A rather random actor's profile - I forget why I wrote it. Maybe it was to tie in with a new release.
I first encountered Mark Ruffalo in Jane Campion’s psychological thriller, In The Cut. He played the boorishly macho cop who both fascinates and repels Meg Ryan’s protagonist, a writer who has reason to believe he may have committed a vicious murder but nevertheless embarks on a passionate affair with him. The movie had promise, but Campion couldn’t stave off the conventions of the genre for long and it soon became cliched and predictable.
Which could hardly be said for Ruffalo’s performance. He was both aggressive and tender, forthright but evasive. He mastered the ambiguity of the part with ease – in fact, he was almost too good. Stuck in a third-rate plot opposite a wispy and unsettled Ryan, he unbalanced the narrative in his favour, the audience finding its centre of gravity every time he appeared on screen. He also recaptured that aura of strong, unashamed masculinity - rare in this post-feminist age – that was the hallmark of American cinema in the days of De Niro in Taxi Driver and Keitel in Fingers.
Where had he come from? This young actor so confident in a leading role, and one that demanded such different shades of character? To my surprise, I discovered that he already had an impressive CV behind him, with roles in such films as You Can Count On Me, Windtalkers and Ang Lee’s seriously underrated first western, Ride With The Devil. But it was two supporting roles following In The Cut which were to confirm him as one of the leading new actors of his generation.
He should have barely registered in the wonderful Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Something of an Actor’s Workout for the two stars, Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet, it left him playing the scientist hooking Carrey’s brain up for voluntary amnesia. But thanks to a hilarious episode where he enjoys a rather awkward boogie with Kirsten Dunst in his underwear, he created a clear impression and showed he had a flair for comedy.
Then in Michael Mann’s Collateral, he played the detective doggedly pursuing a hitman across LA. The film showcased two important performances, from Cruise – trying to prove he could play against type – and from Jamie Foxx – trying to prove that he was actually the best actor in Hollywood if only anyone could be bothered to take him seriously. Though both actors excelled themselves, it was Ruffalo’s performance that caught the true feel of the city, that felt most natural in the film’s edgy, neon-lit world of dealers, criminals and cops. You felt this man could exist there – not so clean-cut that he begged the audience’s sympathy, with the touch of street style in his hair and clothes accentuating the lack of distance between him and his quarry.
But Hollywood is uncomfortable with such talent. Sure, they recognise a star when they see one. But there is nothing worse than an actor who is undefined, who can be unsympathetic, whose performances can be so raw as to pitch the film over into controversy or – gasp! – into something more subtle than mainstream entertainment. That’s why when someone like Julia Roberts or Jennifer Lopez comes along - actors with an obvious, vivid sexuality or an attack that might unsettle conservative audiences – the Hollywood machine sets about “blandifying” them. Star vehicles are created – romantic comedies, straightforward thrillers for a straightforward heroine. The impetus is to plane away those rough edges, to create a “product” that will be universally appealing and draw punters back again and again.
Is this already happening to Ruffalo? Late last year, there was Just Like Heaven, a dreary rom-com that jammed him and Reese Witherspoon into a half-baked Ghost rip-off. The sunny, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-their-mouth poster was enough to make a grown cineaste cry. And now there’s Rumour Has It, whose plot sounds like one of the ideas peddled by the desperate scriptwriters in Robert Altman’s The Player. What has Ruffalo done to deserve this? From strong beginnings, his career seems to be sloping downwards towards the hell-hole which we optimistically call “popular culture”. If someone doesn’t act soon, he could be swallowed up in LA, indeed, more of that city than those watching him in Collateral could ever have anticipated…