Demme’s Hidden Diamond in the Rough: Who Am I This Time?

I am not a sucker for over-the-top rom-coms. I’m particularly unswayed by the kind where, the moment the protagonist meets their impending other half, they stumble into a dance of Will-They-Wont-They-But-Of-Course-They-Will. For one, these movies tend to be predictable. The first thirty minutes establish that the protagonists are down on their luck types, or that they have unconventional jobs, eccentric interests; a persona that makes them societal outcasts. They usually have a life direction that has been dramatically veered off course (if they had one to begin with at all) or are griping about not knowing who they are; who they really want to be. After an hour and a half this all gets miraculously solved by the presence of a human being who, by happenstance, has casually waltzed into their lives. Maybe there’s a quarrel with their newfound soulmate, or an ex-something creeps back into the picture, but that’s the general barebones of the rom-com blueprint. Cue the orchestrals and fade the screen because they’re starting to kiss cinematically somewhere outside with the wind blowing through their hair. Who Am I This Time? isn’t different from all that. It has all the cliches, less over the top maybe, but they are undoubtedly there. Somehow, some way, this little movie managed to convince me that– maybe– being a hopeless romantic, a true sucker for rom-coms, isn’t all that bad. 

The movie is a play-within-a-play with the basic plot following a small town local community theatre which is hosting a casting call for a rendition of A Streetcar Named Desire. Helene Shaw (Susan Sarandon), a traveling telephone company biller with an unsociable demeanor, is asked to audition by a customer who happens to be the play’s director. Harry Nash (Christopher Walken) is the town’s hardware store clerk. He is constantly bothered by fangirls for his incredible performances in the local theatre, but when he isn’t confidently prancing about on stage he’s a misanthropic bundle of nerves and stutters. Harry is an amazing actor; Helene can’t act to save her life. Harry comes to the audition playing the part opposite of Helene’s Blanche, and both become utterly engrossed in their characters; I’m sure you can guess what happens next.

Who Am I This Time? is one of the great works of Jonathan Demme, but you’ve probably never even heard about it. It doesn’t garner the attention it deserves because of just how peculiar the film is in comparison to the rest of Demme’s filmography. It’s not refined nor polished; it’s a bit on the weaker side of direction, and it surely isn’t gritty, dark or in an intensely serious tone. Instead the one hour film, which has a budget near nothing, is bubbling with cheer, and shot like it was made-for-TV (because it was). This is not to say it’s a bad movie, no, I’d argue the opposite: this little film, although it has its many imperfections, also has some serious heart to it. Part of what makes it so great, so endearing, are those flaws.  

Although the film was made for PBS’ American Playhouse it’s, surprisingly, based off of the fine work of Kurt Vonnegut (a short story of his by the same name), directed by Demme, scored by John Cale, and led by a young Christopher Walken and Susan Sarandon. This was my first sign to not, as they say, judge a film by it’s still– which is exactly what I was about to do when I first saw it pop up on my T.V. screen. And thus, just because I happened to click the Learn More button on Tubi, the cast and crew had my curiosity piqued: a seemingly contrived plot (from a very uncontrived author) stitched together with a low budget and made by admirable and beloved creatives. I figured I’d have to give it a shot. 

So I sat down and put my expectations away; clicked the play button. The black screen fades into a wide shot of a quaint little blue house. The quality of my stream is no worse nor better than the 720p DVD version, which is the only physical copy of the movie sold and produced. Cale’s score pipes in, just a mere piano, jaunty yet soft like a hymn. The camera is shaky and it’s something I haven’t seen Demme do, but it fits with the cozy feel and humble tone of what looks like small-town America. Already, just a minute or two into the opening credits, I know this is not going to be the Demme who made Silence of the Lambs, or Stop Making Sense. 

This Demme is even more subtle in his capturing of human nature, and there are only a handful of shots in which I’m made acutely aware of who exactly is directing this movie. Other than those fleeting moments, Demme blends into the genre so completely by his ordinary shots  and uncharacteristic rule following that at first it seems like weak direction. But it isn’t really, and that’s made clear as soon as Christoper Walken and Susan Sarandon take the stage. 

