The Actor

The theatricality of this movie... worked pretty well.

While Mr. Holland is a clear talent with a screen presence at once natural and vivid, his character is passive to the point of emptiness.

An undeniably haunting piece of work, a story that’s out of place and time in a world that’s like our own but not quite. Rod Serling would have dug it.

Scenes snap off, as if the thread of events between has evaporated, and this sense of being unmoored pervades Holland’s beautifully controlled performance.

Burdened by a hazy and mannered style that drains it of urgency and feeling, it’s a self-conscious curio that’s less dreamy than dreary.

Johnson has bent the novel inside out and turned it into, of all things, a romance.

As a technical exercise and demonstration of Holland’s acting prowess, The Actor more than shines. As a surreal thriller, it has the striking images but none of the execution to warrant Lynchian comparisons.

Hearing the movie’s plot summary might not be much more interesting than hearing someone recount a dream they had, but actually experiencing it will make you want to stay asleep a while longer.

It’s a risky gambit, one certain to alienate the percentage of The Actor’s audience bent on unspooling a cogent narrative from the movie’s tangled ambitions, but the strength of Holland’s performance offers firm footing.

There is plenty to be found here with Paul and his deep fear of losing his identity. And his desperation to find it, even when you only have the ability to see yourself through the eyes of other people.