Gilbey on Film: An interview with Michael Peña

The American actor is finally a leading man.

In less than a decade, Michael Peña, a 36-year-old Chicago-born actor of Mexican parentage, has proved himself to be one of US cinema’s most nuanced and persuasive character actors. In 2004, he appeared in a brace of Best Picture winners scripted by Paul Haggis: Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby, in which Peña had a small role as an amateur boxer, and Crash (directed by Haggis), which gave him a meatier part as a young father caught up in the film’s network of racial tensions. Since then, he has been impressive in a dizzying range of material, from manic comedy (Observe and Report, 30 Minutes or Less, Tower Heist) to contemplative drama (Robert Redford’s Lions for Lambs, Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center), from action movies (Battle: Los Angeles, Shooter) to the occasional indefinable curiosity (Werner Herzog’s My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?).

What he has rarely had until now is a lead role; character actors without a fixed persona don’t always find it easy to make the crossover. But End of Watch, a thriller from the writer-director David Ayer (Training Day), corrects that, putting Peña on an equal footing with his co-star, Jake Gyllenhaal. The actors play LAPD officers who stumble onto one grisly case after another, but the pleasure of the film comes less from the increasingly hysterical revelations than the bonhomie between these brothers in arms—Gyllenhaal like a human cocktail stick, Peña cuddly as a teddy bear. I met Peña during his visit last month to the London Film Festival.

Did it take long to work up the camaraderie with your co-star?

It was strange. Once I got together with this guy [gestures to image of Gyllenhaal on the End of Watch poster behind him], it took us the longest time to get anything going. There was something stopping us. We had to ride around a lot and spend a lotta time together before we began to feel we could trust each other. And maybe there’s a grain of that in the film, but there’s a lot of affection too. He has the confidence to hang back and give me a scene. He said to me on the set: "I want to do whatever I can to help you be awesome." Now, not a lot of actors in his position would watch out for you like that. Most would want the whole show to themselves.

You bring a lot of breezy comedy to what is a very serious film. How did you see your responsibilities to the movie?

I’m just an actor. If it’s drama, I add as much humour as the part will stand. And if it’s a comedy, add as much drama as you can, so it balances out; you don’t wanna be too serious. I went to church a lot, and the best pastors always told a lotta jokes, a lot of anecdotes. A good comic explores the imagination but it’s always got to have those notes of truth running through it. When I think of the actors I admire, they can seemingly do it all - comedy, drama, action, everything. I can’t do it all yet. I’d love to do a romantic comedy: that’d be awesome, a whole other realm.

Have you been offered any?

I’ve been offered parts in them, but never the whole thing. I love When Harry Met Sally. That’s an awesome arc. And it has such real humour. I haven’t read a lot of scripts like that. They’re usually more tongue-in-cheek.

Has it been a struggle to reach the stage where you’re getting lead roles?

Man, the whole thing’s been a struggle. My first ten years in Hollywood were really tough. I’d be coaching friends who came to me for acting advice, and then they’d make it before I did. I’d still be helping them while they were on movie sets and I had four lines on a TV show.

Was that a race issue?

Well, it’s a … It coincides with the population, I guess. The major population at that time in America was, I’m sure, Caucasian, and I understand that’s what people relate to. But times are changing. And that has afforded me the luck to star in a movie alongside Jake Gyllenhaal, and to not be the sidekick. Obama’s got a lot to do with that change. It’s a fantastic time for me right now. My kid looks Mexican even though his mother is white, and I hope life’s a lot easier for him.

Did you realise at the time why it was so hard for you to get a break?

Pretty much, yeah. I was only offered auditions that were written specifically for a Latin male. That’s not so much the case now. For instance, Tower Heist was written for someone else; I came in to audition and they gave me the part. Observe and Report was written for some white dude trying to be black. But I went in and said, "What about me?" And they were like, "What?" The way I went in there with this crazy character ]

really convinced them. The Lucky Ones, Shooter—these were written as white. It’s come a long way. I don’t even know where it started. It could have been when Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal did Y Tu Mamá También or when Alejandro González Iñárritu [who directed Peña in Babel] started breaking through. I dunno. But it changed.

