Baldwin shines in too many movies to list, and although he's different in every role, his performances often bear trademark qualities. Often, I think, we respond to Baldwin because his mere presence -- his confident bearing, the way he cocks an eyebrow at just the right angle -- speaks of healthy skepticism, an intolerance of idiocy and phoniness. An understated superhero in an age of overstatement, he can zap bullshit with a single glance: His X-ray vision seeks, and destroys, baloney. Baldwin is always both laid-back and on point, which seems a contradiction but is actually a delicate balance that's hard to strike. And although we're lucky to have him now, with his elegant carriage and knife-edge timing -- not to mention that voice, a voice with the texture and suppleness of the silkiest luxury mohair -- he'd be just as much at home in the comedies of the '30s and early '40s: Preston Sturges would have adored him.
If you're looking for big impact in a single scene, Baldwin's performance in the 1992 "Glengarry Glen Ross" is about as perfect an example as you'll find. Actors love David Mamet's dialogue; sometimes they love it too much, to the point where the language becomes more a fetish object than part of a fully rounded performance. But in "Glengarry Glen Ross," Baldwin turns that dialogue (which was written specially for him by Mamet) into a jazz performance, a much darker mirror image of the happy-go-lucky hipster Baldwin becomes when he parodies Tony Bennett in his wonderful "Saturday Night Live" appearances.
The lines from Baldwin's "Glengarry" monologue have been quoted so many times, too often by drunken yobbos in bars, that they've become a cliché. ("Fuck you, that's my name! You know why, mister? 'Cuz you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight, I drove an $80,000 BMW. That's my name.") But if Baldwin's delivery is easy to ape, it's impossible to duplicate: As he berates a group of underachieving real-estate salesmen, his precision, his air of entitlement, his up-by-the-bootstraps inflections, blend into a rattling, percussive solo, a celebration of ego and bravado. The most exacting, and also the most admiring, critique of Baldwin's "Glengarry" monologue isn't a piece of writing, but a piece of music, done by mash-up artist Steinski on his CD "Nothing to Fear." Steinski chops up Baldwin's dialogue, repeats it, sends it chasing after itself, and after us. And yet the essence of Baldwin's delivery survives, intact if more potent than ever. Mashing it only makes it stronger.
Baldwin is so attuned to rhythmic nuances that it's little wonder he's such a terrific comic actor: On NBC's deliriously disrespectful "30 Rock," Baldwin plays Tina Fey's bottom-line-obsessed suit of a boss, the kind of bastard you love to hate. His withering glances, his "Talk to the hand" imperviousness to anyone else's ideas, are as subtly thrilling as his cool-as-a-cuke line delivery is. And when he guest-hosts "Saturday Night Live," even people who long ago gave up on the show -- or who have given up on it intermittently over the years -- know they'd better tune in. As an amorous scout leader to Adam Sandler's naif Canteen Boy, as a soap-opera doctor who unwittingly but arrogantly mispronounces the simplest of words ("We believe it might be a polyip; it might be the big C -- Kanker!"), as the deadpan proprietor of a baked-goods company whose specialty is a seasonal treat known as "Schwetty Balls," Baldwin brings something a little different to each sketch. His recurring Tony Bennett parodies are among my favorites: In one of them, done up in a swaggering double-breasted suit, holding the mic as if it were a favorite lady dance partner, he melts all of Bennett's hepcat joyousness into a few simple phrases in a made-up song: "I love things that are great!/ Good things are fantastic!" It's a bit of silliness that's all heart.
Next page: "The vicious 'V' ... The broads love that"
