Alternate Best Actor 1958: Results

5. Youssef Chahine in Cairo Station - A reasonably fine performance that is a bit repetitive but shows a bit more depth later on. 

Best Scene: Nearly caught. 

4. Max von Sydow in The Magician - A purposefully limited performance however he does grant a strong presence as to be expected while also successfully subverting that as well. 

Best Scene: The performance. 

3. Gustaw Holoubek in The Noose - A striking portrayal of just a man being stuck in an emotional hole that he fails to crawl out of again and again. 

Best Scene: Making the decision. 

2. Gary Cooper in Man of the West - Cooper's best performance, that delivers a gravitas, but also a real genuine intensity in portraying a man not of the west, but essentially fed up with the west. 

Best Scene: Ghost town.  

1. Chhabi Biswas in Jalsaghar - Biswas gives a powerful and complex portrayal of a man who gradually gives more and more into his delusions. 

Best Scene: Admiring the portraits. 

Updated Overall

Next:  Reviews of Anthony Quayle & Gunnar Björnstrand

Alternate Best Actor 1958: Gustaw Holoubek in The Noose

Gustaw Holoubek did not receive an Oscar nomination for portraying Kuba Kowalski in The Noose. 

The Noose tells the day in the life of an alcoholic. 

Gustaw Holoubek portrays the man who is in a dingy room, and his performance begins as a man quietly despondent as his girlfriend comforts him, telling him she'll be back in at the end of the day. Holoubek's performance wears the history of the man on his face. A man who would be seemingly in a prison of his own as this room is filled only with his own living hell in his way. A kind of Lost Weekend we have here, though shortened in time, and the character of Kowalski is a bit different than Milland's Don Birnam in that film. And I would say the character on the whole is more passive than in that film, even if their life is very similar in going around different areas, often seedy, with their only "solace" being their drink. And Holoubek's performance is much about what isn't said, and often doesn't speak in moments, or at least isn't the first to speak. When he most often speaks is in narration of his thoughts which is that of a near moaning, droning speech of a man who is mired in his existence. 

Where Holoubek's performance excels is creating this state of the man as particularly tangible and even though we don't immediately know everything about him, there is so much that appears to be said by him just in the innate state within his expression. He's suffering even when he isn't as open in his pain. His resting expression is that of exasperation and of a man who has been trudging through his life for some time. We are granted clues, such as his conversation with another woman when he goes out, who seems to speak to him with some sense of affection for him. However that is what breaks his composure more than anything, and that breaks a sharp inflamed anger of a man without comfort. The idea of it seems the opposite and Holoubek's performance displays this kind of paranoia towards the idea of happiness. A suspicion that is immediate in his voice and his eyes of a man who cannot accept seemingly anything that doesn't support the more nihilistic worldview. 

Where we see the man seems to seek more quickly is finding pain, whether that be in the violence of confronting local police. Holoubek doesn't portray a man with any particular stand rather this wretched emotional devastation of man whose violence is strangely without passion, rather it is a depressed anguished state. We see him converse with another alcoholic, where Holoubek's moments of the conversation as much as its giving into his vice, we see this strange ease of the behavior as he takes the drinks in as though they are his medicine. However even this again leads to violence as the conversation turns sour and again Holoubek's performance crafts this unpleasantness of a man who gives into pain and almost seems to strangely seek it. When even being attacked himself, stolen from, there is no objection, just a strange acceptance. 

And what this all leads to is the lonely path back to his room, despite some small promise of something for him, Holoubek presents instead the seething depression as the man speaks to his existence as one unpleasant state after another. Every delivery of his having this accentuation on the negative and his eyes begin to fill more with overt anxiety than before. We have instead this process of essentially a man choosing suicide rather than existence in his state any longer. And what Holoubek's performance does is present the unfortunate and terrible mindset of a man to make this decision. In the moment of the act, choosing to create his noose and ready it, even when there seems to be some hope on the way, Holoubek's eyes fill with mania but also the intention before his tragic action. Holoubek delivers a striking portrayal of an alcoholic here, creating even if seemingly as an often passive character, this state of the depression and the exhaustion of a man. This state that penetrates and acts almost as the reflection of the existence around him, a portrait of decay both inwardly and outwardly all at once. 