How did you cling on when work was hard to come by?

I didn’t wanna do anything else. I would have done this even if I was just doing theatre and I had to work at a bank in the day. I love creating characters. At first I was doing it for the money, to make more than I did working at the Board of Trade in Chicago, but then I got to love it. To be honest with you, I did think I was gonna have success. But I didn’t know if it was gonna be as third banana on some TV show. I never dreamed of this. I mean, I’m in London! People are asking for autographs. That’s funny to me. What you gonna do with an autograph?

Didn’t you experience anything similar after the success of Crash?

Not like this. The joy of Crash was that it was all about the work. It was my first real part. Before that, it was a line here and there, maybe a scene. Crash was five scenes, a beautiful arc, a little vignette of my own. It really meant something. I feel the same about End of Watch. Even though it’s a cop movie, it’s about relationships, brotherhood.

Were you at the Oscars when Crash won?

I wasn’t invited. I wasn’t even included in the SAG [Screen Actors’ Guild] award for Best Ensemble that we won. Some rule. I wasn’t eligible because… I don’t know. My name wasn’t on it anyway. But it was my first real gig so … S’all good. Shit happens, you know? It’s funny how that was an important year for both of us. Jake was the Brokeback Mountain guy, I was the Crash guy. Both our lives changed that year.

I read that your next role is as the civil rights activist César Chávez.

First I did Gangster Squad, a big shoot-‘em-up movie, very much an ensemble [the cast includes Ryan Gosling, Nick Nolte, Sean Penn, Emma Stone]. But Chávez I really dug. My big concern is how to show this man’s life without being preachy and pushing the audience. I did a whole transformation. I have to deliver these long, long speeches in his very nasal voice. I gained 30lbs. Rehearsed constantly, over and over again. It’s really my first lead, the first time I’m carrying a film. I waited a long time for something like this.

"End of Watch" is released 23 November; "Gangster Squad" on 11 January 2013.

Michael Peña (right) with his co-star Jake Gyllenhaal (photograph: Getty Images)

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

David Brent: Life on the Road
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Ricky Gervais thinks his latest brand of David Brent comedy is subversive and clever. It’s not

Unlike The OfficeDavid Brent: Life on the Road is lazy, cheap, dated, and appeals to the lowest human impulses.

I love The Office. This is not a controversial statement. Who doesn’t love The Office? Just this morning, the series came second in a BBC poll of the greatest British comedies of the century. I loved The Office so much as a teenager that I watched every episode so many times I knew them by heart. I even knew parts of the DVD special features by heart. Still, now, if I want to cry with laughter I’ll watch Martin Freeman cracking up in bloopers. If I just want to cry I’ll watch the Christmas special.

It’s the toughest possible act to follow. Ricky Gervais has had to state over and over again that it would be crazy to try and recreate it at this point, and that the David Brent-starring works that have followed the series are not meant to be The Office. Still, the latest instalment, Gervais’s film David Brent: Life on the Road, begins in a (new) office, with the same mock-doc format as the television series. We see Brent making bad taste jokes with colleagues, telling the camera about his love for entertaining, embarrassing himself regularly. This is where the similarities end.

Perhaps deliberately, Life on the Road rejects every structural feature of The Office that made it such a celebrated programme. The Office stuck pretty rigidly to the documentary format, and used the constraints that format placed on the drama to its advantage (with scenes glimpsed through plastic blinds, or filmed from slightly too far away, feeding into the observational nature of the show). Life on the Road never bothers to commit either way, with cinematic shots and documentary style film-making meeting awkwardly in the middle alongside talking heads that would feel more at home in an overly earnest toothbrush advert than a tour doc.

