When he delivers the line “Adrianos was perfect” he opens his eyes, and then closes them not fully, but into a glare in one fluid motion. It suggests a sort of confusion, and an indignance in concert with his enunciation, it evokes ego, but carefulness. Not but a few moments later as Jurgen Prochnow insults him he does it again, but this time it indicates a slight tinge of hurt, propelled forth by his pride, which bades him to listen further rather than immediately go on the defensive. When he does it again at around 1:34 it’s pure delight in his own work. He just knows it was great work, and that pride extends beyond the context of character. Stockwell always came off as an actor who took immense pride in his work and that is not to suggest he was proud of every single one that he did, but that in the actual doing he took a certain pride and it's at least one of the reasons why in his entire career which is a very long, extending from his childhood to the 00's especially as he starts to formulate as an adult I don't find a bit of work that I don't enjoy from him. But more importantly what connected me personally to Stockwell was the distance he maintained from this sort of homogenized idea of not only performance but humanity that provided this consistent and persistent sense of other worldliness. It's at home and and it belongs to everyone of his most memorable characters whether on TV as Al Calavicci in “Quantum Leap”or in a film like Tucker this sense of the fantastic, of pure fantasy. His eyes would act as the window to another world, his mouth as an anchor to this one and he was always able to in any number of roles transport us, transcend us, but never without emotion never without structure and never without power. Stockwell in that same TCM interview talks of the loss in a certain aspect of his childhood in the movies, one that he wouldn't wish upon his own children and I've always had the feeling that when something like that happens it's not really that it is lost, but that it is stunted and then continued along a slower trajectory. In that context it's no wonder the Dean appeals to me on a bone-deep level, me a person who now deels not fully separate, but veiled away from that weirdness I was so in touch with, so in love with when I was a child but I let go of in order to safely fit within the world around me. That same alien alien-ness that is so much apart of who I am, that I only find whenever I'm on stage, or behind a camera when and where I’m given freedom to imagine once again the infinite possibilities of my own humanity. That's what a Stockwell performance is to me, A doorway, an opening, a link to a distant place, but right within your home.