Alternate Best Actor 1958: Toshiro Mifune in The Rickshaw Man

Toshiro Mifune did not receive an Oscar nomination for portraying Matsugoro the titular character in The Rickshaw Man. 

I guess with Mifune my work is never done, which is fine by me since, as you might've gathered at this point, I'm a big fan. Mifune's performance here is a bit of an oddity, though not that his performance is odd in any way, but it feels wholly different from any other Mifune performance, while being entirely a performance by Mifune. To explain. Mifune is a performer who always physically just exudes some kind of command of some sort, even when unwieldy as in the case of Seven Samurai as the most haphazard warrior there's still such a power to him. Mifune here almost physically seems different from any of his other performances, because what Mifune portrays is kind of normalcy, which is kind of fascinating in itself. Take one of the earliest scenes for Mifune's titular Rickshaw Man faces down a man in a pseudo combat, only resulting in him getting cracked on the head. Mifune's performance doesn't suggest the other man is in any danger either in his badass manner as seen in Yojimbo or his unpredictable threat as seen in Seven Samurai. Rather Mifune doesn't present any kind of threat which weirdly is an accomplishment, and kind of magical. Magical because it speaks to the physicality of such a performer who knows how to turn it on and off. As Mifune here seems so much smaller, for the lack of a better word, and in turn crafts the rickshaw man, who is a rickshaw man. 

And from that point of entry, while Mifune subverts his usually larger than life presence, he is larger than life but in a different way. His life here is rather purely within the personality, rather than through any danger the character may have for others. It is impressive as Mifune manages to be both comedic and earnest in creating this alternative style of his presence that does feel so unique within his filmography. Mifune's expressions are with this innate joy of life, this isn't a guy who is constantly struggling, even though he's a poor rickshaw man. Rather his expression is of someone who is ready to face whatever's coming at him, however as a man who maybe doesn't always have the skills to face off he always has the willingness to do so. As much as Mifune is gotten the better off in the opening scene, there is this sort of resilience that Mifune suggests as the innate state of the man. There is a potent energy within Mifune's performance that just exudes a different kind of toughness that is usually for his characters, yet extremely endearing here. Because it isn't presented as the sort of conviction of the normal kind of man, rather this eccentric nature of someone who just always goes about things his way. There's a wryness that Mifune brings by presenting Matsugoro as someone who finds his way around and in things, his way and almost always with a big smile on his face. 

There's another moment early on where Matsugoro is our Mifune type hero but in a very/ different way for Mifune, where he takes on a snooty opera house by cooking smelly food inside it. Mifune's performance emphasizes this dogged manner but more so the joyful sort of exuberance of the man just going about things his way, in his eccentricity however still as a man who overall is low key, which is juxtaposition that maybe shouldn't work however it does. The overall narrative comes in when the Matsugoro comes across a young boy he helps out and leads to him  being introduced to the boy's wealthier mother (Hideko Takamine) and his ailing, soon to be dead, father, a respected military captain, who previously took a liking to Matsugoro for his blunt and eccentric ways. Mifune is marvelous because what he does immediately is purge even the slightest hint that Matsugoro's intentions are anything but the purest. There is no sense that he's trying to manipulate to improve his plight nor is he trying to con them in his way. Rather Mifune exudes warmth, so much warmth, so much warmth in a way that even Mifune's more loving characters usually doesn't have. And it is impressive because there is such a great deal of comforting manner he brings in his delivery, but you also see the why of his physical presence, that makes Matsugoro "smaller" however in turn seemingly so much more comforting as a stranger just coming in to help. 

And Mifune is just wonderful as we see Matsugoro become closer to the family, bringing this powerful sense of the man just wanting to do what's best for the boy, and acting like the purest of mentors and guardians. Take a scene of just as the boy becomes a singer, Mifune's reaction to the singing is everything. There is such pride, such love, such care to every moment in it. He shows a man who just loves getting to experience being part of the boy's life in the most honest way possible. Every interaction Mifune emphasizes is the spirit of goodness that is Matsugoro's true intentions at every point, and it is hard not to find Mifune endearing in every interaction. He has great chemistry with the boy, where he's not a surrogate father exactly, but rather kind of just this perfect sort of loving uncle. Mifune just charms in every instance and it is something special to see Mifune in these moments where there is no overt dramatic weight as we usually see Mifune in so often. Rather he's just a man loving this simple life and loving this simple relationship. Not that his performance is ever simple, you can take the moment where he reacts just to grief of the man's widow, and in just a quick instance you can see so much empathy in Mifune's eyes, that again reinforces Matsugoro as this masterful portrayal of a truly caring man. 

