Charly

Charly

James L. Jones

CHARLY A Selmur Picture in conjunction with Robertson Associates; with Cliff Robertson, Claire Bloom, and Lilia Skala; written by Stirling Silliphant, based on the story “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes; director of photography Arthur J. Ornitz; music by Ravi Shankar; produced and directed by Ralph Nelson.

Screen acting is surely one of the most difficult forms of acting in existence. On stage, an actor has the advantage of “living” the character he portrays from the moment the performance begins until the final curtain. Acting on the stage then is a continuous, progressive expression. Should the actor be called upon to deliver an impassioned, sensitive monologue toward the end of the play, he is aided by the fact he has developed and matured with the character since the curtain was raised. He “builds” upon that which is past.

Consider now the screen actor. Few if any films are shot in the same sequence you see on the screen. An action or speech begun on an interior set may move to an exterior location which, for purposes of the film, may be thousands of miles from the studio interior, and then into a second interior in another studio, etc. etc. The film actor thus cannot “live” the life of the character he is playing. He cannot “build” on that which is past, for that which is past may have been three or four days, a week, even a month ago. Or it may not yet have occured. That final impassioned, sensitive monologue may be filmed before the scene in which the audience meets and gets to know the character delivering it. That’s one of the reasons there are so few really good film actors: few people are talented * enough to conjure up a passion, a sensitivity literally on the spur of the moment.. That’s also a reason why so many really talented stage actors do a lousy job in films. ,

As I said, really few actors are capable of doing a creditable job of acting in movies: I would say that the best are Frederic March, the late Spencer Tracy, certainly Richard Burton, Sidney Poitier, and, given the proper material and a good director, sometimes Gregory Peck and Burt Lancaster.

That was before CHARLY.

Certainly with the release of CHARLY, one more name must be added to the list: Cliff Robertson. In the title role, Robertson delivers what can only be described as one of the greatest acting jobs ever put on film. It defies description of any other kind. It must be seen to be truly felt. It cannot be verbalized into words and phrases on paper, and to attempt to do so would be an insult to Robertson (and probably beyond my capabilities to do so). If you can appreciate, can be moved, can be exhilarated by acting, you should not miss CHARLY.

CHARLY is, almost, tragedy in the classical Greek style. Charly Gordon is a man of indeterminate age physically, but who is about five years old mentally. His IQ is less than 70. But unlike many retardates, he is affable, gregarious, and possessed of an insatiable desire to learn. He enrolls himself in special night classes, he spends his leisure time touring historical Boston and dropping in on the campus of Boston University to observe the students, to emulate them, to learn.

There’s little hope for Charly until j\lice Kinnian (Claire Bloom), his night school instructor, convinces two psychologists to use Charly in an experiment they’ve planned, an experiment designed to discover if brain deficiency can be corrected by surgery. The doctors operate, and Charly’s intelligence is increased.

But with inc4eased knowledge comes sexual knowledge, frustration, apathy, and finally maturity. Practically every level of human mental and emotional development is mirrored in Charly. The tragedy comes with what comes after maturity. Like the Greeks, Charly’s flaw is pride: pride in the knowledge of the mind. His downfall comes with the realization that neither he nor anyone else knows what the mind truly is.

CHARLY was first a short story, then a television play in which Robertson also starred. Indeed, Robertson played a number of roles on television that later went to other actors in the film version. He was Fast Eddy Felson in the TV production of the THE HUSTLER (Newman had the film role). He was the alcoholic husband in THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES ( he gave a better performance than did Jack Lemmon in the movie). Indeed, while winning laurels as a television dramatic actor, Robertson was appearing in numerous less than mediocre films. His career took an upward swing in 1963 when the late President Kennedy personally selected him to play young JFK in PT 109. After that day in Dallas, Robertson played in only one other movie that could be considered important, THE BEST MAN, Gore Vidal’s study of two men vying for the presidential nomination. Then it was back to TV for a role in the Emmy-Award winning “The Game,” a Chrysler Theatre story in which Robertson played an American in Monaco who is hooked on the game of chemin-de-fer (very popular in Ian Fleming novels). This was followed by an appearance as a “guest villain” on Batman. Indeed, Robertson’s portrayal of “Shame” provided that campy series with one of its better programs (it was a parody of the old movie, SHANE).

Tired of being passed over for the film version of roles that he had created on television, Robertson bought the movie rights to “The Two Worlds of Charly Gordon” shortly after having appeared in that TV play. It took him seven years to bring the story to the screen. It was worth the wait.

Stirling Silliphant’s screenplay borders, sometimes dangerously, on being old fashioned tearjerker. The dialogue in one sequence is pretentiously corny. But Robertson, Claire Bloom, and director Ralph Nelson manage to avoid falling into the sea of mawkishness and sentimentality that is usually the hallmark of such a story. Nelson utilizes (and does so intelligently) a split screen to deliver more than one point of view simultaneously, and to avoid the constant cutting from one face to another during conversations. Seldom does the split screen effecct look gimmicky, as they often did in THE BOSTON STRANGLER and THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR. The cinematography by Arthur Ornitz is effective, often employinga grainy image that suggests cinema verite.The score by Ravi Shankar is excellent, and can be described only as raga-jazz.

The ultimate strength of CHARLY lies in Robertson’s performance, for which he won deservedly the Academy Award. Even the most insensitive, unfeeling clod will be moved by it. For those of us more sophisticated, CHARLY is richly rewarding cinema experience.