Marlon Brando, Last Tango In Paris: Of course, everybody loved it when he butt-fucked Maria Schneider, but my favorite scene is when he’s talking to his wife’s corpse. He runs through the full range of human emotions: boredom, anger, disgust, confusion, amusement, sadness. It's one of cinema's great monologues, even though it turns out his dramatic facial expressions were not the result of his acting method, but him merely looking for the cue cards.
Richard Burton, Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?: Every man who’s ever been married can sympathize with and validate Burton's performance, played against his real life wife Elizabeth Taylor. You do your best for these ball busters, and it’s never good enough. They blame you for their failures. Their misery is your fault. You were the parasite that sucked the life out of them, and left them a malnourished, dying soul. They would’ve been the Queen of England if it wasn’t for you sabotaging their life. But, you stick with these ungrateful harpies, partly out of Christian charity, partly out of the inertia resulting from the knowledge another one wouldn't be any better.
Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler: A transcendent performance which enables us to champion the loser in ourselves. Sometimes we try to be better, of course it doesn’t work out, and the others, denying the loser in themselves, judge us. Then, as Rourke's character does, we see the folly of our attempt, we repent of our feeble effort to live selflessly and we fully commit to being ourselves, for better or, more likely, worse.
Jon Voight, Runaway Train: His nihilistic rant about the shit-eating lives of the working class, ending with the blunt revelation he could not look a boss in the eye because if he did he'd have to kill him, is a succinct condemnation of Western life. Every second of Voight's performance is a cinematic validation of Rousseau's proverb: man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.
Anthony Quinn, Requiem For A Heavyweight: The children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light. Completely capturing the character's imposing physicality and emotional vulnerability, Quinn's washed-up fighter is a heartbreaking child of light who has everything taken from him, including his dignity, by the children of this world. Not one false note in the performance.
Philippe Nahon, I Stand Alone: The Calvinist doctrine of the total depravity of man is on full display here in Nahon's portrayal of a man ground to existential dust in a diseased society. As he becomes more and more detached from the world, Nahon's character's last remaining grip on reality and moral balance disintegrate in an explosion of rage and resentment. Film's ultimate ugly every man.
Al Pacino, Scarface: Inspired a generation of rappers.
Erwin Leder, Angst: No actor ever worked harder, gave more blood, sweat and tears. You'll be exhausted just from watching Leder's frantic physicality. His maniac's erratic movements, exaggerated facial expressions, wild-eyed stare and disturbed breathing will probably trigger panic attacks in today's anxiety-afflicted audience.
Paul Newman, The Hustler: Could just as easily pick his performance in Cool Hand Luke, but this is a less showy, more psychologically ambiguous role, and he plays his flawed character with a restless energy that reveals his inner conflict.
Max von Sydow, The Exorcist: He was 44 years old when he played the 80 year old Father Merrin in a masterful performance, perfectly presenting the priest's physical frailty and spiritual power.
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