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Colin Firth, Jennifer Rubin, John Getz
Writer / director : Yuri Zeltser
Lesson one: if you want the best advice on landing the part of a lifetime, ask a bartender.
Jamie gets some free acting tips from Eddie the bartender (John Getz) - if this gal hasn't yet learned that the way to succeed as an actor is to play truth, not cliche, how did she even make it to the soaps? He then reveals that the man to solve her problem of being a talent-free zone is one Ross Talbert, a quirky acting coach who gets results, as long as you can cough up $5,000 for the privilege. Hocking her ma's fake-looking rope of pearls - which, wouldn't you know it, turn out to be worth just that much at the local pawn shop - off Jamie goes to the psycho house in the hills, to meet her Maker . . .
Lesson two: All L.A. acting coaches worth their salt are enigmatic, power-tripping, sexist, cigarette-smoking, piano-playing loners with curly brown hair and sexy English accents who like to shower and change clothes a lot.
Enter Ross Talbert (Colin Firth), who can spot a true actor by the way she munches her pasta while being photographed from all angles. You see, you have to be hungry for the part . . . He hits the nail on the head by telling Jamie she'll never be an actress, but just in case she's still keen to try, he takes a shower, hums some Bizet, and struts around naked before changing his clothes and playing the piano. Actually, given Ross's later-to- be-revealed secret, you can't really question his acting coach techniques.
Lesson three: the truth is not out there, or: if you want to get a curious woman to open Pandora's box, tell her not to.
After a number of "acting lessons" involving blindfolding ("trust me!"), trussing up, clown face make up, a piano, a wheelchair, sharp scissors ("Ooh, yeah baby!"), subsequent nudity and a bit of sex in the shower (without the humming), Jamie heads straight for the one room Ross told her (very loudly) not to enter, while he has a post-coital cigarette, and stops to fling on a designer shirt. She finds lots of pictures of apparently dead women, and begins to suspect Ross is not what he seems. After all, what acting coach would keep pictures of actors?
Ross catches her out, and indelicately (but with perfect diction) lays it on the line ("f**k with me and I'll kill you"). So after he does a bit of running around on a motor bike, and makes a daft threat with a kitchen knife, wielded like a pencil (hey, that will be good for later flashbacks!) Jamie gives him what he wants - a bullet in the guts. This scene is designed to remind us the film has artistic overtones, as Ross intones "Lights, camera, action, shoot!" before slipping gracefully to the floor. Playing at death, you see . . . Exit Ross.
But wait - Colin's the star, and the movie's only half done. Hmmm.
Lesson four: When trying out for a major movie role, if you really want the director to notice you, throw away the scripted audition scene and ham it up. (Oh, if it were only that easy!. . .)
Jamie gets the lead role in "Playmaker", no trouble, thanks to all the trauma in her life the last couple of days. Who needs actual talent? Hey, all that ritual humiliation must have been worth the money! Her new star status gives her a personality transplant, and a mistaken belief that she has some acting range, demonstrated by her wearing lots of different clothes. (You see, Ross really did teach her something.) She plays detective, and tracks down still-alive Ross. Turns out he's really Michael, an unemployed, desperate, beer-drinking American actor with greased down hair and bad clothes, whose - er - 'real' accent seems a lot more wonky than the - er - fake English accent he's been swanning around with. Jamie, in ratty red wig and silly hat, taunts Michael/Ross with her knickers, and then uses oral sex as power play to humiliate the naked actor big time. We know he's performed a sex act, because we see him having another cigarette. Poor Colin, hope it was a warm night out in the Hollywood Hills. Then, back at casa Talbert, without letting him take a shower, she discovers that a bloke can be a handy bullet-stopper. . . And so it goes on, to its less than riveting conclusion . . .
As an essay in what drives the actor, ( or: how much humiliation can one man take to score a role?), "Playmaker" has some curiosity value, but falls well short in mystery, suspense and eroticism. Jennifer Rubin lacks skill and charisma, and Colin kind of walks through his role(s), though there is an interesting quality of despair and angst to his seedy/needy actor. He looks more like his Darcy self than usual (must have made this film not too long beforehand), which gives us a good chance to see what all the make up and hair dye did for Darcy. Hmm - Darcy has darker hair and eyebrows, darker lashes, better skin tone, more definition of features (especially the eyes), better haircut. And Darcy never shows his upper teeth if he can help it, whereas Colin doesn't mind flashing 'em here (along with flashing pretty well everything else he owns). It is a little disconcerting to see some characteristic Darcy looks emanating from this character, though. What would Elizabeth think?
Lesson five: rent a better movie next time.
Lisa film rating: four out of ten.
Colin rating: five out of ten for keeping a straight face, and doing a
nice line in actor anxiety.
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