Part 2: The Dark Side

These are the women who confronted, made, or actually were monsters in one way or another. Some are villainesses, others were just born bad, some still are just misunderstood or a little disturbed, but each actress listed here intrepidly confronts some form of evil. In the process they redefine and reinterpret the role of women in emotionally and psychologically disturbing material. They are not necessarily in the archetypal roles of “the victim”, “the femme fatale” or “the bitch”, therefore, with such nuanced playing, they represent the full spectrum of characters for women in this genre; giving viewers a truly dynamic scope of characterizations.

Isabelle Adjani

Possession

(Andre Zulawski, 1981)

When it comes to describing great film acting, “fearless” is perhaps the most overused word in the critic’s handbook. Watching Adjani in Possession however, is to witness it being defined on-screen. The actress’s vampire-like beauty harbors an electrifying mélange of mesmerizing physicality, intransigent masochism and unbridled eroticism. Her meager frame both expunges and is penetrated by the most inconceivable of grotesqueries, whilst remaining grounded in the authenticity of maternal longing and misplaced desire. And during the film’s morbidly engrossing set piece, she literally throws herself around the frame whilst releasing blood-curdling screams of terror as she enacts the so-called “possession”. It’s a scene, not to mention a performance, which threatens to veer hopelessly into exploitative camp. With the ferocity of Adjani’s conviction however, Possession morphs into a spiritually-disfigured ballet of female angst and suffering, suspended in time and irrevocable from the memory. SB

The single thing I want most in life right now is to talk to Adjani about how that “possession” scene was made and what she did in preparation for it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an experimental, unnerving thing as that onscreen. The sustained, unreal state of hysteria she had to inhabit throughout the film demands an actress with equally unreal stamina and beauty, and Adjani fits all of the role’s requirements perfectly. She deservedly won Best Actress at Cannes for this. MM

Sandrine Bonnaire

La Ceremonie

(Claude Chabrol, 1995)

In Chabrol’s undervalued, mysterious thriller, Bonnaire made a strong impression as Sophie, the dyslexic maid of a well-to-do family who calmly, coolly, cracks apart under the pressure of working for her imperious bosses. Along with her partner in crime, the devious postal employee Jeanne (Isabelle Huppert, in top form, as usual), Sophie begins exacting her “revenge” with slight little bits of mischief directed towards the family that eventually turn into something much scarier and more substantial. The things separating the somewhat tawdry material from becoming just another “woman-as-killer” flick are the steady-handed direction of Chabrol, who turns the screws very tightly; the gorgeous original score from Matthieu Chabrol; and the chemistry between the two leading ladies. Bonnaire, though, in particular, as the wispy Sophie, lends great humanity and depth to the shocking spiral of domestic violence that happens at an achingly slow crawl. Everything she needs to express in this film, she does it using her face and through subtly of gesture; the construction of Sophie’s fragile psyche is accomplished on the cellular level. As she so equally (and successfully) disappeared in Agnes Varda’s Vagabond, the actress nailed every nuance of this sordid drifter’s downfall, playing her as a rogue maid who has a eerily quiet psychotic break encouraged each step of the way by her diabolical gal pal. MM

Glenn Close

Fatal Attraction

(Adrian Lyne, 1987)

As skilled as a performer as we realize Close to be, she allowed her portrayal of Alex Forrest to be feathered by a dangerous stroke of spontaneity. Words like “instinct” and “impulse” come to mind when thinking about this performance. It’s no different than an actress undergoing a physical transformation to look right for a part, only Close works conversely from the inside out. She brought a realistic approach to a potentially misogynist vision and fought tooth and nail for the artistic integrity of her creation when the studio insisted on going back and re-shooting the film’s ending. Her take on how a woman in this situation would not only behave, but also construct sentences and be aware of the smallest details –- down to how she held her purse to her side, gave Alex the necessary humanity she was missing on the page. Even though we do not see her crime in the infamous bunny scene — we can imagine her doing it since she made Forrest’s traits and progression into mental illness so three- dimensional. It’s a tremendously realized characterization which only made her crimes all the more terrifying and almost understandable. [trailer] TD

Judi Dench

Notes on a Scandal

(Richard Eyre, 2006)

