There is about Viola’s work, and her person, a self-effacing quality that, ironically, has
 the exact opposite effect of erasing her impact. Weirdly, it amplifies the importance of the women she has chosen to portray, and the woman she is. It’s her seeming ­reluctance to draw attention to herself that draws us in and pulls us close. It’s her ­interest in the quiet, the patient ones; and it’s her respect, the great respect she pays to those who bear unbearable burdens ­without a sound, that makes us lean in and listen and unable to turn away.

Her modesty is her majesty.

This is not to say that she is incapable of stylish and show-offy and joyously wild stuff — I have seen that from her in the ­theater. It’s just to say that her heart and skill are married, and I think that she’s a pure actor, in the way of Vanessa ­Redgrave. Both share a magic source, a quality that brings more light around the characters they play than lights ­regular human beings, an aura almost… It’s like they broke into the electrics truck and brought their own key light, only lit from the inside. What is that? Where does it come from?

Nothing phony, nothing unfelt, unearned. 
I know she is a serious actress, she took her training seriously and works hard at her craft. She is a ­special woman, too. Her humanity marches out in front of her; her kindness, her fierceness, her unwillingness to compromise, her stubbornness makes me love her too. But none of that explains the special empathy she sets up between us and the women she brings us close to, so close we breathe with them.

You don’t watch Viola, you live it with her. —Meryl Streep

(Source: didyoublush)