Where the film probably differs from the expectation, and something that improved for me when I re-watched, therefore already knew the trajectory, is it deals with what is the long haul of the relationship between the rickshaw man and the young boy, when class is an ever present part of society. And we see Mifune age here, and he does so beautifully in his performance, nothing over the top, just a slower manner to the man, and a bit more of this sense of quiet nostalgia. We also see the boy grow up and become a man of society, therefore also all too aware of the expectations of that society which do not consider the relationship between him and the "lowly" Rickshaw man as appropriate. We see Matsugoro still be friendly, and the ever present heart in Mifune's performance as he calls out to the boy, now a man, lovingly as "Sonny", a name now rejected and has his mom tell Matsugoro to stop calling him that. Mifune is heartbreaking in this scene because he has so successfully established the sincerity of Matsugoro that the idea of forcing him to call the boy by his full proper name, you see how much it shatters him. His reaction is devastating in the earnest straightforward quality of the man not only losing that relationship but being treated as though he never had one in the first place. The remainder of the film then is the sad end of the rickshaw man, after he has lost his "usefulness" to the rich family. And Mifune is heart wrenching in showing the slow dissolution of the man, because it is with the old spirit of the man in there still. But what Mifune expresses in his reaction is the contrition of society. When he comes back to the mother, perhaps planning on attempting some kind of romantic overture, Mifune portrays instead a man just filled with anxiety and unable to break the restrictions placed on him by society. Leaving him only as a lonely man being worn away, and his final walk to nothingness, Mifune portrays such a potent tragedy of the man truly being lost and now just an old man fading away to nothingness. This is another great performance by Mifune, which is able to be such a heartwarming portrayal of a loving man, but also the tragic tale of what happens when that love is taken for granted. 

Alternate Best Actor 1958: Eli Wallach in The Lineup

 Eli Wallach did not receive an Oscar nomination for portraying Dancer in the Lineup. 

The Lineup, which I was not aware of before watching it, is a movie version of a tv series, however mixed in with a more interesting film about two idiosyncratic hitmen. 

Well Eli Wallach plays one of the two hitmen, the main killer along with Robert Keith as the more passively sadistic Julian. These two are a fascinating pair, though unfortunately it takes them 20 minutes to fully show up, regardless once they do the film starts to come to life. Wallach is always a dynamic performer, and this is yet another performance from him as this heavy. A classic heavy in many ways, as the big jawed man in a dark suit, who kills first, and just continues to kill. However Wallach finds whatever he can seemingly to be a bit more dynamic in the part. Take even his opening scene where he is talking more routinely with Julian and Wallach delivers his words as though he's a mailman who is trying to ensure the address is correct. And we see this in Wallach's performance of Dancer when he's in the state of prep before the job, and there is a kind of casually preparing things. He and Keith have a weird though effective kind of chemistry in their banter, not as friends, but as a pair of traveling salesmen who have been together for a very long time. 

The two of them are fascinating as a pair with Julian setting up the targets for Dancer to destroy. And Wallach very much approaches this role as a heavy to give it as much depth as possible, even more so than I think perhaps the filmmakers intended. Wallach doesn't really approach any scene as just a standard, even as Wallach is menacing, which he most definitely is, but there is a depth to Wallach's work as there is always more going on within his mind than what he says. Wallach's fascinating because he does very much articulate the violence of the psychopath, almost with a baited breath within his eyes that murderous intention barely hides itself, but there is always more humanity to it. No simplification whatsoever with Wallach's performance, as he does always suggest a hint more, when talking even pure exposition, Wallach accentuates certain lines like "I don't write anything down" as though there is both the sense of the professionalism but a hint of vulnerability to the nature of the man. 