The Office team knew that the best way to deepen our empathy with their characters was to hint at their emotions without ever fully giving them away. The most excruciating feelings in the show remained out of shot and unsaid, with glances across rooms (or the lack of them) becoming as dramatic as a high-octane argument in the rain. The romantic climax between Tim and Dawn in the second season comes when they disappear into a meeting room and take their microphones off – the audience never gets the satisfaction of hearing an explicit conversation about how they feel about each other.

Life on the Road takes the opposite tack – at every turn its characters tell the camera exactly how they feel, or how Brent feels, in detail. A receptionist we barely see interact with him at all wells up as she feels Brent is “bullied”, another female colleague notes that she can see the sadness behind his smiles, and Brent’s band repeatedly explain why he behaves in certain ways (He’s bad around women because he’s insecure! This man is strange because he’s desperate to be liked!) when they really don’t need explaining. It’s the ultimate example of telling instead of showing.

All the drama of the film unfolds this way. There is no real narrative arc to the story (the plot can be summed up as Brent goes on tour, it’s not that great, and he comes home), so instead, it uses talking heads to tell the audience how they should feel. Brent’s backing band are in effect a voice for the audience – they say how cringeworthy Brent is after he does something cringeworthy, they express pity for him in his more tragic moments.

“I didn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry,” one says to camera after Brent injures an audience member at a gig. “There’s been quite a few moments like that.” It’s a line that feels like it could have been written for the trailer – clearly, this is where the makers of this film position their ideal audience.

Of course, there comes a point where this film wants you to have more empathy for Brent. When this time comes, the script doesn’t bother to show any change in behaviour from him, or show him in a more redeeming light. Instead, it shrugs off the issue by getting a few band members and work colleagues to say that actually, they find him quite funny, and that really, he’s not so bad, he just wants to make people laugh.

As Brent reaches the end of his tour, he begins to feel that it’s all been a bit anti-climactic. (So, too, does the audience.) Already in debt, he wants to waste even more money on a snow machine, to provide his tour with “a magic moment”, but is persuaded against it. “I just wanted a magic moment,” he repeats to camera, just so we all get what is coming. In the very next scene, while on stage, he is surprised by falling snow – a bandmate has bought a snow machine for him, and thus the film’s magic moment arrives. But in actuality, it feels limp. You can’t create “a magic moment” by simply telling your audience that it is one. The Office would never speak in such cloying terms in the first place.

All these problems pale in comparison to the issue of Brent himself. The Office realised that the beating heart of the show was not David Brent, but the other office members and their relationships (basically, Tim and Dawn), Life on the Road doesn’t make even a half-hearted effort to engage with any peripheral characters, instead choosing Brent as its emotional centre. Trying to encourage an audience to empathise with such a dislikeable character is tricky territory, but not impossible to navigate. But Life on the Road barely even tries.

In The Office, Brent is a pretty horrible character offered occasional, heartfelt moments of redemption – when he stands up to a sexist, bullying colleague, or challenges his own patronising and cruel approach to dating after he meets a nice woman. In Life on the Road, Brent is self-absorbed, mean, sexist, racist, homophobic, ableist, delusional and exploitative. There is nothing, except the tragedy of his life, that even begins to counterbalance that.

Let’s start with the sexism. Life on the Road has a few female characters who fall largely in to one of three categories: women who we like and see as good because they put up with all of Brent’s shit, and even like him for it, because he’s “funny”; women who don’t like him at all and are therefore condemned as sullen bitches with no sense of humour (men who don’t like Brent, in contrast, are allowed to exist on a spectrum of sensible to awful, heartless cunts); and fat women. And fat women, of course, have no worth, outside of their capacity to be a punchline. Brent’s only response to fat women is to shake his head in disbelief: he does it about a fat woman he accidentally shoots with a tshirt gun, a fat woman he tells us he used to date, and a fat woman he invites into his hotel room.

