The Greatest Actor In America

Acting, in the movies or on stage, is harder than it looks.  The best actors and actresses make it look easy, they make the process invisible.  We are now entertained by many great actors.  Tim Robbins and Jeff Bridges come to mind; Leonardo Di Caprio has done outstanding work; Tom Cruise has gotten surprisingly good.  “Greatest,” though, is a singular title, there can only be one.  Rather than nominate anyone in particular, I’m here to suggest that regular people, in their daily lives, commonly exhibit great acting skills themselves. 

We are all acting, more or less, every day, in all situations.  I say “more or less” because there are doubtless many among us who are naturally the people that they appear to be.  Many of us though, perhaps most of us, greet the world every day wearing a mask, or various masks, as the situation requires.  We have discovered that it is necessary to disguise our real selves in order better to fit into society.  We hide our fears and our rage and we seek to create a more cheerful, cooperative character to display to those that we encounter. 

I’m not the best of actors, I know that.  My mask cracks too easily; my ready smile fades and gives way to a hang-dog expression if I’m not careful.  My friendly banter becomes contaminated with recriminations.  Sometimes, not often anymore, but still, sometimes, my entire effort goes out the window and I become what I call “the other Fred.”  You don’t want to meet him, I’ll tell you.  He can seem right on the verge of cutting you down in the gutter.  I’m a pretty good actor though.  The magnitude of what my effort must overcome has to be part of the grading process.

I wouldn’t give the title of “greatest” to any of the professional actors among us.  To me, the greatest actor in America is probably a guy out in Iowa or somewhere, a guy with a boring job, an annoying overweight wife, a couple of disappointing children, and very little to comfort himself with generally, but who is still a good neighbor and friend, a helpful co-worker and a reliable employee, a faithful husband and a devoted father, day after day, day after fucking horrible, unrewarding, exhausting day, year after year, without complaining, or dropping his mask even once, a guy who can leave behind a perfect record of polite cheerfulness, which no one will appreciate. 

Except me, I appreciate his efforts.  Those guys are my heroes.  I couldn’t do what they do.  They make me wish that there were a heaven waiting for them, a place where they could be happy.  Instead all they get is the peace of the grave, where all men are equal, and no masks are required.