Dan Stevens Layers Misdirection as One of Our Most Thrilling Movie Stars

When I picture Dan Stevens, I see his eyes first—cold, blue and mysteriously blazing.
A single startling glance from this chameleonic actor can communicate volumes, though the magnetic power of his stare owes more to a sustained withholding, a gnawing sense that behind those piercing orbs lurks something implacably else. Yet, such is the actor’s force of charisma: You’re drawn to him as a moth to a flame.
In Maria Schrader’s science fiction romantic comedy I’m Your Man, out Friday in select theaters, Stevens’ glacial blues are wide and unblinking, frozen in the same curious facsimile of existential cogitation that informs the rest of his sublime turn as Tom, a humanoid robot designed to court the unconvinced Alma (Maren Eggert).
When there’s new data to interpret, Tom glances off to the side, processing, and you can almost imagine the code running in parallel streams down the insides of his irises. Often, he affixes Alma with comically intense eye contact to deliver painfully stilted flirtations such as “your eyes are like two mountain lakes I could sink into,” especially amusing given that this sentiment could be reflected neatly back at Stevens to capture the alpine frigidity of his gaze.
It’s not that Stevens’ eyes are more striking than the rest of him—in I’m Your Man, his performance is a marvel of stiff, mechanical body language—so much as that they’re the one constant for a diabolically talented cinematic shapeshifter. The more you study Stevens’ physical presence—the tension in his often ramrod posture, his equally inflexible politesse, a smile that can flicker imperceptibly between cool and almost cruel—the less you realize you can trust this handsome stranger. In many of Stevens’ finest performances, there’s something instantly off-putting about him, and it’s all in the eyes. Their emptiness feels calculated.
It’s that uncanny quality that makes Stevens such a flawless fit for I’m Your Man, which ponders the degree to which hardwired human emotions such as love can be approximated by increasingly lifelike artificial intelligence—as well as whether our skepticism about programmed emotions can be overcome by programs sophisticated enough to mirror our every impression of love back at us. Adding to the surreal artifice of Stevens’ performance in I’m Your Man is that it’s his first delivered entirely in German; the actor’s been fluent since his college years, and there’s a real shock and enchantment to watching Stevens quote Rilke in the original German.
More than perfect, Stevens’ Tom is made-to-order, and Stevens so excels in the role because he too appears preternaturally capable of turning in any performance asked of him. That Tom speaks German with a slight British accent is explained away as part of his programming; Alma likes her men “exotic,” you see, but not too exotic, and Tom aims to please. Putting together a breakfast banquet, dancing the rumba and artfully scattering rose petals around a candlelit bubble bath he’s drawn, unbidden, for Alma, Tom can access a virtually endless database of romantic clichés—which, unfortunately, has the net effect of making all these gestures feel about as intimate and endearing as an algorithm’s birthday email.
And yet, fascinatingly, the actor’s automaton feels far warmer and less motor-driven than you’d expect. That’s essential to Schrader’s design in I’m Your Man; as we’re watching Tom, we forget his robotic nature and are genuinely moved by his sense of a soul. Often, Stevens’ characters aren’t quite so innocent. Across the past nine years, since the actor departed his breakout role as the picture-perfect Matthew Crawley on popular British period drama Downton Abbey, he’s weaponized his movie-star good looks across a series of surprising and subversive roles: A ruthless killing machine in The Guest; a mutant diagnosed with schizophrenia on mind-bending superhero series Legion; an alpha male barely masking his inner monster in The Rental.
A grounding force, Stevens is not; whether in Disney musicals (Beauty and the Beast) or gnarly folk horror (Apostle), his charged screen presence can be utilized in such a way that heightens the fantasy of the film around him. In comedies, such as the recent farcical remake of Blithe Spirit, he enthusiastically throws himself into the task of making us laugh, betraying not a shred of self-conscious restraint. Not all absurdly charismatic actors can also play charismatically absurd, but Stevens is always in on the joke, and he plays tightly wound characters by bulging those eyes and frantically gesticulating, as if the characters are dimly aware they’re suffocating beneath the massive weights of their egos.
But in creepy genre fare, he’s just as chillingly effective as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, concealing more sinister machinations beneath a poised and polished exterior. Few actors working right now can match his ability to convey psychological fracture. Apostle, from The Raid director Gareth Evans, finds Stevens playing an anguished former missionary who must confront a violent cult in order to save his sister; the skin-crawling horror and brutal tension of the film, especially in its slow-burn first third, flows from the actor’s twitchy, bug-eyed performance.
But the most complete showcase for this side of Stevens is Legion, where his portrayal of the powerful, tortured mutant David Haller splintered into a funhouse-style hall-of-mirrors exhibit across three seasons. The show’s season two finale, which stacked our sympathies against David, was a particular monument to his talent: After opening the episode by singing The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes” (of course) and facing the show’s main antagonist, David also confronted alternate versions of himself, playing emotional turmoil, manipulative cruelty and profound inner conflict essentially back-to-back-to-back. Within David’s smarting vulnerability, escalating mania and eventual turn toward villainy, Stevens never lost sight of the psychological wounds and intense delusions driving the character—or stopped coming up with sensitive, soulful ways to show us his multitudes.