“There are no small parts, only small actors.”
Konstantin Stanislavsky said that, and that guy knew a thing or two about acting.
But don’t take his word for it! Throughout cinema history, we’ve seen numerous performances from actors who come in for literally one scene, burn down the joint, and leave the picture, never to be seen again. And while there are plenty of longer, leading performances to glean inspiration from, these short bursts of genius are chock-full of lessons.
Let’s examine some of the best one-scene performances.
Timothy Carey — “Minnie and Moskowitz” (1971)
Oftentimes, the one-scene role can be interpreted as a “temperature shifter.” The film’s mood, pace, and emotional language are chugging along in one way—blending to make a “temperature”—and then an actor arrives and cranks the thermostat way in another direction, creating a whole new climate.
John Cassavetes’ “Minnie and Moskowitz” is one of the director-actor’s typically improvised, truth-seeking dramas. Here, Cassavetes gives Timothy Carey ample room to explore and explode. Carey owns every inch of the frame, poking and prodding at any scene partner who comes his way, ratcheting up tension with bravura control of his instrument. And then he delivers a literal monologue, interruptions and all! What a performance!
The Actor’s Guide to Performing a MonologueBeatrice Straight — “Network” (1976)
Beatrice Straight won an Oscar for less than five minutes of screen time in Sidney Lumet’s “Network.” Why is that?
From the jump, Straight is in complete control of her “moment before”—an understanding of your character’s circumstances right before a scene starts. This is very important for a one-scene role, since you don’t have the onscreen or textual time to figure that out. Straight uses this knowledge to navigate an emotional minefield, allowing herself to be explosive or shielded depending on where she steps. Her reactions to her partner are also noteworthy; William Holden is more or less playing the moment in the same muted register, but Straight’s responses stay alert and alive.
Billy Crystal / Carol Kane — “The Princess Bride” (1987)
Rob Reiner’s “The Princess Bride” is a funny movie, but comedy icons Billy Crystal and Carol Kane kick that tone up a notch or 12 in this iconic scene.
To borrow language from many comedy schools, Crystal and Kane have chosen a “game” to play—what if these high fantasy healer characters were Jewish Borscht Belt comedians?—and they play it to the hilt, providing wonderful texture and comic relief for the audience. And because they have no obligation to reappear, they can heighten as much as possible in as little time as possible.
Alec Baldwin — “Glengarry Glen Ross” (1992)
David Mamet’s dialogue is already known for its explosive, provocative, and ultra-masculine qualities. But in this newly written speech for James Foley’s cinematic adaptation, Alec Baldwin cartwheel dunks over the entirety of “Glengarry Glen Ross,” establishing the narrative and emotional stakes with a flurry of attention-grabbing swear words and ego checks.
However, note that Baldwin’s performance rarely devolves into abject yelling. Instead, he plays this braggadocious speech in a cooler register, representing his complete confidence, control, and coolness. That’s an inspiring way to think about approaching text—what work is already done for you, and what would be adding a hat on a hat?
Christopher Walken — “Pulp Fiction” (1994)
Quentin Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction” is episodic by nature, made of vignettes that only occasionally intersect. It’s thus made, to an extent, as a series of “one-scene performances.” Even so, Walken shakes the entire picture up, taking us on a wild ride through his monologue.
To achieve this twisted journey through, well, the human butt, Tarantino and Walken performed the monologue in three different emotional registers—what Tarantino calls “humorous,” “tragic,” and “irreverent”—then edited together a final product using all three modes in specific ways. This playful process is worth remembering if you’re working with limited screen time. When you only have one shot to make an impression, don’t limit yourself; experiment with your full range.
Alfred Molina — “Boogie Nights” (1997)
Perhaps the granddaddy of one-scene, temperature-raising performances, Alfred Molina’s work in Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Boogie Nights” is terrifying, hilarious, magnetic, and attention-grabbing. It’s proof positive that “subtlety” isn’t necessarily a goal for a performer; it’s also proof positive that “yelling” isn’t necessarily the first way to play menace (even if he gets there eventually).
Molina heightens and heightens and heightens until the action has to explode in literal, physical violence—and the actor is the one controlling that pace and feeling like a mad conductor. Pay attention to when he pulls back and when he plunges forward, noting why each decision is the perfect one for that particular moment.
Jon Lovitz — “Happiness” (1998)
Known primarily as a broad comedy actor from “Saturday Night Live” and “The Critic,” Jon Lovitz opens Todd Solondz’s bleak dramedy “Happiness” with a selfless and small portrayal of pathetic tragedy.
The moment before is set—Lovitz has just been broken up with—and he takes it all in, factoring not only the emotional desperation of the situation but the extenuating circumstances (i.e., “I’m in a restaurant, I can’t freak out”). Intriguingly, however, Lovitz’s explosion isn’t one of sadness but of ego, of a gesture toward reclamation. It’s a smart, layered performance, one with a canny understanding of the inverse relationship between character and audience philosophy.
Barry Shabaka Henley — “Collateral” (2004)
Barry Shabaka Henley takes us on an entire lifetime’s journey in this scene from Michael Mann’s “Collateral.”
Henley starts the sequence in complete command, telling his story of meeting Miles Davis with joy, frankness, and love of the game. But when Tom Cruise’s Vincent tells him the real reason he’s there, Henley’s entire sense of self changes. It is arresting to watch it happen in real time. Henley, without losing any of his established character work, pulls a 180 into a reckoning and understanding of the newly discovered stakes—and then does a final 180 to deliver a last piece of knowledge before his untimely end. It’s a powerful example of how to subtly communicate your character’s internal shift to the audience without speaking it aloud.
Viola Davis — “Doubt” (2008, dir. )
Another Oscar winner for just one scene, Viola Davis plays this exchange from John Patrick Shanley’s “Doubt” with complete mastery of her craft.
What Davis understands here is the idea that human beings don’t want to cry, don’t want to be upset, don’t want to cause a fuss. So even when she learns the worst possible thing a parent can hear, Davis doesn’t immediately fall apart in show-offy waterworks. She does her best to stay calm, to avoid shattering the composure of her life that she desperately needs.
But the seams show, and ultimately dissolve, and then Davis lets it all hang out, her raw, unvarnished emotions fighting with the text’s demand to keep it together. It’s an incredible piece of acting, nearly paralytic in its power.