At age 72, Dench reinvented herself as obsessive lesbian stalker Barbara Covett in this gripping study of two very desperate women (the other is Cate Blanchett’s Sheba Hart) who have nowhere to turn except to one another. Barbara is an institution at her school, students fear her, and the other teachers hate her. She is a mouthy loner that is just unpleasant in general to everyone. She finds everyone dull or stupid except Sheba, who (unfortunately for her), brushes the cobwebs from Barbara’s eyes and virtually illuminates her face and thoughts with her presence alone. Once Barbara sets her sites on a special friendship with a certain young (targeted) lady, things can get a tad nasty, a tad tawdry, even. Couple this obsessive love with the fact that Barbara has, coincidentally, stumbled by accident onto some choice evidence to use in bribing Sheba to be her companion. Filled with one-liners you will use for the rest of your life (“you’re not young, sneers Barbara in one scene), Eyre’s depiction of sexually threatening, corpulent evil lurking in the most unseemly of places, like in the person of sweet little Dame Judi Dench, is a nail-biter. The veteran actress goes for broke in a way that hasn’t been seen since Beryl Reid chortled and smoked her way through The Killing of Sister George 40 years ago. Only here Dench brings an unquestionable theatrical pedigree along with her to quiet any detractors that dismiss this as camp trash. MM

Faye Dunaway

Mommie Dearest

(Frank Perry, 1981)

In a performance that encompasses the traditional, expressive styles of the Kabuki, Noh, and classical Greek forms of theater, Dunaway positively attacks this part and devours it from the second she emerges onscreen as legend Joan Crawford. Whether or not this is how Crawford actually was isn’t really the point, nor is dismissing the stellar, deliberately-mannered work of Dunaway as simple caricature: underneath the wigs, immensely shoulder-padded costumes, and the garish “Old Hollywood” make-up job (complete with gigantic, crazy Crawford eyebrows!), there is a brilliantly-organized, fearlessly physical tour de force. Dunaway is committed in an almost eerie way to this character, as though she is channeling a malevolent ghost. Playing someone who is constantly giving a performance can’t be an easy feat, but giving a thinly-drawn sketch or an impervious legend a semblance of a heart, as well as making her an all-time classically iconic villainess, is a pure victory for Dunaway, who made this sort of magic time and again with other similarly iconic parts in Bonnie and Clyde, Chinatown and her Oscar-winning Network. She took these prototypes and fleshed them all out, Mommie being her most brave, most inventive, and certainly most chillingly scary. MM

Jodie Foster and more

Jodie Foster

The Silence of the Lambs

(Jonathan Demme, 1991)

I’ve always said that one of the reasons Foster was so brilliant in The Silence of the Lambs is that she played the character so thoroughly and so cerebrally that we can actually sense her subconscious. It’s needed for all of the psychological rides she endures throughout the film and the kind of psychobabble she engages in with the mythic monster Dr. Hannibal Lector. Thematically and politically complex, this is a multi-angled representation of a strong, young female character (who is not an ingénue), and the strength of Foster’s performance aligns with the film in the way she serves it with a well-played lack of self-confidence. Her ability to play Clarice so vulnerably allows the true terror of the film to set with the viewer in appropriate discomfort as she becomes a tour guide into the darkness. The fact that we can feel her trembling and rethinking, under the uniforms and self-checks, to follow her newly learned protocol, make her emotional and physical predicaments all the scarier. TD

Margaret Hamilton

The Wizard of Oz

(Frank Perry, 1939)

This is a ballsy performance, when you think about the kind of reaction it provoked, globally -– pure, unbridled terror was struck in the hearts of children all over the world with just one fiery cackle. Hamilton was so unrepentantly evil (as both Ms. Gulch and The Wicked Witch) that generations of film-goers hated her very visage for what she put Dorothy and Co. through on their trek through Oz. For a working character actress to have the fortitude to create such an indelible, unapologetic manifestation of pure evil, in a time where gentility in female characters was the standard, was utterly brave and could have possibly sunk her career. Instead, she gamely covered her face in ghastly, toxic-green make-up and screeched her way into infamy by holding one Kansas girl’s innocence hostage and terrorizing her with poppies, fire, and flying monkeys. This is an unforgettable, singularly American representation of female evil. Guard your little dogs closely. MM

Meiko Harada

Ran

(Akira Kurosawa, 1985)

In adapting King Lear, Kurosawa opted to substitute Shakespeare’s female leads for the men with whom he was always more attuned. Fortunately, the final product doesn’t dispense with femininity altogether: the collective wrath of The Bard’s discarded women finds an outlet in the vengeful figure of Lady Kaede. Her clear template is Lady Macbeth, but in the hands of Harada that example is exploded to its most embittered potential. Her initially dulcet, eloquent diction barely conceals the contempt that boils underneath. That rage eventually finds its release in Harada’s murderous shrieks, which convey a high-intensity brand of fury that’s impassioned with her steadfast familial loyalty. Most interesting of all however, are the psychosexual undercurrents that emanate from her steely stares and her otherworldly shuffles across the screen. In Ran‘s only seduction scene, Lady Kaede literally draws blood — and Harada plays the scene as if she’s turned on by it. Frankly, she’s terrifying. SB