Wallach crafts a duplicity between the character of Dancer who he portrays as a man who both is the real deal, but also kind of believes he's not on some fundamental level. Wallach's performance always has this subtle sense of vulnerability in his eyes as though he's waiting for something to fall apart for him, but his innate intensity seems to be carried almost to erase any of that vulnerability. And in turn Wallach is far more dynamic in how he approaches every killing scene because there is an unpredictability about the man that avoids the potential simplifications of the role. However there's yet another shade that Wallach gets to play where he gets to present the facade of a normal man, when he approaches a woman who unknowingly carries drugs he's after. Wallach is great in the scene because he's genuinely charming as he low key woos the woman to allow him to help her carry packages, and even has some notion of romance. Wallach's performance manages to fake the humanity of the character beautifully in the scene, but again he brings a bit more complexity yet again. There are moments of hesitation in Wallach's performance as the woman and her child are in danger from Dancer. Now this isn't really followed up within the script, but Wallach's ability to complicate the note of the killer makes the role far more interesting. One of the best scenes of Wallach complicating things comes as he meets with their secret boss, whom they failed since he couldn't get all the drugs, Wallach is excellent in showing the man trying so hard to try to explain naturally why they lost the drugs. Wallach again brings a terrific combination between sincerely trying to brush it off, but just underneath a real desperation knowing the situation could lead to his death. When the boss indicates he'll be killed for his failures, Wallach's full reveal to the man's insanity and a kind of mania is powerful. And Wallach shows the full psychopath, letting loose what he's been indicating the whole time, and creating a great crazed psychotic. Now all of this adds up to a relatively rote crime plotline, but what makes it a bit more dynamic are the two hitmen, and Wallach tries not to waste any of it. It would've been easy to have played a straight evil note the whole time, but Wallach seeks to create a greater sense of who this particular killer is and what he's going through at every turn. Now the film sort of lets him down, because in the end the film is just about getting the crooks rather than fully exploring them. Regardless even within the confines of the role, Wallach gives a captivating turn that brilliantly elevates his material. 

Alternate Best Actor 1958: Chhabi Biswas in Jalsaghar

Chhabi Biswas did not receive an Oscar nomination for portraying Biswambhar Roy in Jalsaghar.

Jalsaghar tells the story of an older Indian lord.

A pleasure of mine from this endeavor can be when I purposefully don't look too much into the synopsis of a particular film, which is often the case if it is from a director I already like and the film has general acclaim. So I went into this one blind, and was in for a few surprises in its tale of Roy's days as a lord. When we open the film I didn't know where the film was going to take the character or me in terms of this journey, as we begin with the man seemingly just being contemplative and a bit demanding of his ever stoic, though not emotionless, estate manager, who is always trying and failing to as politely as possible slightly urge his lord to do what needs to be done. Biswas though exudes a man of wealth and really just of wealth. A man whose whole existence is within his estate and the whims he finds himself in, and what he's most fixated on. There is no great concern, despite plenty to the contrary, in the man's mind and Biswas brings this pitch perfect aloofness of a man who settles on his interests and his interests only. And those interests are largely just the music in his music room, which he eagerly goes to listen to, and in that we do see the man come to life and there is a keen interest in the eyes of Biswas as he looks upon the performer. The first being a woman, who I thought the film might go in a different direction given his wife's reaction to her, but in this particular point Biswas speaks as a man just earnestly infatuated, however infatuated with the music he's hearing. 

When Roy is given news of maybe some trouble with his estate all that Roy hears is that he hopes to have more music and music to properly serenade his son as well, despite the concerns of his wife that his son is becoming just like him. Again what Biswas's performance portrays without question is a sense of entitlement where his reactions don't really even quantify what his wife and manager are saying beyond the most minor elements. He's in a world of indifference and one of just enjoying what he wishes to enjoy how he wishes to enjoy it. And I suppose an important factor in making it so you don't immediately hate him, as really troublesome as he is, Biswas does present a purity within that love for the music, even sharing it with his son with this strict appreciation of it together. However the man's ignorance only continues as his wife basically pleads with him to actually take a trip and break his routine of basically laying around between when he listens to music. Again though he ignores the pleas where Biswas has the smile on his face of the sense of a man who just is in love with what he is experiencing so to even think about disrupting it, even for the sake of his wife doesn't even graze his eyes even for a moment. Biswas presents a man who is truly accustomed to his very comfortable experience, and nothing can seemingly break him from this spirit, it would seem. 