“I only work with actors who take full responsibility for their characters,” Demme answered in a 1998 interview with Adrian Wootton, elaborating that he doesn’t define characters for the actors of his films and instead believes that’s something they should figure out. It’s clear here that Walken and Sarandon didn’t take their responsibility lightly; they figured it out. The two embody their characters so well it’s hard to believe they're anybody but Harry and Helene. 

A movie all about acting with perfect acting is like the phrase ‘this’ll make you laugh’ proceeding a joke. You’re now very aware that the joke teller is trying to elicit a specific reaction out of you, and you maybe don’t believe that they will (we humans tend to believe we are the outlier in these situations). The joke is told, and it makes you laugh. You are mildly surprised that you laughed even though the joke teller explicitly said it would make you laugh. Demme knows that he’s pulling tropes; that he’s following the rom-com directorial blueprint. He’s not arguing about it. He knows that and, despite a fish lens here, or some deep staging there, he leans into it. He’s saying, ‘look, I know. I’m sorry it isn’t all too captivating camera work, but this one isn’t supposed to be (and PBS wouldn’t let me).’ 

If you try to deny the weak direction, or blame Demme for it, your viewing experience will be a sour one. If you embrace it, acknowledge the ‘why’ behind it (both realistically and logically, but also creatively) then you will be charmed by its effort. Yes, the direction is partly because of the oh-so-very low PBS budget, but, and maybe this is just hopeful thinking here, Demme just knows that Walken and Sarandon are utterly enchanting in their roles, and that’s the real bread and butter of the movie. 

Walken is so convincing in his role that it’s hard to believe he isn't a socially inept actor (contrarily, quite a charismatic one). Sarandon’s ability to pretend as though she has never spoken casually to a fellow human being without a telephone billing counter separating them is hilariously astonishing. Both of them separately: wow can they embody their roles. Now, together: what roles? Wait, who’s Christopher Walken? Oh, you mean Harry!

The movie doesn’t appear to carry weight to it at first glance. There isn’t anything particularly meaningful going on besides a (though intensely persuasive) ‘love will set you free’ sort of thing, or so it seems. But really there is also an under-the-radar ‘acting will set you free’ sort of thing. 

Those fleeting moments I mentioned earlier, where you remember that Johnathan Demme is directing this, comes when a shot really shows you how acting makes Harry and Helene feel. There’s this one scene I’m thinking of now: Helene has just acted for the first time. She has to sit down because it took so much out of her. She’s panting, sweating, holding her hand over her heart. You can see her brain short circuiting from the dopamine that’s just been released. Harry and the director stand in the background. They’re slightly blurred out. But Helene, Helene is the whole foreground. She is all of it and that’s because this is a moment that’s entirely hers. Demme makes sure you know that. 

Though credit is due elsewhere too of course. Walken and Sarandon manage to show an audience how invigorating, stress relieving, and deeply meaningful acting can be, both through their characters who find that in acting and simply by being amazing actors themselves. 

To a regular person, like me (or, I’m assuming here, you) the idea of acting makes me go stiff and rigid; the idea of displaying intense joy or anger or sadness makes me laugh nervously. I can’t pretend to be someone else feeling something else, and I surely can’t pretend to be a hero, a villain; a person who is falling in love with a person who is really just my coworker. 

But some people feel the opposite of that. Some people, and I mean a very select few (and even fewer who really embody it) feel set free when they can be on a stage pretending they’re not them but this whole other thing. When you see really good acting- and I mean truly amazing acting- you can feel the actor or actress let themselves go completely and melt into a world of fantasy. 

It’s like any art: beautiful music, beautiful paintings, beautiful writing. When art is done well, you feel the ego leave and all that’s left is drive and ambition. The artist no longer cares about what they can do and they aren’t showing off either; really they aren’t thinking about themselves at all. The creator is just doing, doing, doing. It’s their duty because one out of a million people really have that level of talent mixed with unbridled passion. They are hypnotized, in a trance; destined to create what they are creating because they just have to. They are simply the messenger. 

Walken and Sarandon have to. They are so good at what they do that even on a PBS special with next to no budget for costumes and makeup, barely a set or two, and even less of a good supporting cast, they manage to act as though all of it is the realest thing they’ve ever experienced. They act as if they really are drifting nobodies, lost in small-town middle America, and as if they really did find what made them whole on stage and, more importantly, with each other.