The rustle of a notepad. The click of a pen lid. On a floral-patterned sofa sits Dustin Hoffman with long hair, big collar and a lean and hungry look. Opposite is Jane Alexander, wearing a blue button-down dress, cornered and nervous in the glow of a table lamp. In this taut, claustrophobic acting masterclass, no detail is too small.
“The makeup artists ran in because the sweat was pouring off Dustin’s face,” Alexander recalls with a laugh. “Gordon [Willis, cinematographer] said, ‘Don’t touch that, I’m lighting off his sweat!’ I love that.”
