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![]() Uniform code Tapping the sorrow of "Sand and Fog"
While I've read quibbles about the plot machinations of Vadim Perelman's
debut feature, "House of Sand and Fog," no one's dared complain about
the acting.
Jennifer Connelly plays Kathy Nicolo, an irresponsible reformed
alcoholic who loses the tumbledown bungalow in Northern California she
inherited from her father after a bureaucratic mix-up (which is
ultimately her own fault). The house is auctioned off, bought by Massoud
Amir Behrani (Ben Kingsley), a proud man keeping up appearances years
after the fall of the Shah and the loss of his position in the Iranian
Air Force. In only a few scenes, mostly in Farsi or in gestures, Iranian
actress Shohreh Aghdashloo breaks the heart. Yet Kingsley's embodiment
of the most buttoned-up of men is a marvel as well.
Perelman's adaptation of Andre Dubus III's bestseller has a
novelistic density. "The novel was a great read, it's big, confident, a
Dostoevskian, beautiful, powerful novel," Kingsley tells me over tea.
"The screenplay? It is in and of itself one of the most perfectly
balanced screenplays I've come across. Very compelling for us actors to
enter into such a beautifully balanced piece of work, like a piece of
engineering or architecture."
The most chilling and thrilling dynamic is the fact that this man and
this woman are on a battleground, and that battle is waged on the most
confined and intimate of spaces, the home, the hearth. "Yes, `tis the
battlefield. Absolutely," he agrees.
There are images with blood that are startling as they evolve. We see
Behrani's reaction to blood in his home, you think first, control freak.
Remembrance of acts he may have committed in the past, and then there's
the fear of what may happen to his family. "There was even a scene
where Behrani cuts his finger and sees blood trickling down his own
thumb," Kingsley says, leaned forward in his chair. "In his genius,
and in his confidence, our director decided, I don't even need that. The
audience had begun to gently appreciate the underlying themes, as you do
in a symphony. There's that thing, you feel persuaded by it! Not
manipulated. I watched the film as if it were not one of my films."
Is that rare? "Very rare. It never happened before! I was actually
able to watch in a passionately detached way. Which is what I think is
what we're talking about, where the filmmaker, the auteur's ego is shown
in confidence and generosity and not in writing `Aren't I a clever
filmmaker' on the corner of every frame."
Everyone wants or needs or craves something, but they're unexamined
wants and dreams. There's a brief scene where a deputy sheriff too deep
into the case and her beauty is inventing her, he hardly knows her. "I
don't deserve you," and Kathy says, "Yes, you do." That's something
new lovers say, but what the heck is going on? "I don't deserve you."
He's not paying attention to the fact that he's allowing a reformed
alcoholic to drink again.
"'Yes, you do'" is a terrible premonition," Kingsley says.
"She's the bringer of death. She's the bringer of death. She's like
Kali. The destroyer. `Yes, you do' is a flash of intuition, deep,
terrifying intuition. His is shallow and platitudinous, but her response
has massive depth to it. She doesn't know how deep! It just pops out.
She doesn't know. We never know when we say these things. `Yes, you do.'
I laughed out loud in the cinema." He chuckles. "One or two other
people laughed. I think many smiled. `Yes, you do.' Wow."
Delivered with Connelly's slight, small twang. "It's perfect,"
Kingsley allows.
The last time I spoke to Kingsley, he gave me an answer about accents
that was almost a master class. I wondered what touchstone, or
emblematic element about Colonel Behrani let him in. "Hala [Bahmet] is
our costume designer. Hala's a wonderful woman, she's very intelligent,
very creative. Operates at a very high level of energy. She has the
metabolism of a prima ballerina. The meetings between actor and costume
designer can be very uneasy. Because they're very early on in the
process. The actor is in that very insecure period where, in fact, just
before the cell divides, there's chaos. Good chaos, but chaos. So [it's]
primal soup time for my character. I tried on shoes. And suits. And
ties. I said, `Hala, yes, I really don't know. You tell me what suits
I'm going to be wearing in these scenes because I really don't know. You
tell me and I'm sure you're right.' And of course she was. Then she
said, `Here's the photo.' She showed me photographs of generals and
colonels. And also said they were in L.A. And she also said that they'd
given me medals and a uniform and would I care to try it on? There he
was. There he was."
Even in a suit, he's wearing a uniform, there's no line between the
tie and the collar and the jacket. "He's never out of his uniform. And
that was it. That small incident, at the best time, at the primal soup
stage rather than, `The uniform is great, we'll get it to you on the
day, don't worry. It's not quite finished yet.' [Behrani] opens and ends
the film in his uniform. His narrative, his particular branch of the
narrative, begins almost as if he is taking a salute on a balcony. A
tree is falling is down. It ends with him looking at himself in the
mirror, almost taking the salute to the Shah. He wears the uniform: what
the uniform demands, what it did to his body. My body just decided, as
an actor, don't ever let me out of that uniform."
"House of Sand and Fog" is now playing.
Also by Ray Pride Tip of the Week
Wind done gone
Father figuring
Short Runs
Salud
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Sirkis people
Holiday Movies
Short Runs
Tip of the Week
The goo factory
Christmas gift
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