Isabelle Huppert

The Piano Teacher

(Michael Haneke, 2002)

We’re not given much of a back-story onto why Erika is the way she is. A reason, at this point in her life, wouldn’t provide the answers anyway. Least of all to her psychosexual neuroses or her bordering-on-incestuous relationship with her mother. The fact is she’s a shell of a person forever daydreaming and hating herself for it. I think the great tragedy of her character is that she does want to be loved. It’s just unfortunate she can’t find the right ways to go about finding it. Huppert is bold in playing this stilted girl in a bitter woman’s body. She goes where many actresses would be afraid to go — portraying someone truly ugly, without the make up or a fat suit. As twisted as everything that occurs onscreen is — Huppert allows us to see the person within through it all. This achieves the desired effect of shock and sickness. If she had played her as just a wicked pervert, it may not have packed such an emotional wallop. Most of the film, she’s alone onscreen, but around large groups of people. It is a testament to her skill as a performer that we don’t notice anyone else. TD

Ashley Judd

Bug

(William Friedken, 2007)

Bug is a horror film. We can see this when we see Agnes accepting this wayward stranger into her home. We want to tell her to stop, just as you would encourage a girl in a scary movie not to go down the dark hallway. But, she does so anyway. In a sense, it’s not a home she’s inviting him into (only half because it’s a hotel room) but instead a frame of mind. Why does Agnes engage this man in his eccentric beliefs and conversation? She wants to get lost. She wants to inhabit anyone else’s space but her own. She had given up on that long before she even met Peter (Michael Shannon). Is there a romantic aspect to this tragedy? Would it be insane to suggest there is? I don’t know. But, I have a nagging feeling that even if she hadn’t met the fate she does meet within this film — she would have met it somehow, some way. It’s all a question of whom with. Judd is brilliant in the movie. In one long monologue, when she’s crossing over the brink, she puts the broken pieces of her life’s puzzle together and when she claims she is the super mother bug — it’s not funny or campy. It’s depressing and harrowing. Because we know she thinks it’s true and we know what this truth means to her. We no longer have any hope for a rescue or escape from whatever happens next. Instead, we’re forced to watch it all horrifically unfurl inside that scary little motel room. TD

Nicole Kidman and more

Nicole Kidman

To Die For

(Gus Van Sant, 1995)

“You aren’t really anybody in America if you’re not on TV,” Kidman bubble-headedly states in this biting and satirical take on fame in America. Suzanne Stone Maretto, akin to a certain former Vice-Presidential candidate, is rich on gumption and determination but completely lacking in any real talent, unless you count whoring and manipulation as “talent”. What she does have and is fully, painfully, aware of, is siren-like beauty. This is used by her and against her throughout the course of Van Sant’s tense little lampooning of America’s obsession with the media and the spotlight. It is the classic double-edged sword faced by women, Kidman chief among them -– she has been both widely criticized for her beauty, and also roundly critiqued for hiding it. In what many see as a breakthrough performance, Kidman portrays naiveté, cunning, ambition and seduction at every turn to give us the classic image of a woman who thinks she’s in charge when really she isn’t. She is definitely one of the most clueless villainesses to appear onscreen, but that blundering, cringe-inducing stupid side of Suzanne only makes Kidman’s flawless performance all the more watchable. KL

Jessica Lange

Titus

(Julie Taymor, 1999)

If the steely death’s head look she gives Anthony Hopkins’ Titus Andronicus while ascending the steps of the Emperor’s palace doesn’t completely chill your blood, then surely, the wickedly confrontational aside Lange delivers straight on to the camera and the audience will: she unleashes a bloody declaration and states her fatal intention of war. Nihilistic and animalistic, Tamora Queen of the Goths wishes to have absolute revenge on the man who killed her son in a ritualistic sacrifice, no matter the cost (which turns out to be quite high in the end). The intensely dramatic monologue ends with a gleeful girlish giggle, as she turns back to her party guests, perfectly snapped back into reality after a psychotic break. For an actor to get back and forth to the place Lange goes to in this scene they must have scrupulous control over their emotions and able to stop and go on a dime, which is definitely a Lange trademark. I am beginning to think that this is not only the best scene of her career, but maybe even her best performance. I know, this borders on sacrilege for Lange fans like myself (Frances!), but the instinctual, guttural impressionism the performer engages in seems as exciting for her as it is for the audience. This is an element of acting that I appreciate very much, and I think this kind of commitment to a role is admirable, which makes perfect sense as Lange is a most admirable type of artist. MM

