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One of the more bracing qualities about The Swimmer (1968), which I finally saw yesterday at the Music Box, is that the film grants every actor—no matter how famous or how long he or she appears onscreen—a certain gravity normally reserved for movie stars. This adds greatly to the movie’s feeling of unease. Popular films condition us to regard certain characters as important by hinting at the cultural significance of the actors who play them. Close-ups are the most obvious means of conveying that significance, but filmmakers have other devices at their disposal—such as lowering the surrounding sound when a particular character is speaking or giving him a physical quirk (a strange costume, a limp) that draws attention to how the actor has transformed from his usual persona. We tend not to consider these devices as such because we recognize these actors from other things and fill in the significance on our own.
Ben Sachs writes about moviegoing every Monday.
