Performance Profile: Mira Sorvino in Mighty Aphrodite (1995)

Woody Allen's got a way with the ladies. As Oscar has shown time and time again, the (mostly) supporting girls in his films have attracted Academy attention with nominations and a few wins -- all distinctive in their own quirked out way, in films that took a different route of getting to a human core. Some of these nominees are generally known in a broad sense to be inexplicable, theatrically quotable, incredibly beloved, or even a little unbalanced. This next entry has had it kind of rough in years since, as being "illegibly" awarded the golden boy for a comedic performance that stands out in an otherwise "dramatic" bunch -- Marisa Tomei has withstood it, and to a lesser degree, so has the elevating appeal of 1995's winner...

...Mira Sorvino in Mighty Aphrodite (1995)

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Mira Sorvino plays Linda Ash, the air-headed hooker who is discovered by Woody Allen's Lenny as the mother of his adopted son after a lengthy search to find the maternal intelligence that his prodigal son has supposedly inherited.

Much to his surprise, Sorvino's Linda is the farthest thing from what he would have ever imagined. Name after name, person after person he locates her and sets up an appointment ("Are you my 3 o'clock?") at her Manhattan apartment for what she believes is simply another client looking for a good time.

 

Linda welcomes the light-headed Lenny in with a kind of warm hospitality as she shows him around and tells him a little about herself; especially making it aware that she has a sense of raunchy humor (the clock and pocketwatch!) and can totally take a joke. In Lenny's eyes, Linda is the joke, but one that is more sad than funny as she continues to giddily prattle on about her line of work, nonchalantly sharing her weak aspirartion to become a Broadway performer ("I sing..,") despite still appearing in cheap porno's under one of the funniest stage names.

Lenny goes along with it for the most part, trying to get as much backgroud as possible despite being disgusted at the lines she feeds him, and it's here that Sorvino lays a simple foundation for Linda; she's a woman who acts and behaves like an adult but is just as simply oblivious to how innocent she is. Speaking in a high-pitched register, Sovino's Linda's potty mouth is offset by her charming, uncalculating demeanor and thows Lenny offtrack as to why this woman does what she does in favor of conservative domesticality.

Linda then tries to ease Lenny into the mood by playing around and lossen him up with a little (ineffective) silly, nookie ("Pull, pull, pull the string!"). That is until Lenny takes a personal interest in Linda, asking if she has as a husband or a child...

...and in a flash Linda's exuberance falls and her face becomes still as this questioning of a child is perhaps the first time Linda has been confronted about a bold choice she made. It's this distinctive moment and Lenny's overall character that strikes a chord in Linda -- as he is most likely the first client she's "been with" who's interest is something beyond desires of the flesh -- but a chord that she chooses to shake off and bury for the sake of herself and professionalism.

Then when Lenny starts up about his strong dissaproval of Linda's lifestyle, Sorvino's Linda puts her foot down and offers him one last chance; do it or not. Lenny tells her he wants to talk, Linda gives him a refund, and kicks him out in a hurry.

Still compelled to figure her out, Lenny pursues Sorvino's Linda for information about herself and her family past, (which basically entails a wide array of dirty deeds and more than petty crimes) which she speaks of with little hesitation, reminding him, that despite the way she lives now, she has ambition and self-respect.
Sorvino handles the broad, brash, unsubtle dialouge with savvy nonchalance and sharp timing; in on the light joking, but never to the point that the levity falls to the weak intentions of the writing which "shapes" her character.

Through these sequence of scenes, the narrative places the two in an assortment of meetings/"dates" which follows the simple, unexpected growing friendship between two strangers who, nevertheless, have an odd palpable disconnect. With Sorvino's Linda slowly becoming more eager to build on a bond she's never had, and Allen's Lenny becoming more tentative entering personal, intimate territory. As such, these scenes also convey a similar form of asymmetry: displaying Sorvino and Allen as a hilarious, serviceable contrasting pair, yet at the same time revealing Allen's shallow construction of a person who's more of a device than a character.

In his writing, playing, and direction Allen sees Linda through a mildly misogynistic lens; using the character as a pathetic joke for which surprises and humor sprout from -- a wacky hooker who shoots out outrageous one-liners -- and at the character's very expense. Instead of having Linda "in" on the joke (as Sorvino's playing does), Allen has the joke on her; wanting us to laugh at Linda, not kindly along with her. His limiting, insensitivity as scripted might have the actress playing her fall into these easy pitfalls -- and this is precisely where Sorvino's performance elevates the role out of the gutter.

Through Sorvino's characterization, Linda doesn't operate under the repressive "dumb-as-a-post" cartoonish intentions of the piece, but instead crafts Linda as a woman who's life has been opened up, revealing her pained desperation she honestly wants to escape. The film scripts the character in bold, unsubtle strokes, but Sorvino's performance is surprisingly characterized with quiet, nuanced shadings, which serves the character in many ways.

Linda's revelatory moment where she explains the depths of her despair is both illuminating and heartbreaking, a moment that in the script is intended to be probably Linda's single moment of lucidity, but in Sorvino's performance, it is yet another beat of consistent clarity. (*Something annoying I kept on noticing on my viewing this time around was how Allen's camera is restrained at a tangible, physical distance from Sorvino throughout the film -- allowing nearly no singular close-ups or independent reality -- further attempting to make her an accessory who's simply there without any individual purpose. Even during her revelation in the kitchen Allen's camera stays static and dramatically/emotionally uninterested in Linda's dilemma.)

Though her chosen vocality does little to convey the nuance of Linda's desperation, when "allowed", Sorvino's face quietly flickers with moments of genuine humanity and understanding. Thereby, letting such flashes stitch effectively to craft an interesting, plausible character arc for a very appealing and delightful character.

And yet, while not allowing Linda to become the one-note caricature Allen intended, Sorvino makes the wise choice of not providing some sort of underlying intelligence as a source of change or revelation. Instead, Sorvino simply textures each moment with a sense of nuanced integrity which anchors her performance and provides a new dimensional life to Mighty Aphrodite's banal and muddy narrative.

Sorvino's work far surpasses the material and lends this glib movie a glowing heart and soul; a beacon of sweet hope among a hopeless surround.

Turning a sketch into a vividly human(e) character who could live beyond the confines of the narrative and be just as compelling is always something of a treat to experience. That I could encounter them and become even more fascinated with their existence, is even cooler. With Linda Ash, Mira Sorvino's simple yet elegant performance conveys the human life emerging from a Betty Boop-ish cartoon with sweetness, sympathy, integrity, energy, and hearty humor. But that I would love to be friends or even an acquaintance (in a Woody Allen movie, no less) with a quietly complex, yet hugely appealing person like Linda is, in its way, extraordinary.

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(*As yet another side-thought/last word, I cannot simply ignore the blatant meanness and near cruelty revealed in the last scene wherein Linda meets her son with a formal handshake yet neither know the haunting truth that Allen's Lenny prepares to hide for some time. As if it wants to shatter any complexity for Linda to discover this truth and draw upon it. Like the rest of the movie, the scene is played for shallow irony of a "witty" Greek tragedy, but doesn't actually play as anything remotely sad or moving just a "ha ha" kick in the nuts for us wanting Linda to get everything she deserved back. Only Sorvino quickly conveys, in a flash, the underlying emotional depth -- the picture above when Lenny's admiring her (there) daughter and Sorvino's face focuses on Lenny and a feeling passes across. I don't know. Do you think that this ending just wasn't fit or just plain, blatant meanness to the character and to you? When the chorus breaks out singing the lame-ass, "When You're Smiling" -- I was doing anything but.