I first became aware of Lino Ventura when I watched Jean-Pierre Melville’s French Resistance masterpiece, L’Armee Des Ombres (Army Of Shadows), where he played a tough resistance leader, busting out of jail a couple of times. Those of you who’ve seen Ventura’s work will know that he is strong, not just physically but also mentally and in terms of his presence on screen. He’s focussed and disciplined, possessed with an apparently awesome will power, his posture makes him seem immovable, he’s Stoical and has a reserved intelligence, a wisdom, no “door-smashing neanderthal” Ventura, and further, it’s worth pointing out that he was a prizefighter before he was an actor. Jean-Pierre Melville himself describes Ventura as: “a monolith, a real force of nature”. As you can imagine, all this adds up to a compelling acting whole. And so it was then, that I watched an interview with Ventura this week, after seeing Melville’s Le Deuxieme Souffle (Second Wind – another mindblowing masterpiece), and was amazed by just how shy and uncertain Ventura was, even giggly at times. Obviously those qualities he displays when acting are contained within the man himself otherwise he would not be able to display them. But what is it that causes this difference between his persona onscreen and off? Why so certain and direct in performance, but hesitant in life?

I started to think about how, when working on a part, I love to refine my intentions in the scene. I’ll refine, refine, refine them, until they have a laser-like strength and precision (having to eventually perform the scene prevents this becoming procrastination, although I have been working on the same Harold Pinter speech for eight years, endlessly working it, and I do this largely because it gives me pleasure), and the reason I work this way is because it enables me to commit fully when playing the scene (which is in itself a pleasurable thing to do), and this commitment renders my work truthful and the scene becomes exciting to play, and, blessedly, I am relieved of my everyday self-consciousness – suddenly my personality clicks into place and everything makes sense, I proceed with total conviction. And this commitment leading to conviction is the reason why many actors only really feel as though their life has purpose when they are performing, and feel hopelessly awkward the rest of the time. Paradoxically, many actors are less self-conscious performing than when they are not, and perhaps then, this helps to explain the Ventura conundrum.

NB – In addition to the Melville films mentioned above, I also recommend Jacques Becker’s Touchez Pas au Grisbi (Hands Off The Money), a hard boiled film noir, and contains not only a fabulous performance by Ventura, but also one the greatest in all cinema, by Jean Gabin.