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I picked Mickey up from his hotel looking, as he always does off-screen, like an unemployed gas station attendant.
[...]
In L.A. I also had the chance to meet up with Mickey at his local café. In the space of an hour and a half, I managed to talk him out of having black hair, a Cyrano de Bergerac nose, a limp and six suits which he personally had made up by his pal to a design and with fabrics which missed the period of our film by about twenty years. He graciously accepted my suggestion that he stick to the acting.
[...]
Mickey, congenitally scruffy, has the rare ability to make the most elegant suit look like a discarded potato sack, so it was easy to ‘dress him down’.
[...]
Mickey is an intuitive actor: doing each scene differently as he searched for some truth. He doesn’t care too much for the science of blocking a scene, rather trusting his own instincts, which is very different from working with trained, technically skilled British actors. Although this can be vexing at times, with the imprecision also comes danger and while the danger is there, so is the magic.
[...]
Mickey’s street instincts and lack of intellectual pretension are pleasantly refreshing and watching him work was always gratifying.
[...]
There wasn’t a female member of the crew who wasn’t captivated by him — and, frankly, most of the male members were too.
[...]
I loved working with Mickey. Every day brought a new revelation in how he played the part. One moment he would be as word perfect on his lines as a Broadway veteran. At other times he was dangerous and unpredictable, as he improvised — twisting and bending the lines until they bore little resemblance to what was written – and I had to drag him back to what was on the page. From moment to moment he was a tough street kid, a vain movie star and a sweet, vulnerable, dented child. And, in all of that, was a fabulous actor.
Источник.
[...]
In L.A. I also had the chance to meet up with Mickey at his local café. In the space of an hour and a half, I managed to talk him out of having black hair, a Cyrano de Bergerac nose, a limp and six suits which he personally had made up by his pal to a design and with fabrics which missed the period of our film by about twenty years. He graciously accepted my suggestion that he stick to the acting.
[...]
Mickey, congenitally scruffy, has the rare ability to make the most elegant suit look like a discarded potato sack, so it was easy to ‘dress him down’.
[...]
Mickey is an intuitive actor: doing each scene differently as he searched for some truth. He doesn’t care too much for the science of blocking a scene, rather trusting his own instincts, which is very different from working with trained, technically skilled British actors. Although this can be vexing at times, with the imprecision also comes danger and while the danger is there, so is the magic.
[...]
Mickey’s street instincts and lack of intellectual pretension are pleasantly refreshing and watching him work was always gratifying.
[...]
There wasn’t a female member of the crew who wasn’t captivated by him — and, frankly, most of the male members were too.
[...]
I loved working with Mickey. Every day brought a new revelation in how he played the part. One moment he would be as word perfect on his lines as a Broadway veteran. At other times he was dangerous and unpredictable, as he improvised — twisting and bending the lines until they bore little resemblance to what was written – and I had to drag him back to what was on the page. From moment to moment he was a tough street kid, a vain movie star and a sweet, vulnerable, dented child. And, in all of that, was a fabulous actor.
Источник.
