Review of The Actor: A Haunting Tale of Memory and Identity
In 1950s Ohio, Paul (Andre Holland) wakes in a hospital bed with no memory of who he is—not his name, his past, nor why he’s there. The police and doctors piece together a story: he’s a New York actor, attacked by the husband of his lover. Adultery carries harsh penalties in this state, and prison looms. A detective urges the disoriented man to skip town and never look back. Short on cash for a trip to New York, Paul heads to a nearby small town to scrape together funds for a ticket home. There, he meets Edna (Gemma Chan), and a tender romance begins to bloom. Life seems to steady—until his amnesia tightens its grip, driving him to unearth the truth about who he was.
The Actor adapts Memory, a novel by Donald E. Westlake, penned in the 1960s but unpublished until 2010. Directed by Duke Johnson, a stop-motion animator known for collaborating with Charlie Kaufman on the Oscar-nominated Anomalisa, the film bears Kaufman’s fingerprints as a producer (alongside Ryan Gosling, initially slated for the lead). Yet it’s Andre Holland who anchors the story. The plot can confound or even frustrate, but Holland’s portrayal—bewildered yet soulful—keeps you glued to the screen until the credits roll.
Kaufman’s influence shapes Johnson’s vision from the opening frames, blurring the line between reality and illusion. The film kicks off like a classic noir—has Paul stumbled into a tangled love triangle, or is this a scene from his latest role? Actors slip into shifting personas, and scene transitions feel like stage curtains parting. Don’t expect tidy resolutions. The Actor isn’t here to spoon-feed answers or wrap up loose ends. Johnson cares less about plot than about probing identity, selfhood, and the fragility of memory.
Chasing his former self proves a fraught journey. Paul sifts through stacks of books in his apartment, spins jazz records, and leans on old friends for clues. One telling moment finds him in a cinema, pocket change spent on a ticket because art, as we know, can heal, console, or point the way forward. Onscreen? Casper the Friendly Ghost. The parallel is striking: like the ghost, Paul drifts between realms—a murky past and an uncharted future.
Johnson muses on what shapes who we are. Is it others’ opinions, our passions, our choices? What if the old Paul wasn’t a good man? What if amnesia isn’t a curse but a chance to forge someone new? The film brims with questions that nudge you toward existential reflection. Paul’s profession adds another layer: as an actor, he’s used to slipping into others’ skins—perhaps losing his own in the process.
The Actor unfolds like a dream—wistful, fragmented, at times baffling. A quiet sadness lingers, and Johnson masterfully conveys the ache of feeling utterly adrift, grasping for something solid within. Yet, like a fleeting dream, the film sometimes loses its thread, and Paul’s odyssey—despite a lean 98-minute runtime—can feel stretched thin by the midpoint. Still, its visual allure captivates: imagine a haze of fog, warm hues, and retro charm that pulls you in.
The film’s fate seems uncertain. It slipped quietly through foreign theaters and now risks fading into obscurity. Will its hazy narrative linger with its sparse audience, or will viewers, like Paul, forget? Only fans of Kaufman’s cerebral style—or, at a stretch, lovers of the surreal—might keep it alive.
