Amy Adams has a smile that plays big, taking over her face, then the room, then everyone in it. It's as if the world is suddenly bathed in sunshine. That's why it's hard to imagine anyone else as the dipped-in-happiness princess of "Enchanted," a cartoon character come to life, who sings and sews her way into Patrick Dempsey's heart.
But as wonderful as that super-saturated optimism can be, and as much as Hollywood suits and moviegoers alike prefer her in those roles, she is even more interesting to watch as someone who's been hurt, betrayed by life or circumstance or someone else. Those finely textured performances have a way of surprising you, so unexpected do they feel, so unlike the lightness of her comedy.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Wednesday, August 12, 2009 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 4 National Desk 1 inches; 44 words Type of Material: Correction
Amy Adams: An article about actress Amy Adams in Tuesday's Calendar section said that Lasse Hallstrom was to direct her in the film "Daughter of the Queen of Sheba." Hallstrom is no longer attached to the project and no new director has been named.
It's when she comes undone that I love Adams most. She paints a thousand colors on that dark canvas: bruising pain, profound empathy, infinite compassion, infinite need. There is an interior steeliness to her darker work -- a sharp intake of breath as she brushes her broken bits under the rug, a flash of lightning in stormy eyes, and you know she will, in a Scarlett O'Hara-as-God-is-her-witness-way, carry on.
The nuance Adams brings to those moments will ultimately go a long way in defining her still-developing career. (She turns 35 this month but she plays much younger). Consider "Julie & Julia," the great French bake-off that opened over the weekend that costars Adams, though Meryl Streep's Julia Child effortlessly whips egg whites and everyone and everything else into a fluffy meringue. While Streep has been butter-cream frosted in praise -- and rightfully so -- the reception to Adams as Julie has been something closer to frosty.
Yet if you take a close look at Adams in the film, you'll discover another carefully calibrated performance. Everything about her character is as it should be: self-involved, often superficial, often insecure, sometimes petty and with a "poor me" attitude that is very unappetizing when her day job is assisting the victims of the 9/11 World Trade Center collapse.
Her Julie Powell is a not-quite-30 Manhattan office drone who spends a year cooking through Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" in a desperate bid to flavor her own bland life. She was never supposed to step out of Child's shadow, even when success comes.
Adams understands that. From the slump in her shoulders to the serious shear of her hair, she allows herself to shrink into someone smaller on screen than she's ever been. At times it's as if the camera is searching for her, which rarely happens, since the camera fell in love with her ages ago.
It's quite simple, really -- if Adams has to choose between the character and our affection, she'll go for the character every time. She's a lot more than America's sweetheart.
Eyes have it
What I've come to believe is that Adams is a character actor blessed and cursed with a youthfully angelic face, leaving her the sizable task of layering meaning into performances that will, by necessity, reside inside porcelain perfection with a pert nose and a not quite grown-up voice.
All might be lost, or at least the potential for a broad artistic sweep to her career, if not for her eyes. An inky, indigo blue, they are a hopeless gossip, eager to let slip all the secrets hiding inside. When she throws them wide open, which she does with a sort of fierce intensity, the emotion you are witness to is unmitigated, raw and real. You understand why writer-director John Patrick Shanley would look at her and see the novice nun he envisioned for "Doubt," a Madonna untouched, her piety and belief about to be shaken to the core.
Adams commits absolutely to whatever role she's taken on, it's a glimmer in the bouncy cheerleading afterthought she was in 1999 in her first film, "Drop Dead Gorgeous," which starred a long list of other young actresses that were expected to outshine her, including Kirsten Dunst and Brittany Murphy. As Amelia Earhart earlier this year in the silliness of "Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian," Adams evoked an old-style glamour; in jodhpurs and a bob, she became Amelia, feisty and formidable and comically adorable.
Despite expectations, her breakthrough did not come as the innocent who falls for Leo DiCaprio's con artist in Steven Spielberg's "Catch Me If You Can" in 2002. There she was largely overlooked despite a nuanced performance of absolute love betrayed. The devastating final image of her is on an airport curb, Feds at the ready with arrest warrants for her ex-lover in hand. There stands little girl lost, crushed as much by the Judas role she finds herself in as any betrayal by DiCaprio's con.
It was not until the 2005 indie film "Junebug" that the actress finally caught everyone's attention. An Oscar nomination came just as she was about to give up on Hollywood and head back to the stage.