost, no action without reaction. In fact, the complications of life weren’t an obstacle for Minghella but rather the very nutrition of storytelling he so excelled at.

I would be remiss if I didn’t confess early on here my absolute slavish devotion to everything Minghella since the day I sat in a theatre watching ‘The English Patient’ with a friend and mid-screening turned to him and said, “I think this is one the best movies I have ever seen in my life.” I don’t think the movie was even a quarter of the way through. Like any love affair, it only takes a few minutes and something unconscious and beautiful and slightly frightening comes over you and your mind will have to wait to figure out why later.

In an era where every director seems to be fighting with an inch of their life for auteur status, bloated budgets and desperately trying to helm a “franchise”, Minghella came across as an anamoly. He stated that he never felt comfortable being known as a director but rather a writer who directs. Indeed, listening to any discussion with Minghella he spends more time honoring all the great craftsmen who surround him than taking any credit for himself. He knew when collaborating with such great talents as the editor Walter Murch (in which they based the book’ The Conversations’), cinematographer John Seale and others that he would be diservicing them and his film to try and do their jobs better than them. Minghella’s core principle was to the spirit of the work and the ability to protect his actors and crew in order to do their best work was one of his greatest gifts.

It may seem in writing that that I am implying a softness on Minghella’s part. Quite the opposite. It takes a great confidence to not be threatened by the immense talents surrounding you and trusting your own intellect and ability that you don’t have to diminish theirs in order for you to shine brightest. The director’s constitution, endurance and rigor for the film’s vision were not to be under-rated, as documented by actor Ralph Fiennes who observed that he had, “an iron hand in a velvet glove.” A constant champion for debate, Anthony believed, along with Murch, that the further opposite two opinions were the stronger the reconciliation of them would be in the end. This was evidenced on ‘Patient’ when Murch cut a scene from the movie which was the primary reason Minghella wanted to make the movie in the first place. Minghella screamed and railed and stormed out of the room only to return the next day in appreciation of Murch’s merciless lack of sentimentalism for any moment that might be lost in order to strengthen the picture.

The scene stayed.

Yet, in watching the transcendently beautiful scenes that ended up on the cutting room floor, these two collaborators were willing to throw more beauty away than most movies achieve on an entire shoot. Or, Saul Zaentz said, “You can’t have MORE than poetry.”

The loss here isn’t simply of another great filmmaker, though Minghella was certainly that. It is the loss of a great artistic soul and compassionate human being in an industry that doesn’t seem to reward or nourish those qualities. It is quite telling that the testimonials coming forth speak to the tenderness, wit, love (of all kinds)and intelligence of Minghella before they speak to the cinematic. That is because those sentiments are so often attributed to so many, but so rarely found in such volume and authenticity from one in that position.

Anthony Minghella will be missed. But, like his films, the loss will be more felt than seen.