Richard Jenkins brings quiet gravity to even the most outlandish characters – think his chilling turn as Mr. Jonesy in “Modern Family,” juxtaposed with his unsettling patriarch in “The Visitor.” Yet, during recent press for Guillermo del Toro’s “Nightmare Alley,” a revealing story came to light: despite collaborating again with the acclaimed director (he star-studded across two horror-thriller blockbusters), Jenkins had a specific gripe with their working environment – location, and lack thereof.
It wasn’t simply discontent; it was an aversion to studio construction, something he openly expresses in interviews. He prefers the authentic charm of weathered wood and dusty alleys over sanitized set designs. As Jenkins articulated it, shooting on sets that felt deliberately aged simply hasn’t gripped him as actors often respond deeply to spaces filled with real echoes of lives lived, not constructed narratives. While these elaborate soundstages are visually compelling film-makers dream worlds they offer a detached feel for performers grappling with intricate emotional nuances in their work and Jenkins wants to feel grounded; he needs that friction born from genuine space.
Imagine a character haunted by memories, wrestling with darkness—is that best portrayed against perfectly painted walls designed for the camera, or within an actual place burdened by unseen narratives? For Jenkins, there’s an emotional currency lost in the artificial. He even called himself “a sucker” for grimy backstreet storefronts filled with stories just begging to be unearthed – a refreshing counterpoint to today’s industry obsession with creating immaculate cinematic worlds.
This is crucial because while del Toro is lauded for meticulous crafting of his sets (“Pan’s Labyrinth,” “The Shape of Water”), the “Nightmare Alley” aesthetic he established, inspired 40s noir, demanded painstaking detail and control over its environment. Did that conflict with Jenkins’ sensibilities? This internal conflict adds a layer of intrigue to both their creative processes and their dynamic as collaborators – an example of how art isn’t just visual but deeply tied to tangible experience.
In the end, ‘Nightmare Alley,” though stunning visually, reflects more than grand technical ambition – it is the testament of a team pulling in slightly contrasting directions to achieve art; Jenkins craving authentic grit against del Toro crafting controlled visions. One might say this push and pull fuels creativity, but ultimately it’s up to the cinephile’s perception – will those textured backdrops and palpable characters resonate more profoundly on account of Jenkins grounding the visual narrative with a tangible aversion to perfect film fantasy?
