Colin Firth–Again?

Let me begin by saying, I have nothing against Colin Firth. By any measure, Firth is a fine actor and deserving of the recognition and success he has achieved. Unlike many other fine actors, he seldom appears in a slick or shallow film–in fact, he has starred in many of the films that have most moved me in recent years. Films like When Did You Last See Your Father?, A Single Man, and The King’s Speech.

Lately, it has begun to seem that every richly textured, character-driven film stars Colin Firth.

In each of these films Firth is entirely convincing, and yet I find myself wondering what slant or zing or chemistry another actor might bring to the role. For example, Viggo Mortensen. Viggo does not act but instead morphs into the characters he plays, and—why deny it?–-I love to see him naked. Or James McAvoy, whose performance in The Last Station not only rose to the level of Mirren and Plummer’s but served as a sort of metaphysical cartilage, subtly melding his fellow actors’ parts. Or Vincent Cassel, who’s so deliciously wicked and whose attitude could burst a black hole.

Perhaps I’ve just seen too much of Firth, or perhaps, because there seem to be fewer and fewer emotionally satisfying films produced each year, I seldom get to see my favorite actors play roles worthy of their talents.

A disillusioned film buff, I write the sort of stories I’d like to see acted. Stories rich in dilemma and desire, and that could one day find their way onto the Big Screen. When that day comes and a producer calls me to gloat, “Fab news, I’ve attached Colin Firth for the lead,” will I say, “C’mon, give someone else a chance?” Not likely. I’ll call my 94-year old aunt back East. I’ll call everyone I know.

Let me end by saying, I have nothing against Colin Firth.