It’s easy here to claim, in Gervais’s defence, that the joke is actually about Brent’s own sexism, but when the punchline of a scene repeatedly involves zooming in on a fat woman as she eats chocolates and crisps (and focusing in on the wrappers again the next morning), it feels less and less defensible. The portrayal of women as either personality-less voids that take on the burden of Brent’s sexism by constantly making excuses for him, or as tight-lipped, po-faced and joyless (as a woman who doesn’t “get” the point of Brent in his current form, I’m confident that Gervais would see me as one of these), shifts the blame away from Brent and onto the women around him, perpetuating the idea that offence is simply taken, not a product of offensive acts.

Racism functions in a similar way. Brent uses the black people around him as props by which he can demonstrate his own progressiveness – bringing his friend Dom (Doc Brown) to work to “prove” that he is not politically incorrect after he is disciplined for a racist impression of an Asian stereotype (a Chinese man called Ho-Lee Fuk, a character my cinema screening found pretty funny). While Dom is one of the most developed characters (which isn’t saying much) in this film, it sometimes feels as though Gervais is doing the same thing – when Dom excuses Brent for his use of the n-word, the audience is invited to as well, which feels uncomfortable to me.

So, too, does ableism. In what I found to be the most egregiously offensive scene in the film, Brent sings a song called “Please Don’t Make Fun of the Disableds”. The song’s lyrics include references to those “mental in the head or mental in the legs”, “the ones with feeble minds”, “the awkward”, and reminds the listener to “understand you might have to feed the worst ones through a straw: it’s basically a head on a pillow”. Rarely do we hear disabled people dehumanised quite so violently as this. If the joke here is how deeply offensive Brent’s behaviours are, why is he never condemned for his actions? (All that happens at the end of this song are a few pained expressions from bandmates, and an awkward raised pint of semi-thanks from a wheelchair user in the audience.)

No, the joke here is simply the shock of the language, and when you say that shock is funny for shock’s sake, regardless of who you target, you encourage the grimmest forms of oppressive humour. Sadly, the belief that people with severe disabilities are essentially subhuman is far too common to be handled flippantly on screen – never mind perpetuated and left uncriticised. The bad taste of the whole thing rancours even further when you remember Gervais has a history of using ableist language casually. It’s not edgy. It’s lazy, cheap, dated, and appeals to the lowest human impulses.

We also see Brent being occasionally homophobic, and generally inconsiderate towards all those around him. He’s a bad friend, buying people’s time rather than stopping and thinking about how his behaviours make people unhappy to be around him. When Dom, who has consistently and inexplicably supported Brent, starts to become successful, he offers him none of the same kindness and rejects him. He expects endless generosity from his fellow man, but sees no reason why anyone should receive the same from him.

Despite all his stunning flaws, we are meant to love him. “I don’t think there’s any real racism on David’s part,” a band member tells us. “He just doesn’t quite get it.” Clearly, we are meant to agree. On The One Show, Gervais confirmed that he does not see David Brent as genuinely bigoted.

“He’s accidentally offensive. He tries to please everyone, he’s trying to say the right thing, and because he’s not sure . . . It’s about that white, middle-class angst where he knows about political correctness and he doesn’t want to put his foot in it. And he’s not racist, and he’s not homophobic, and he’s not sexist, but he panics, and he digs himself into a hole.”

Let’s be clear, David Brent is all of those things. Life on the Road is not an interrogation of white, middle-class anxiety. It’s a portrayal of a racist, ableist, sexist person who we are encouraged to forgive because he has “good intentions”. I know a saying about good intentions.

When confronted about homophobic impressions, Brent responds, “I never actually specify whether he is a homosexual or not, so that’s in your mind.” Like Dapper Laughs, defences of Brent rest on the idea that if you find him offensive, the joke’s on you – that Brent as a character is actually mocking the Brents of real life. But in Life on the Road, it’s too unclear where the joke truly lies, and Brent is simply let off too easy. Personally, I wish I’d stuck to re-watching The Office.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.