Well, there were some commenters anyway. But as many were quick to laugh, scream, smirk and ask what on earth was going on. “Man it looks like he got bitten by the radioactive Jeffrey Tambor,” wrote William Hughes in the AV Club, [or] A high school senior who has started wearing old age makeup and somehow forgot to ever stop.” Elsewhere, the source of disdain was not the quality of the wig and fake nose, but the fact that they were used for all. “Why is Jared Leto in this role?” asked John Nugent in Empire Magazine. “Why didn’t they pick someone who really looked like the character?”
Is this a fair question? Should the actors resemble the people they are playing? Or should we wonder at the skill that goes into turning them into a completely different person? The matter has become a matter of controversy. When Jessica Chastain’s jaws and cheeks were widened to chipmunk-ish proportions for her recent role in The Eyes of Tammy Faye, a critic, Matt Zoller Seitz, as Tammy Faye Baker, the puppet televangelist, For the most recent role, tweeted: “I love him, but it bothers me that they didn’t even think about casting someone who was physically close to that type.” And when Sarah Paulson wore a fat suit to play Linda Tripp in Ryan Murphy’s American Crime Story: Impeachment, her decision was condemned to…err… Sarah Paulson. “There’s a lot of controversy around actors and thick suits, and I think the controversy is legitimate,” he told the Los Angeles Times in August ahead of the series’ premiere. “I think fat phobia is real. I think pretending otherwise does more harm. And that’s a very important conversation… I won’t make that choice going forward.”
On the other hand, Paulson continued, she “does not want to condemn the hair and makeup departments and the magic of the costumers and cinematographers who have been part of filmmaking and suspension of faith since the invention of cinema”.
history of actor change
For that matter, much of this magic predates the invention of filmmaking and cinema. The wonders of theater have always involved the use of costumes and make-up to transform the appearance of actors. Casting “someone who really looked like the character” was certainly not an option in Shakespeare’s times, when every actor was male. But Paulson is right about the peculiar cinematic magic of the most extreme transformations. Seeing someone on stage in a surprisingly unusual disguise can be impressive, but when we see them on screen in close-up, and we can study every millimeter of their face, the transformation can seem miraculous. This is one reason why so many adaptations of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were produced in the early years of cinema (there were three in 1920 alone): the audience compared the immediate before and after actors from person to person. could do.
The horror genre has been showing such magic. In The Phantom of the Opera in 1925, Lon Chane stunned audiences with his skull-like scene. In 1931’s Frankenstein, Boris Karloff was given the breezeblock-shaped head that has defined the monster ever since. It was Rick Baker’s groundbreaking work on an American werewolf in London that won the inaugural Makeup Oscar in 1982, and since then the Academy has rarely honored subtle applications of eyeshadow and blusher. The most radical metamorphosis tends to receive the award, whether the film in question is a fantasy (Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Pan’s Labyrinth), a comedy (Mrs. Doubtfire, The Nutty Professor) or a celebrity biopic (The Iron Lady, Vice). A complete makeover doesn’t hurt your chances of winning an acting Oscar either. Increase or decrease half your weight, or sit in a makeup chair for four hours every morning, and Academy voters will notice: Just ask Charlize Theron (Monster), Marion Cotillard (La Vie En Rose), Robert De Niro (Raging). Bull) and Marlon Brando (The Godfather).