[This is my entry in The House Next Door’s Close-Up Blog-a-Thon. It’s one of my favorite closeups. Some closeups illuminate the emotions of a scene. Some closeups make sure we are on one character’s side over the other. Some closeups are abstract, meant to make us think of things in a non-literal way. Some are meant to objectify. And sometimes … there is the “star closeup”. The loving look at a star’s face. What is interesting about the closeup below is that Russell Crowe wasn’t a star yet. And one of my favorite categories of closeup is “star closeups of those who are not stars yet”. See, again, The Shamus’ great piece about John Wayne in Stagecoach.]
Russell Crowe has become such an enormous star in such a relatively short amount of time that it’s hard to remember sometimes what an impact he made with his performance of Bud White in LA Confidential. Romper Stomper and Proof had gotten him some international buzz, it is true, but nothing like the worldwide recognition factor that came to him with his portrayal of Bud White.
One of my favorite things about this performance is how non-verbal it is. The way he walks. The way he crushes the chair in his hands. How he pushes his head down in front, leading with it. How his shoulders are squared and blunt. But then the gentle eloquence of his hand on Lynn Brackett’s bare back, through the window. How he touches her like she is precious Like he relishes the softness of her, the GIVE of her body. He doesn’t touch her like a man accustomed to touching women. He’s in awe. How can something be so soft?
Bud White is not a happy guy. He’s not happy just being the muscle. Watch how excited he gets when he’s lying in bed with Kim Basinger, talking about what he really wants to do is work homicide. His whole body language changes. He props himself up on one elbow on the pillow, and suddenly he’s as enthusiastic and open as a little boy. But none of his colleagues will ever see that side of him. No male will ever see that side of him. Women are the only ones who will ever be allowed to see his vulnerability. This is a throw-back to old movie stars. Humphrey Bogart, for example. His characters are loners. He may have sidekicks, or worthy foes (like in Casablanca) – but you never really see the guy as having a close male friend. He’s too much of an individual, a loner for that. His heart, his soul, is reserved for the female sex. She has to work for it, sure, and she better be worth his trust … but she’s the one who gets to see that side of him. But just like Humphrey Bogart: for Bud White it has to be the right woman. Not all women, no … but the right woman? Fuggedaboutit. That’s why when he realizes she has slept with Exley he is so devastated. Intimacy is not casual for Bud White. He is the opposite of a ladies man. He is a one-woman kinda guy. I would bet that Bud White has actually never had a relationship before Lynn Bracken. Maybe he slept with hookers from time to time, just to have the release, but I think being a “boyfriend” is a completely new sensation, not altogether pleasant.
In every other situation in life, Bud White is all brawn. I love him in the very first scene when he’s doing the stakeout outside the house where the guy is beating up the woman. Bud White walks up onto the lawn. Watch how he walks: the impulse, his objective is IN the way he walks. It’s not Russell Crowe’s walk. It’s Bud White’s walk. The bulldog, moving forward, on instinct. He WILL stop the beating. He has no idea how, but he WILL stop it. He sees the cord leading up to the Santa on the roof, and it’s just a glance – a quick glance – he quickly assesses the situation – he reaches out, and gives the cord a huge yank. The Santa comes crashing off the roof. I just love that quick glance he gives before he pulls it down. This is the first scene of the film. This is when Bud White is established.
There’s a lot going on in that first scene, a lot of information comes at us: we see that obviously something about domestic violence drives this guy nuts. He’s FIXATED on it. It’s important to know. It is Bud White’s entire raison d’etre: it isn’t just what he does, it is who he is. We also see that his partner treats him with bemused tolerance. We see how Bud White beats the crap out of the violent husband. This is more information. Bud White will not play by the rules when it comes to people beating up on innocents. And THEN, when the wife comes out onto the porch, trembling, we see how gently Bud White treats her, with deference, and respect. He calls her “Ma’am.” He lifts up the fallen cord so that she can pass beneath it, and his action in THAT moment, is full of grace. It’s like a dance move, totally different from the violence he displayed two seconds earlier. I love that moment: how he gently lifts up the cord for her to pass underneath. He does it unconsciously. He does it instinctively. This is who Bud White is with women.
Member Chris Rock’s jokes during the Oscars about Crowe? “If you want to see how someone walked and talked three weeks ago, you get Russell Crowe!”
Russell Crowe, as Bud White, seems to actually inhabit that time. It’s a period piece. But it’s not kitschy. Bud White is a product of his time. And Russell Crowe, in those little moments, how he lifts up the cord for the beaten lady, isn’t ACTING LIKE he is back 50 years in time. He actually seems to just live there. This is so much harder than maybe it would seem. You can do all the research in the world, and look at old fashion magazines, and immerse yourself in the newspapers of that day, whatever … but then … after all the research … there’s got to be that moment of magic. The magic of transformation. Some people can pull it off. Others can’t. Russell Crowe obviously did a ton of research, the mores of the time, being a cop at that time, the American accent, but at the end of the day, he just had to get up and DO it. I never for one second lose trust in him. I suspend my disbelief. He is not an actor in the late 20th century. He’s a bulldog cop with a buzzcut in the 1940s.
It’s a star-making performance. Strange. I remember the buzz in my little world of actors about this new guy – Russell Crowe – and how incredible he was in LA Confidential. People talked about him differently than they did about other new actors. It was almost like the second he arrived (at least in America, he had been doing great work in New Zealand for a while) we couldn’t imagine what it was like before he got there.
He seemed INEVITABLE.
And the inevitability was the result of Russell Crowe’s enormous talent, sure but also because of the ROLE of Bud White. It was Bud White that made him a star.
I would even say that it is the first moment we see him in that film, in close-up, that made him a star. All it took was one moment.
The movie’s energetic prologue, narrated by Danny Devito, tells us about the tabloids, and how it all works, and the dirtiness beneath the surface of LA. The prologue is light, it’s funny, it’s flashy, the music swings, we go from person to person, we see the grainy photographs in the tabloids.
Then, that fades away and the screen goes to black.
The next thing we see is an intense close-up of Bud White. It’s not a slow fade-in to the close-up. The scene doesn’t come up slowly out of the black – no. The screen goes to black, and then BOOM, we’re in the close-up. This is rare, in the world of close-ups. To start a film with one. To start it with no context surrounding it. To just toss us in to the landscape of one particular face, with no warning.
We see a man. Staring at something. We don’t know what yet.
How courageous to start the movie with that. Curtis Hanson is blunt, fearless, in this regard. We don’t know what is going on, we don’t know who this man is (and remember: Russell Crowe was unknown then, he didn’t have “brand” recognition yet, he was a stranger to us), and I spent my first moment watching the film getting to know his remarkable face. A closeup of Clint Eastwood or Harrison Ford automatically carries a bunch of weight, past assocations, past roles, we know their face, it’s what they DO with the face that is interesting. But in this particular case, with LA Confidential, we were learning him, his contours, his look. Who was this man?
He is totally still. He doesn’t blink. He just stares. He seems like a snake, or some kind of predator. He’s looking out the window, but there is a coiled violence in him, a potential for action that vibrates in his expression. He is waiting for his moment.
But the main reason why the close-up is so arresting, so startling … is that beneath all of that … somehow … is sadness.
What this man is looking at makes him sad. The sadness is not overdone, in fact it’s barely played, and you might even miss it. But it’s there. Beneath the held-back brutality, beneath the still focus of his gaze, is a soft keen of sadness. The gaze does not have just one thing in it. It has an entire world in it, this man’s entire life is in his eyes.