By – Nick Adrian

Of the many great screen performers throughout the years, we also seem to come across someone special. Even with the massive waves of talent that graced celluloid from film’s conception to the many performers after our lifetimes that we’ll never get a chance to see, there was and will always be a select few that stand up above the rest. It’s hard to remain subjective with many but some performers come along and are universally agreed upon as like no other. This week we lost an example of one of the cherished gifts that film has to offer: Virginia Cathryn “Gena” Rowlands.

To the average moviegoer she is most likely remembered as the modern-day elderly version of Rachel McAdams’ Allie Calhoun in her own son’s 2004 romantic drama The Notebook. Other cinephiles probably know her from her most-famous and lauded performance as hysterical housewife Mabel Longhetti in her late husband John

Cassavetes’ 1974 work A Woman Under the Influence. It was in his films that she was allowed to shine her brightest, not because she worked within her family but because he knew better than anyone else what she was capable of. The performances Gena Rowlands gave were more than just roles – and not because they were originally written for her. They were outlets for her mode of expression, microphones to let her voice out, flickering light that brought the woman to life.  Acting for Rowlands was more than just a vessel of memorized dialogue. Her best moments came in all shapes and sizes from the most dramatic, angered scream to the most harrowing look of loss and defeat you could ever see in another human being’s eyes. Watch 1968’s Faces for that infamous closeup, maybe the best committed to celluloid, and tell me her expression doesn’t cut directly into you. Watch 1971’s Minnie & Moskowitz and tell me after every life setback and unfortunate incident that the love of your soulmate doesn’t fix everything. Watch 1982’s Tempest and tell me the plight of a woman lost in her own life isn’t universal to the human condition.  Her work in A Woman Under the Influence is monumental, timeless, and unlike any other dramatic role ever written. But her performance as Myrtle Gordon in 1977’s Opening Night feels like it could have been her most personal. A woman tied to the fame of her acting profession, one who has to remain great no matter the cost, but who only wants to be loved in the one way she is not. Her character delivers the line, “If I can reach a woman sitting in the audience who thinks that nobody understands anything and my character goes through everything that she’s going through, I feel like I’ve done my job.”

Gena Rowlands reached people probably beyond her own belief. She may not have been the most recognizable name or face, but she was always the most undeniable. Cassavetes’ work wouldn’t have been what it was without it. Cinema wouldn’t have been what it was without it. We’ve lost a talent that cannot even be categorized as “once in a lifetime” or “generational,” because as long as cinema exists there will never be another one. It is a huge and heavy loss for the medium but a bittersweet one in the end. She existed within this lifetime and within our generations, giving us some of the best acting committed to film to go back, study, and remember fondly.

Do yourself a favor and watch one of her films – if it’s too emotionally exhausting (which is fair), look up a monologue online. Either way, the experience will change you. You just can’t say that about many performers.