The actor's modesty

I was listening to an interview with Tom Hiddleston about his Hank Williams biopic I Saw the Light, which is now in theaters, and he made an innocuous comment that struck me.

Talking about his experience on another film, Hiddleston said, "I made a film with Guillermo del Toro called Crimson Peak," and then continued on with whatever his point was.

It struck me as incredibly modest, even though in the wrong hands it could have seemed like false modesty.

Two things about that comment showed charming modesty, I thought. For starters, he was reporting it as news, that he had made a film with this well-known director, like almost everyone listening to the interview wouldn't already be aware of the latest film by the director of Pan's Labyrinth and Hellboy II: The Golden Army, and Hiddleston's involvement in it. The second charming part was that he revealed the name as though that in itself were a piece of information that needed to be divulged, never once taking for granted that the listener might already know of the movie.

But it occurred to me that this type of thing doesn't always work. There comes a point where a movie is well known enough that to pretend your audience doesn't know it would just be insulting them.

Like if Harrison Ford said, "I made a film with George Lucas called Star Wars," you'd say, "Duh, Harrison -- we know what Star Wars is." And you'd be a little bit annoyed because you'd know Harrison knew you knew. It wouldn't help much to switch it up to, "I made a little film with George Lucas called Star Wars," because even though the word "little" changes the inflection of the comment -- now we know he's joking, because everyone knows Star Wars is not "little" -- it still has the effect of kind of big-upping himself. The very acknowledgement of its size indicates that you are overly proud of that size.

So in that case, to seem normal, Ford would just have to say, "On Star Wars we ..." and get on with the comment or anecdote. There that would be okay. It wouldn't be modest per se, but it wouldn't insult our intelligence either, and when you've appeared in four Star Wars movies and four Indiana Jones movies, excess modesty probably doesn't fit very well anyway.

But Crimson Peak is about the perfect sized film to maintain that modesty, and Hiddleston about the perfect level of star. He's not a household name yet, and with his underlying eccentricity, may never become one. But he did play Loki in The Avengers, one of the highest grossing films of all time, so it's not like he's Mr. Anonymous either.

Hiddleston continued to charm me with his lack of pretension about himself and his genuine humility. Later on the interviewer made a comparison between his character in I Saw the Light and his character in Only Lovers Left Alive, and Hiddleston was so chuffed by the comparison (even though it didn't take any particular display of cleverness by the interviewer to make it) that he revealed an anecdote from the set -- an anecdote he would have held back if the interviewer hadn't prompted him by mentioning the Jim Jarmusch movie from 2014. It was an interesting anecdote that had a lot of relevance to the discussion, but he would have kept it tucked away if the interviewer hadn't given him a clear opening. Why? Modesty. You don't tell war stories about other movies during an interview unless given a darn good reason -- it's kind of the equivalent of name dropping. (And lest you consider his original mention of Crimson Peak to have been a case of telling war stories/name dropping, I can assure you it did not come across that way -- though neither do I remember the point he was actually making.)

Another time he seemed genuinely flattered by the interviewer's praise of his performance, like he might have been receiving such praise for the first time in his career -- like he had never before considered the idea that someone might consider what he does to be good.

There was an interesting secondary display of modesty in this interview, this time by the director, Marc Abraham, who did the interview alongside his star. Rather than modesty, it was actually a way to display your pride over your own work without seeming in the slightest like that's what you're doing -- and in fact seeming quite magnanimous in the process.

Abraham said that both Hiddleston and co-star Elizabeth Olsen were "so great" in the film, or something along those lines. To be clear, this didn't strike me at all as bragging about the quality of the film, because the praise was clearly directed at the stars, as if he himself bore no responsibility for extracting good performances from them. However, if you unpack the comment, it is a suggestion that something about the film itself is "great," so as the de facto author of the film, he is indeed sort of praising himself. It's funny that creative types can get away with this, heaping praise on one another without implicitly also praising themselves. Just to reinforce his own sense of personal modesty, Abraham, while describing certain directing luminaries whose styles were an influence on him, explained, "I'm not saying at all that I am that quality of filmmaker" -- not those exact words, but something more succinctly self-deprecating. And indeed, it honestly didn't feel like he was saying that.

The interesting thing is that both these genuinely refreshing personas must be an act on some level, even as genuine as they seem. If not Abraham, a guy I've never heard of before, then certainly Hiddleston, who has been through numerous press junkets already in his five or so years of high visibility as an actor. You do so many interviews and get so many questions from interviewers who are each trying to find something profound and unexpected to ask, but are invariably covering much of the same territory. It can't really be possible to be genuinely charmed by and appreciative of each interviewer, though Hiddleston did it masterfully, and his director followed his lead.

And now I really would like to see I Saw the Light, a biopic of a person who otherwise wouldn't interest me (and seems like a strange fit indeed for the effete Hiddleston), just to see how good of a job these two guys really did do in their respective roles.

Harrison Ford really likes being in movies these days

And I for one am grateful, because he's back to being good at it.

Having spent the first decade of the 21st century making less than one movie per year, Ford was for all intents and purposes retired. His appearance in a movie would prompt an involuntary raised eyebrow. You'd wonder what set of circumstances had caused him to dignify the set of Hollywood Homicide or Firewall with his presence.

Not that we should take digs at Ford for not choosing the career path of Nicolas Cage, but in truth, we do sort of resent actors who feel like they don't need to act anymore. You're supposed to keep making movies until we, the audience, are done with you, not until you have enough money to buy a small island. Anything less is a failure to appreciate the people who got you there, the fans.

