Non-Talking Roles, When Well-Acted, Speak Loud and Clear

In “The Piano,” Holly Hunter’s character will not talk. What this does for her, and the audience, is open an internal dialogue in which senses and impressions join to give insight into Jane Campion’s film.

The story behind Ada and the piano she treasures is absorbing, but it’s the mystery of her muteness that provides “The Piano” with a certain depth.

We want to know what Ada is all about, what goes on behind that wordless face, and without dialogue, we have to work to figure everything out. It’s not bad having to work at the movies; worthwhile pursuits usually require a little exertion.

Hunter is very good presenting both the riddle and the clues to understanding Ada. At the movie’s best, the audience is held by the character’s soundless yet erotic complexity; simple gestures--the tightness of lips, an expression in the eyes--point the way.

Non-speaking roles make great demands on actors, but the payoffs, obviously, can also be great. The American cinema has featured several non-speaking parts, both big and small, that have made an impact over the years.

“Children of a Lesser God” won an Academy Award for Marlee Matlin, who made her screen debut as a young, intelligent woman angrily struggling against her disability, a portrayal that expanded Hollywood’s vision of those who can neither speak nor hear. Her portrayal threw sympathy back in the audience’s face, instead requiring an unpatronizing acknowledgment of her character’s identity.

Matlin’s character is a proud woman who would rather remain soundless than lose dignity by attempting to mimic the speech of a hearing person.

The 1986 picture, directed by Randa Haines and based on Mark Medoff’s popular play, drifts from its strong center when the unusual romance between Matlin’s character and a teacher played by William Hurt takes predictable turns, but Matlin’s defiant performance gives it distinction.

Matlin’s headstrong role is a leap from “Johnny Belinda,” which won an Oscar for Jane Wyman as a woman who cannot hear or speak and who is raped, then recovers with the help of a kindly doctor played by Lew Ayres.

The 1948 movie can’t help but display Wyman as victim, a person forced to suffer because of her disability. It’s melodrama mixed with despair--a heart- and hand-wringer. Still, Wyman shows tragedy in often sensitive ways. Her interior dialogue is all about pain, then finally joy.

Hollywood has been determined over the years to show such people overcoming adversity, and no film has presented the victory as spectacularly as “The Miracle Worker.” Academy Awards, as we’ve seen, seem to be reserved for those who take on the challenge of these roles, and one went to Patty Duke as Helen Keller in 1962.

The film is an emotional seesaw--first we pity Keller, then we dislike her selfishness, which trades on her disability--and Duke and Anne Bancroft as her teacher, Anne Sullivan, keep the momentum going.

Director Arthur Penn tried to avoid the maudlin, and he mostly succeeds. Keller’s triumph at the picture’s end is a powerful catharsis for the audience, no matter how jaded it might be.

Non-speaking roles have turned up in quirkier films for quirkier reasons. In “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” Jack Nicholson is the star, but the smaller role of Chief, played by Will Sampson, hangs in the mind. Sampson’s character, a huge Native American with a watchful eye, has chosen muteness as a way to escape the so-called normal world--by playing possum every moment of his life, he is dismissed by society at large.

Through facelessness comes freedom, but the role also reflects how people might be ignored by society if they are unable to assert themselves, if they can’t speak out.

The actor’s portrayal has a nobility that comes from refusing to conform, but it’s also tinged with defeat. Chief eventually overcomes his demons and becomes a symbolic surrogate for Nicholson’s character, who is destroyed by the system.

When Chief escapes the asylum, it’s as someone prepared to battle the world on its own terms, ensuring a sweeter victory.

Perhaps the oddest non-speaking role went to Who lead-singer Roger Daltrey in the 1975 film adaptation of the band’s rock opera, “Tommy.” As “the deaf, dumb and blind kid (who) sure plays a mean pinball,” Daltrey isn’t required to do much more than stare blankly and move awkwardly (he does, however, sing).

His Tommy, of course, is always secondary to director Ken Russell’s imagistic excesses, but Daltrey still finds the thread that runs through many portrayals of non-speaking characters.

His Tommy points to the internal, very personal workings of someone who by fate or choice has been separated from the real world.