Very sad news reported yesterday of James Gandolfini’s death: No actor conveyed better the turmoil existing between the richness and vulnerability of inner life and the public persona. I met him once, outside a theatre, where he had performed in, “God of Carnage,” in which I’d seen him a few weeks before. I loved his glare.
The final scene of The Sopranos with the family in a diner and then blackness was a marvel of restraint and suggestion and dark humor.
One must wonder (or must one) how the literal has come to shove the implied in acting, performance, and so much else on display. It’s never a good idea to mistake how one acts or what one says for the inner reality.