Angela Lansbury

The Manchurian Candidate

(John Frankenheimer, 1962)

Most people probably recognize Lansbury mostly as a sweet, friendly grand dame of stage and screen, for her warm work in such family institutions as Beauty and the Beast or her long-running television show Murder, She Wrote, but it is here in Frankenheimer’s surreal, nasty political thriller that she is able to shatter any preconceptions about her being a nice little old lady. As the enigmatic Mrs. Iselin (aka “Raymond’s Mother/The Queen of Hearts”), Lansbury gives viewers a peek at a singularly nasty side, one where she offers up her son, through hypnosis, to the cause of destroying the government. She will let nothing stop her from realizing her goal of getting her son’s father elected president, and if that means having her son turn into a trained-zombie assassin, than so be it! Meryl Streep tried to make this role her own in Jonathan Demme’s 2003 remake, but not even she could erase the chilling memories of Lansbury’s unrepentant hybrid of Lady Macbeth, Nancy Reagan, and Mommie Dearest. In fact, she didn’t even come close. MM

Marilyn Monroe

Niagara

(Henry Hathaway, 1953)

I first learned about this performance from none other than musician Tori Amos. We were talking about female acting performances that inform and inspire her work during an interview and this was one that she insisted I watch, despite my not ever really warming to Monroe as an actress: “I just loved that. I hadn’t been into her, but one of my friends made me watch Niagara and I watched that and I just thought that there are a lot of young women that try and be dangerous Aphrodites, but she, in this role, was really dangerous. And she was seductive. To see how a woman can use her seduction and act as if she doesn’t have a brain in her head, but really is plotting the whole thing and is destroying people’s lives.” With that recommendation, I had to go out and at least try and see the performance through a new lens, with a different eye. You know what? Tori was right. This is much more than just an icon posturing for her disciples, this was a woman who fought for dramatically substantial parts like Rose and showing people she was more than just an image. With all of the surreally bright rainbow symbolism juxtaposed with the grittiness of Monroe’s diabolical murderess, Niagara is more than just an idol earning a paycheck, and her performance is a force of nature not unlike the film’s foreboding, omnipresent falls of the title. When Tori tells you to watch something, watch it! MM

Jeanne Moreau

Mademoiselle

(Tony Richardson, 1966)

With a story credited to Jean Genet (The Thieves’ Journal) and Marguerite Duras (Hiroshima mon Amour), there was no way this couldn’t turn out to be ripe with malevolent tension. Moreau is “Mademoiselle” the prim, psychotic schoolmarm who lords over the village’s elementary school. She harasses children, she starts fires, she kills animals and she poisons the town’s water supply. This is all within the first half hour. We begin to realize that Mademoiselle’s actual motive for doing all of this is quite likely repressed lust for an Italian carpenter (and isn’t that always the case, ladies?). As she both purposefully and accidentally begins to commit murder, the length she takes to hide her culpability in the crimes takes her to new lows, such as animalistic, masochistic, rape-filled sex. The buttoned-down, private spinster is willing to serve up the most unlikely ultimate weapon of destruction –- her body, to frame an immigrant for the crimes. In the end, it doesn’t really matter if she gets away with these crimes or doesn’t –- the shockingly despicable Moreau, whose womanly figure is set against a striking bucolic black and white countryside backdrop, is able to give such an aloof, ambiguously disconcerting performance as the sociopath spinster whose fury is unleashed by her sexual longing, that by the film’s end you will just be wondering what hit you as you count the bodies. MM

Meg Ryan and more

Meg Ryan

In the Cut

(Jane Campion, 2003)

Ryan was a last minute replacement to respected director Campion’s initial choice of Nicole Kidman. I’m personally thankful this fluke happened, because I can’t imagine anyone but Ryan in this role. The likelihood of an actress such as Ryan, who has flitted about from rom-com to drama (both successfully and otherwise), actually succeeding at meeting the challenges of Susanna Moore’s harrowing script, which is from her novel and is packed with intensely sexualized twists and turns, was not high. Ryan uses this to her advantage and imbues her performance in In the Cut with the experimental wonder of a hungry, fledgling performer. The low-key Ryan eases herself into the mind of Franny Avery first and foremost. Allowing us to think about words (disarticulation comes up more than once) and poems and her daydreams. The intimacy in this film is signature to Campion’s career-long style. Unfortunately, the film was rated as a post-’90s sex thriller but film buffs will know that this is just as much of an art film as Campion’s previous work; The Piano, Sweetie, or An Angel at my Table with the hypnotic color palette, edgy cinematography, and a willingness to absorb into the internal thoughts of these characters and their odd relationships to one another. It’s a marvelous departure for Ryan while it’s another testament to Campion’s ability to find an artistic erotica in almost any location or setting. TD

