Thinking, thinking, thinking, eureka!
Thinking, thinking, thinking, eureka!
Today a great actor left the stage. But more than that, a great man. A friend & one of the kindest I’ve ever known. RIP Tim Pigott-Smith.—
Kevin Spacey (@KevinSpacey) April 07, 2017
Distracting myself from the horrible reality of today’s main event with a play by Molière. Witnessing the ascension of Tr*mp and his cronies these past months to the highest positions of power is sickening enough to make one consider joining the ranks of misanthropes.
Two curly-haired, long-lashed beauties — Cherie Lunghi and Michael Kitchen in The Misanthrope fifteen years before they shared the screen again in The Buccaneers.
A puzzling casting choice, Michael Kitchen was only 44 when he played the 56-year-old Lloyd George in this episode of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles about the Paris Peace Conference.
More swiveling from Foyle while in interrogation mode.
Turn! Turn! Turn!
Does Monsieur Lemaire’s involuntary retirement mean Michael Kitchen’s part in The Collection is already over? At least he showed up relatively early in the series.
Love the praise heaped on Michael Kitchen in filmycks.com’s review of Caught on a Train:
The two leads turn in powerhouse performances, possibly the finest of their respective careers. Ashcroft may have been the flashier but for Kitchen to craft such a complex creation as Peter out of rather simple material, marked him as one of the finest actors of his generation. Notoriously media-shy he has spent most of his career within television and exemplary as his work has been, his relative absence from the big screen is certainly cinema’s loss. To get a sense of his talent, one only has to view a brief moment within a single scene in Caught on a Train. After Peter’s initial meeting with Messner, she plays upon her age and frailty and asks if he will go and buy some magazines from a vendor. It will mean leaving the train (which is still stationary at Ostend) and Peter has no intention of doing so. Consequently, he begins to equivocate and invent various excuses as to why he shouldn’t. Messner bats each of these away (‘It is only a short distance, you won’t even have to run’) and when it looks like he will have no choice but to acquiesce, a station guard’s whistle is heard. Peter believes he is saved from the task because the whistle indicates the train is about to leave. However, just before he can inform Messner another passenger states that the whistle isn’t for their train much to the chagrin of Peter. The moment lasts barely a second and yet within this screen-time Kitchen displays relief, then triumph, then fury. The complexity and skill in conveying so much in an instant, reveals a major talent at work.
His facial expressions in the last two frames are pretty terrific as well.
Summers gets much more than he bargained for in trying to lay down the law with a suspicious Foyle who sees right through him to his ulterior motive.
Excerpts from Jonathan Meades’s rapturous critique (The Times, Nov. 16, 2002) of Michael Kitchen’s acting in Foyle’s War:
Michael Kitchen’s playing of the title role in a show called Foyle’s War … is uplifting because it is an unalloyed display of high art.
His performance is singular, serious, very quiet. He does something that only the greatest actors are capable of, that is to convince in character while employing consummate professional skills.
Kitchen’s instrument is his face. He has used it to create a gestural language of the utmost suppleness and complexity… His sheer control is awesome. His repertoire causes us to rethink the possibilities of facial musculature.
There are occasions when an interpretation can quite overcome the creation it supposedly serves.
Wish something just as incriminating would surface, and soon, to bring the gullible masses in this country to their senses. Bring on the disillusionment.