That is until tragedy surprisingly strikes his family, and much of his fortune is lost in a typhoon. And I think as good as Biswas is setting up really the hubris of the man awaiting the fall, he is amazing in the visceral reaction of the horror of his realization in the moment. For all his ambivalence to the troubles of life Biswas brings a real sense of the loss in the scene so potently. He is maybe even more striking in the following scene as the man just seems now just lost in his grief, and the pain on Biswas's face is indeed heartbreaking. The man's reality seems like it should be shattered as his performance shows just how much the man has gone through, however this only causes Roy to become even more insulated in his life. Biswas delivers his orders as quickly as possible, as kind of insisting statements of someone needing everything to be as he makes it, as it must be. The conviction of it though no longer is a man just trying to enjoy life but rather a man basically trying to ignore his trauma by completely shutting out the world around him. Which he almost does, despite much requiring his attention particularly his loss in finances and nearly losing everything. The idea of music still brings Roy's attention around and Biswas is great because again it is with earnest pleasure, however now when the notion appears it is with this even tighter fixation in his eyes of a man not just wanting to escape, rather absolutely needing it to be. 

Biswas in the final act of the film is brilliant in presenting a man completely lost in his delusions. We first see when he looks upon his old music room and Biswas's expression is haunting as the idea of the escape seems ever more needed yet ever more of the respite of a man losing all grip to reality. When he does get his music again the joy is real, albeit briefly for as long as it lasts. As we follow it as the man proclaims his importance of being a lord and Biswas declares all these grand statements with a prideful lunacy. Biswas evokes the state of a man in nearly losing all senses and he admires the portraits of his forefathers and himself. The latter being the key of the scene as he looks upon the portrait of himself that is marred briefly by a spider and Biswas's physical work in the "attack" that doesn't even remove the spider is of a man caught in this strange dreamland no longer really interacting with the world. And we see the man as he speaks in the final scenes of the man attempting one final act of being his lording self, and Biswas's performance brings this sense of broken jubilation. The man's mania is unquestioned as he goes headlong into his pursuit, and there is in his eyes the sense of a man truly lost within his obsessions that he let rule and control his life to a tired end. This is a great performance by Chhabi Biswas that depicts an extremely idiosyncratic personal downfall, yet never does it feel detached even in its most outlandish moments. Creating a powerful portrait of quite simply the dangers of losing perspective. 

Alternate Best Actor 1958: Gary Cooper in Man of the West

Gary Cooper did not receive an Oscar nomination for portraying Link Jones in Man of the West. 

Man of the West is in many ways Mann's Unforgiven, about a reformed outlaw having to face his past. 

Gary Cooper is an actor who I've long have a troubled history with in this endeavor, as while I have liked some of his performances, I've often failed to see the "strong silent type" nature of him as a performer, particularly not to the extent he is known for in popular culture, even beyond what Tony Soprano thinks. With Man in the West, I can say I've finally seen that Cooper fully, and in a way that makes sense as the part in itself is playing off the very idea of Cooper, as he plays a "man of the west" seemingly moving on from the old days, as we meet him coming into town, and embarking on a train, looking very "civilized". And regardless Cooper has of course his great stature, that does have a certain presence, in itself, however early on the film there is more than that when a random passerby starts asking him questions about who he is and what he's doing. Cooper's reactions in this scene are what I personally was always waiting for, where he conveys much, while still keeping the cool. And Cooper does portray that, his face of stone in many ways, but there are the elegant cracks of the man clearly trying to ignore this push for him to reveal more of himself than he is willing to give up. Cooper portrays the man hiding his old-self seemingly as he's moving onto a new life as a man simply looking for a schoolteacher for a town. 

Unfortunately such notions are short lived as a series of events, including the train being robbed and Cooper's Link, along with two other passengers, former saloon singer Billie (Julie London), and grifter Sam (Arthur O'Connell) being left behind. Cooper is terrific in the action sequence because we see moments of instinctual reaction, such as reaching for a gun that isn't there along with a certain conviction and calm of someone who is used to such situations. And we see after the train takes off, Cooper expectedly takes charge and that Cooper's presence is in its ideal form as indeed a titular man. The film takes its turn when Link comes across his old home, that remains still his old gang hideout, unfortunately still the remnants of the gang and technically his family. Led still by Link's uncle Dock (Lee J. Cobb) and other men, some known to Link or at least related to him. And Cooper is in his "strong silent type" prime in the scene of meeting the group, where Dock wavers between familial connection and threat, and the rest all look to Link with some suspicion, while giving nothing but hostility towards Link's companions. Cooper though is terrific in playing the sides of the scene between the understated sense of the distress of being in this place again, though also an attempted calming manner towards his companions, while also still having  a strong force of personality. It is never the simple silence here, and Cooper plays the shades here with a genuine intensity. 