Kim Stanley

Séance on a Wet Afternoon

(Bryan Forbes, 1964)

Stanley’s desperate, shaded (and shady!) performance as the kidnapping charlatan Myra is proof that the most challenging kinds of character studies that happen ever so rarely nowadays, happened with more of a frequency and consistency more than forty years ago. Kim Stanley gives what no other words except tour-de-force can describe. As a somewhat arrogant psychic, she concocts a sinister master plan to gain public notoriety for her strange gifts. The movie itself is arranged and edited excitingly, and could work as a remake today — but one wonders if anyone else except Stanley could deliver this performance as potently and sincerely. Stanley adds an extra element of intrigue into her scenes of dour introspection by fusing the vivid physical details of Myra with the private thoughts of her medium, which adds to the atmospheric, claustrophobic creepiness. The film escalates into an insight into the turbulent powers of the criminal mind and how warped even the most gifted people can become. These cerebral, difficult acting propositions are met with ease by the unforgettable Stanley’s dedication to such an unusual, full villainess role. [trailer] TD

Charlize Theron

Monster

(Patty Jenkins, 2003)

Aileen “Lee” Wuronos, on paper, is an almost offensively shameless Oscar-begging character: a serial killer/prostitute/lesbian. Add in a few extra points for this actually being a real person. Compounding matters considerably is the fact that, impossibly, the glacially beautiful South African-born Charlize Theron would be playing this downtrodden woman, who, let’s just say knew her way around the block. Fortunately, what could have descended into a camp nightmare of gigantic proportions instead provided a showcase for one of the most original star turns of the new cinematic millennium; one that actually ended up working. This is the kind of acting that rarely gets rewarded, the kind that comes along every so often and reminds you of what exactly actors are capable of accomplishing and capturing through good-old fashioned physical transformation, including gaining 30 pounds, and an array of prostheses. Even her eyes look profoundly soulless and tragic thanks to almost black, reptilian contact lenses. Lee is vaguely inhuman: lumpy, sketched out, wild-haired. She is a liar, a con-woman. Theron’s immersion into this character is not as a blatant copycat act, the actress also employs a gravelly voice and a Mid-Western cadence, haggard make-up on her skin, and tough body language. The actresses’ mastery of these costume constraints is a testament to her strength and range as a performer and she pulls off the impossible: making a drop-dead beautiful movie star disappear. MM

Kathleen Turner

Serial Mom

(John Waters, 1994)

Arguably the most affable of the “Dark Side” section, Turner’ giddy, serial-murdering suburban every-mom Beverly Sutphin was a gold-mine of physical comedy for an actress to play, and Turner went through her paces with hilarious abandon. Whether it was brandishing a leg of lamb to off her latest victim or subliminally garnering suggestions from her family as to who deserved to be next, Turner, as directed by legend John Waters, was given a rare chance to over-play and not be criticized for it. Beverly was over-the-top, outrageous, psycho, and ballistic, but rather than being a one-note caricature, Turner instead wisely made her a mother crusading to fight the small injustices keeping her family (and every family) down –- we all hate those jerks who don’t recycle, don’t we? Something must be done to remedy the situation, even if it means murdering the boy who broke her daughter’s heart with a fire poker at a flea market or simply making some of the most hysterical obscene phone calls ever put to film, directed towards hapless local divorcee Dotty Hinckel (Mink Stole). “Are those pussy willows”, she taunts Dotty with evil hubris. Beverly wants recognition for her hard work, whether that “work” is killing a math teacher for insulting her parenting skills, or preparing the perfect meat loaf for a cozy family dinner. MM

Lucyna Winnicka

Mother Joan of the Angels

(Jerzy Kawalerowicz, 1961)

Possessed. Nuns. If those words don’t entice, then rest assured that Winnicka’s staggering performance as Mother Joan of the Angels most certainly does. The Polish thesp’s characterization is a daring one, though any apprehension that might have been felt during her more unhinged on-screen moments remains invisible to the viewer. With the mere blink of an eyelid, she can swerve seamlessly from the angelic to the demonic, conjuring virtual hypnosis from her audience whilst resisting the lure of the facile caricatures so readily available to her. This anti-heroine has more substance than a mere cardboard Satanist: the actress recognizes that she is, above all else, a red-blooded woman. Caught between desire and duty, Mother Joan’s metaphysical malady consequently transforms into an emotive essay about the very price of one’s devotion — and against this curious backdrop, Winnicka creates the most beautifully twisted art out of private anguish. SB