Actors live off their performances—or do they live for them? Some might mockingly simplify the question by saying, “We’re all actors” in some way or another. However, with all its rewards and sacrifices, acting is more than just a job. It is a vocation, a way of life largely devoted to nurturing one’s craft. These concerns lie at the heart of Duke Johnson’s solo directorial debut, The Actor, a quasi-mystery thriller that, as its title suggests, explores the profession as an experience that demands to be understood on symbolic and spiritual levels.

Set in the 1950s, the film follows Paul Cole (André Holland), a stage actor of some renown in New York, who wakes up stranded in a small Ohio town: He is suffering from a severe case of amnesia. He has no idea who he is, why he is there, or whom he can trust to help him uncover his identity. Detectives and doctors crowd around his hospital bed, adding to his confusion.

Thus begins Paul’s personal odyssey to piece together the fragments of his past in a town that appears peaceful yet harbors an undercurrent of quiet hostility, as if conspiring against him. Blurry memories offer occasional clues, but his search for answers is often met with frustration. Meanwhile, he shares an attraction with a local woman, Edna (Gemma Chan), but is their relationship something new or a remnant of his past? A scene between them suggests a grand romance, only for it to be abruptly cut short and revisited much later in a conclusion that feels unsatisfying, as Edna barely appears again until the final minutes. Adding to the sense of disorientation, a host of character actors play multiple roles—sometimes two, sometimes three.

Before losing his memory, Paul was involved in an affair that led to a violent altercation. This pivotal moment is depicted in the opening sequence, rendered in an expressionist, hyper-stylized black-and-white homage to 1940s film noir. The deliberate artistic distance emphasizes its artificiality, a theme that persists when the film transitions into color. The heightened awareness of artifice extends to the production design and cinematography, resulting in a film that always looks stunning—like moving dioramas trapped inside a snow globe (though, ironically, it only snows in one scene). The intention is clear: Reality is distorted, mirroring Paul’s fragmented memory, blurring the lines between dreams, imagination, and recollection. All of which leaves the audience, much like Paul, dazzled by the visuals yet uncertain about what to make of them.

Some might recall that Johnson was the lesser-known half of the directing duo behind Anomalisa (2015), which he co-directed with Charlie Kaufman. Standing in the shadow of a writer renowned for surreal masterpieces like Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind couldn’t have been easy. Now, a decade later, Johnson has the chance to step into the spotlight. Well, to some extent—The Actor is based on Donald E. Westlake’s novel Memory and co-written with Stephen Cooney. However, these other influences don’t loom as heavily as Kaufman’s (who also holds an executive producer credit). In any case, Johnson’s film stands out primarily for its striking visual identity, the kind of work that screams “director’s vision” in every frame with all the indulgence and fascination that entails. The result is a journey that feels almost fantastical while remaining tethered to a certain reality—something that could easily be described as Kaufman-esque.

To be honest, The Actor is best experienced with minimal prior dissection. It is also difficult to recommend without warning that it eschews the kind of cohesion that makes for a traditionally satisfying narrative. Weighed down at times by its ambitions, Johnson’s film remains endearing and visually immersive. There is much to appreciate in its dreamlike atmosphere and its deep love for cinema history. It also doesn’t look or feel like anything else currently in theaters. On a smaller scale, its existence is reminiscent of Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis, a quixotic endeavor to craft worlds and images that celebrate the very act of creating for the big screen.

Ultimately, The Actor is a wonder on its own terms—a film that dares to dream and even to fail, refusing to bow to the dictates of profitability or social media engagement. Movies like this aren’t for everyone, but cinema is a richer art form when they are allowed to be made—even if just for that one person who will treasure them as something truly special in an otherwise empty theater.