Well, Ford is a fan-appreciating muthafucka these days.

Having just completed 42 -- which I finally gave up trying to get from the Hoyts Kiosk and the video store, and rented from iTunes instead -- I have now seen two of Ford's four 2013 releases, after catching up with Ender's Game last week. I may see Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues on Monday, though his work in that may be of the surprise cameo variety (and if so, I'm sorry about spoiling the surprise). Paranoia is the only film that remains likely to elude me, given that I heard it wasn't all that.

If he was good in Ender's Game, he was great in 42.

See, there's a difference between returning to acting and returning to acting effectively. If you're a star of Ford's caliber, you can start being in movies again whenever you want. It's being good in them that's the trick.

Having just completed 42, not only did I think Ford was good, but I'm rooting for him to get that Oscar nomination I've heard discussed as a possibility. I might even be rooting for him to win it. 

The current state of affairs seemed highly unlikely back when Cowboys & Aliens came out in 2011. Boy was that a stinker. Not only was it a stinker, but Ford was one of the main reasons it stunk. He mumbled his way through that movie and frankly seemed lost. Old Man Ford seemed to have taken over the once vital young symbol of masculine virility. He was a septuagenarian dressing up like a movie star. You could imagine someone off set yelling his lines to him, and him still repeating them back incorrectly.

Not anymore. Harrison Ford has poured his heart and soul into the role of Branch Rickey, the Brooklyn Dodger owner who made the trailblazing decision to offer a contract to Major League Baseball's first black player, Jackie Robinson (Chadwick Boseman).

It's not just that Rickey has the choicest lines of dialogue, putting into words the anger and frustration over society's reaction to Robinson. It's that Ford delivers them with a quivering fervor that makes you want to get up out of your seat and cheer. But it's not just a performance of raging righteous indignation. Ford also does really subtle work with just small changes of expression upon hearing an ugly N-word come out of someone's mouth. He's a man with an optimistic view of society, one that is dying by a thousand cuts.

What's more impressive is that it's one of the actor's few performances that cannot be described as Ford playing Ford. Ford has been called a good actor, but he's rarely been called a versatile one. Here, he's adopting a gruffer voice, he's picking up mannerisms that may not belong to him. And when he points -- as Ford is wont to do -- he's pointing downward, with the crooked, arthritic hands of a man past his prime.

Turning into an old man has made Ford a good actor again. He spent years looking like he was uncomfortable in his skin, but now he looks quite comfortable.

This is not to say that it's smooth sailing for Ford from here on out. He is in the next Expendables movie, and he is unlikely to know the best way to play Han Solo again.

So maybe now is the time for that Oscar. It's one thing to start acting again, but it's quite another to keep doing award-worthy work.

At least Ford has given himself good odds by becoming a Hollywood regular again. Five years ago, it's not something I knew I would want to happen quite this much.

The H-Man at his pointiest

It was not a great decade for Harrison Ford.

Charitably, you could say he just chose not to work very much, a luxury allowed by his massive accumulation of wealth. After all, he didn't have a single feature released in four different calendar years: 2001, 2004, 2005 and 2007. That was definitely his own choice, not any kind of external condemnation of his marketability.

Uncharitably, you could say that he didn't try very hard. That he mailed in a bunch of movies, only the first of which was received somewhat well: What Lies Beneath (2000), K19: The Widowmaker (2002), Hollywood Homicide (2003), Firewall (2006), Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) and Crossing Over (2009). You could also surmise that he was looking to Crystal Skull to revive his viability as a box office force, and though it certainly made its money, the poor critical reception had to sting.

Well, it's a new decade, and the H-Man is back on the scene in just its first few weeks, doing what he does best: pointing.

I'm not sure if there are actually any moments in the trailers for Extraordinary Measures, which opens today, in which Ford gets all up in someone's face and whips out that famous index finger. But it certainly seems like the kind of movie where he might do a lot of pointing, doesn't it?

Ford lines from the trailer that could definitely inspire a good finger wag:

"You're going to tell me, you're not going to ask me?!?"

"I already work around the clock!"

"No one is gonna tell me how to run my lab!"

And wait! There it is! On that last one, he actually points!

Sweet.

Not that you shouldn't point, as an actor. Just that Ford has made it into an art, and probably, eventually, a crutch. What we're really saying is that he's good at delivering an angry, accusatory pronouncement. And why wouldn't you raise a lecturing finger when doing that?

I knew Ford's tendency to point was something my friends and I were aware of. In messing around a little on Google, however, I've discovered it's a full-fledged phenomenon. I found a bunch of other isolated images of Harrison Ford and his famous index finger -- he uses the left one and the right one alternately -- including:


And, given its own title card:


And, given its own collage:


I'm having a little fun at Ford's expense, but he should have the last laugh, because I've discovered that I actually sort of want to see Extraordinary Measures. Medical dramas about doctors "already working around the clock" to cure incurable diseases are a dime a dozen, but there's something about this one that strikes me.

Maybe it's the A-list cast, if you still want to include Ford in the A-list, along with an A- Brendan Fraser and a B+ Keri Russell. Or maybe it really is that Ford and all his pointing, presumed or otherwise, have given those trailers a little bit of electricity that makes the movie seem like it could be a truly tense experience.

I won't see it in theaters, but don't be surprised if I end up ranking it on my 2010 list about a year from now. If I do, that'll mean only one fewer Harrison Ford film I'll have seen this decade than last.

Point, Ford.