It’s a bit ironic that our art, which is the most
collaborative of all art forms, can be so quickly poisoned by ego.
Andy Serkis has caused a bit of a dust-up over some comments
he’s made in recent interviews. He sums up his argument in this
article, but the essence of the controversy is his claim that acting for
performance capture and live acting are the same: “Acting is acting. Performance capture is a technology, not
a genre; it's just another way of recording an actor's performance. . . . all the things that go into making that
character -- when I see that up onscreen, I see my acting choices.”
I agree with Serkis that performance capture and live acting
are no different, from the actor’s perspective. But the teams of animators and
visual effects artists who worked on films with Serkis are rightfully upset. They hear
him saying that he is solely responsible for the character, and they are
essentially digital costumers. This is hugely offensive, both to animators and
to costumers.
Because this is where ego can start to muddy the argument.
Mr. Serkis begins by talking about his acting, but he too quickly evolves into
talking about the performance. And for film actors, those are two very
different things.
The actor is but one part of a final performance that affects
an audience. This is especially true for film actors, and we must never forget it.
In performance capture, some enhancements to
the actors work are obvious: Serkis acted like a chimp, and the animators made those actions
look like a real chimp. But live actors can’t stake more of a claim on the
final product: our actions are also enhanced by the work of a huge team. Writers who
give us words, cinematographers who find the right angle, directors who place
us in a whole, and editors who make our rhythms work are just the beginning of
a long list of people who can say they are a part of the final performance. Just
as traditional animators take an actor’s voice and create a whole character,
there are many people who will take your work and make choices that shape it
into the final performance the audience sees. And that performance is as
similar and dissimilar to you as a gifted chimp is to Andy Serkis. It is the
best part of your choices, your actions, and your individuality, polished and
enhanced and crystallized by a team
of artists to whom you owe a great deal.
Knowing this will make you a better actor for two
reasons. The first is obvious: it will keep your ego in check and make you more
pleasurable to work with. The second and more significant reason is that it
will let you focus on your job. The actor who equates her or his work with what
will finally be up on the screen feels a great burden and tends to overreach,
trying to be that version of “extra awesome” that we perceive all movies stars
as being. But that is not your job. You are to keep it focused on the moment
and tell the truth. There is a whole team of people who are worried about what the
performance will look like from the outside; your only job is to see it from
within.
So let us quell the concerns of Mr. Serkis by acknowledging his
acting but not giving sole credit for the performance. When the Oscars are
given out later this month, take note that the award is for “Best Actor,” and
not “Best Performance.” Such an award would lead to a very crowded stage.
