Soap Opera Weekly, 01/15/02
Applause Applause

David Andrew Macdonald (Edmund, Guiding Light)
Outstanding Performer for the week of Dec. 17

Silence may be golden, but in David Andrew Macdonald's acting arsenal, silence is, to mix metaphors, worth a thousand words.
Macdonald began his work when Edmund was forced to defend his honor--to a waiter who demanded cash up front. Buzz stood up for the waiter and berated Edmund: "You're not known for honoring your commitments." Edmund looked non-plussed. Macdonald's eyes flitted skyward as Edmund had his first epiphany: "Is that how people really see me?"
When Lorelei confronted him about absconding with her CD, Macdonald's voice dripped with sarcasm--and pain--as Edmund explained that he was afraid she would leave him penniless. Macdonald confronted Edmund's twin specters of betrayal and poverty with grit as he bobbed his head in anger and hissed his lines in a fierce whisper. (Though assailed from all sides, one must keep up appearances.)
But he couldn't contain all his suffering; Macdonald finally raised his voice and admitted he took the CD because it was a gift from Phillip, and Edmund wanted something to remember her by. Lorelei's silence spoke for us all. (Beth Chamberlin complemented Macdonald when Lorelei's crusty veneer was abruptly cracked by Edmund's naked admission. Macdonald's performance was enhanced playing off such a talent.)
When Lorelei called him on this, the wounded Edmund withdrew. Macdonald stammered, tripping over his own tongue; his clipped speech and curt gestures told us Edmund was trying to convince himself more than her, but it wasn't working. When Edmund quietly placed the CD on the table, he couldn't bear to look at her. In that muted moment, Macdonald made Edmund's shame and shattered heart palpable. As Lorelei trundled off, Edmund sat, frozen in agony, only to turn around too late. Macdonald made us feel the ache in the taciturn prince's soul and hear his heart sundering without uttering a syllable.
After witnessing Edmund's spat, Holly stopped by to chirp, "Merry Christmas." Edmund mustered a feeble smile to retort, "Bah, humbug!" Then, in the tomblike silence that followed, a second epiphany exploded in his skull: "Oh, my god, I've grown accustomed to her face," he murmured. Ever so subtly, Macdonald altered the shell-shocked mask of Edmund's face, allowing something to creep across his visage--was it...amusement...or hope?
--Joe Dilberto