Cooper manages to play the layers of the situation, holding it together with a sense of underlying tension of the man emotionally having to deal with these reflections of his past, but also just immediate tension of the danger they pose to his companions, and to his attempted existence as a reformed man. Cooper is able to balance between the sense of the man dealing with what's going on in every reaction, as there is this quiet emotional turmoil Cooper does exude within his eyes of the man facing something he's so long wanted to avoid, while also still providing some sense of comfort as trying to be "the hero" by being the one thing standing between the gang and Billie and Sam. Cooper being on one hand the new man who has reformed himself, and has his moments of talking about his new life where Cooper, perhaps playing more so into his expected presence, with a quiet warmth and certainty of the good of his existence. Even speaking to the fact that the town who took him in knew him, and forgave him, Cooper brings this respectful gratitude of a man who has found a new path in life. However with every moment that the gang, particularly Dock, brings up his old life, Cooper says so much in every reaction. Cooper conveys the quiet shame of it and the quiet sense of being caught within the sway of the old amoral man's ways at one time. No longer is that the case, but there's a real vulnerability in these moments, even a retiring sense of defeat at times of having to admit who he is, that shows the shades of Cooper I frankly always wanted to see as a performer. 

The plot of the film interestingly is kind of the opposite of Mann's great the Naked Spur, where James Stewart played the hero trying to hold a group together, a group all with different degrees of nefariousness disrupting the journey in someway, as they attempted to make a trek comparing that to this where Cooper's Link is the one trying to disrupt the journey this time around. And I have to say I love Cooper in portraying this side that insidious was never really a note that he was called to play, yet he does so here, even if it has heroic connotations. The first moment being getting one of the most boastful youngest members, who had forced Billie to do a striptease at gunpoint, Link prods to get him to attack in order to take at least one man out, and Cooper's performance is remarkable. His delivery is truly cutting as he speaks. There's just venom coming off his lips as he accuses the man of cowardice until the man attacks and Cooper has vicious moments in the fight. Far beyond the physical moments, but rather again in his eyes you see real hate, and perhaps the bandit of old, before he holds himself back from finishing the man off himself. And Cooper continues to truly realize these darker aspects, even within the overall good of the reformed man, throughout every scene that makes him truly dynamic as Link takes on each man, not just as the normal hero, but a killer like them in so many ways. But the darkness isn't just in the attacks in this film, as there is another shade that I think penetrates the film even deeper, and perhaps is in some ways even more influential. 

As someone who has great affection for all of the Mann westerns that he has seen, some more than others, however, regardless each are fascinating in subverting the genre, in little ways and bigger ways. This film might be the most extreme because of just how downright sad the film is in the depiction of the old west, or at least in what is left of it. And Cooper's performance helps to personify it. The reaction to being sent to rob a town that Dock thinks has money, yet is a nearly abandoned ghost town, is that of sad resignation of the nothingess of that lie. Something we see earlier in the film that Link verbalizes, again in a scene where Cooper displays an impressive emotional range in the sense of anguish he brings as a man unearthing his pains in the moment. But there is more, one of the saddest moments, is outside of our central characters, rather the tragic tale of two bystanders who get in the way, that is made all the more tragic because of how accidental it is, and there's something truly powerful in Cooper's brief and blunt, yet potent "I'm sorry" to a victim who he had not wronged, but who had suffered just for no reason particularly at all. And the ending of the film isn't really the righteous hero succeeding you might think, as a terrible thing happens that Link had been trying to stop the whole time, and while some may reject this choice, I think actually it speaks so strongly the film's presentation of this world as truly cruel and cruel in a way that feels so pointless. And Cooper is great in his reaction to this moment, because it is just with a blunt guttural disgust, and his final confrontation with the man behind the act. It is not a moment of heroic justice but rather Cooper presents it as a final wiping away of the grime of his past. Cooper delivers a terrific performance here, that I have no reservations or hesitations in calling it his greatest performance that manages both to be the ideal of his expected presence while also artfully subverting "the strong silent type".