There are two sorts of movie stars, and the demands of the market are such that the first type must occasionally pretend to be the second type. The first type is the critical darling, accomplished thespians who command crowds of screaming admirers at Cannes even though they may not be household names. They appear in glowingly reviewed indies and attract the attention of international auteurs, regularly landing on year-end best-of lists and awards lineups. They inspire rapturous reviews filled with flowery prose about nuance and subtlety, the exquisite artistry of the acting craft, et cetera.

Underwater review – Kristen Stewart's soggy, silly monster movie Read more

The second type is the box-office champion, a known entity perhaps lacking in a certain prestige who nonetheless stands atop the world of pop culture. These are our Dwayne Johnsons and Kevin Harts, our Rebel Wilsons and, soon perhaps, our Emilia Clarkes. They lead tentpole releases, put cheeks in seats and keep the studio coffers full. And it is because the flow of that money has tributaries diverting into the talent’s bank account that the first type of movie star is often compelled to try their hand as the second type.

There’s an envy that cuts both ways, whether one sort of star covets the other half’s esteem or pay rates, but the key difference is that a person wants respect and needs money. It’s a lot easier for an actor to afford participation in those low-budget passion projects when there’s a comforting lump sum in their savings, not to mention that those films are more likely to hook viewers if the star’s been in something recognizable of late. It is because there’s a considerable overlap between these two modes of fame that the expression “one for me, one for them” was coined to articulate how versatile stars navigate their creative whims with the imperatives of the biz.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Kristen Stewart in Personal Shopper. Photograph: Allstar/Arte/Sirena Film

Enter Kristen Stewart, a star who’s spent more of the last decade on “for me” than “for them”. She arrived on the scene as a star in the box-office draw mold, making a name for herself as a lip-biting heartthrob in the Twilight franchise, and then went about proving just how much more she was capable of. She tackled literary adaptations like On the Road and worked with such renowned auteurs as Olivier Assayas, Kelly Reichardt and Woody Allen. (Though he’s really only renowned in some parts of the world these days, mostly France, where Stewart became the first American female actor to win a Cesar award, their equivalent of the Oscar.) She shrugged off most of the spotlight on her, bristling during the interviews in which she expressed a desire to do her work without attracting the glare of attention.

But to get the more meaningful movies financed and in the black once they’re released, it helps to recharge one’s star-power batteries every now and then, and that much has presented a complicated obstacle to Stewart. The past few months have seen her attempting to shore up her presence on the A-list with a pair of big-budget studio jobs in the Elizabeth Banks-directed reboot of Charlie’s Angels, and this weekend’s sci-fi/horror spectacle Underwater. In them, she does things she doesn’t often do on screen: deliver snappy one-liners, dispatch men twice her size in hand-to-hand combat, strap into cybernetic scuba-armor, do battle with CGI monstrosities from the briny deep. She’s straying from the arthouse and re-entering neighborhood cineplexes, and as in the hostile depths of the Mariana Trench that set the scene for Underwater, the terrain hasn’t always been friendly.

Charlie’s Angels drew dire notices and barely broke even, and although Underwater has inspired slightly more positive reviews, its quiet rollout from Fox and its early January premiere date foretell an underwhelming showing. In both instances, Stewart’s turning in strong work, as a winning smart aleck in the former and a steely action hero in the latter. But her presence doesn’t mesh with the whole of the project in either instance. In Charlie’s Angels, she’s acting smarter than the movie around her, and in Underwater, she’s exuding a quiet intensity at odds with the B-movie “Ridley Scott’s Alien, but beneath the waves” premise.

She’s doing better work than the movie deserves, the same issue that led to hordes of chuckleheads exiting the Twilight years under the impression Stewart was an un-emotive rather than a subtle actor. (Curiously enough, her old co-star Robert Pattinson is going through a similar process now, pinning his hopes at re-establishing his selling power with middlebrow America on his upcoming gig as Batman.) It’s for this reason she stuck out like a talented sore thumb in 2012’s Snow White and the Huntsman, a film that made her out to be a more ordinary onscreen quantity than she allows herself to be. She’s never been able to plug herself into a proper blockbuster, but she hasn’t let that stop her from excelling.

Stewart has been doing her duty and working the press circuit for these marquee titles, and yet she’s moving through it all like a visitor. Her true homeland is several steps away from the mainstream, where her reserved acting style of facial tics and expressive stillness can flourish. Sounds like that’s the direction in which she’s once again headed; her next role on the docket will be in Clea DuVall’s independent production Happiest Season, about a lesbian couple preparing to break the news of their love to one half’s conservative parents. Here’s hoping that with her tour of duty completed, the years to come will bring more roles suited to her particular set of skills. A star with not just the depth of a Kristen Stewart, but the inclination to exercise it in films that push her to consistently challenge herself, is a terrible thing to waste.