William Hurt gives one of the most intensely interior performances on record. He is indescribable moving. His emotional paralysis becomes the palpitating centre of this gorgeous Lawrence Kasdan film. I saw the film, when it first come out, on a big huge screen that allowed me the strangely unique privilege of entering a man's soul. In the surface, nothing. Less than nothing, William Hurt floats through his daily existence, surrounded by his quirky family, his wounded, distant ex wife but first and foremost, his impenetrable loneliness. The character never utters a word who could confirm that, and yet is there, ever present, if you look deep, deep into his eyes. The scene in which he almost lets himself go in Geena Davis's arms is as cathartic as anything I've ever seen in any modern American movie. A couple of days ago I saw it again on a normal TV screen and all of the above wasn't there. Still a gorgeous film, a funny, melancholic romantic comedy but what about the interior masterpiece of William Hurt's performance? Gone. Did I imagine the whole emotional ride? Possible but unlikely. I took my VHS copy to a friend's house with a phenomenal home entertainment centre and a massive screen. William Hurt's performance was back. His is a performance conceived and designed for the big screen. One hundred per cent cinematic. The TV screen is far too small to allow us into a man's soul. If you haven't seen it I urge you to see it but in a big screen, the biggest you can find. Now let me leave you with this little tip. Look into William Hurt's eyes when he is in the taxi in Paris and sees the boy, who reminds him of his own son, walking down the street. It is the best performances by an actor in one of my favourite film moments of all time.
