Movies

Gene Hackman’s Astonishing Legacy: The Actor Who Redefined Greatness

BBG News

Actors yearn for us to wholeheartedly believe in them, but observing Gene Hackman, who passed away on February 26 at the age of 95, often meant grappling with a nagging suspicion that nothing or no one could be relied upon. He was drawn to characters whose essence was shrouded in deceit, yet cloaked in truth, or vice versa. Regardless of the role he played, you had to remain vigilant, watching for microscopic changes in his tone or emotion, subtle sleights of hand, a dry but biting wit that could strike like the recoil on a swift shot of cheap single-malt whiskey. Dress him up in a shabby Santa suit, as a relentless narcotics officer trekking through gritty New York City streets in pursuit of a petty drug dealer, and you could sense and see his destructive anger tearing through the cheap red velour. This is merely one tiny demonstration of his capabilities. His greatness is akin to measuring molecules, the fundamental units that make up everything.

Despite playing minor roles in films and TV shows since the early 1960s, Hackman, who had previously served as a Marine and studied journalism and television production on the G.I. Bill, went unnoticed until he was 36 years old. In Arthur Penn’s 1967 movie “Bonnie and Clyde,” Hackman portrayed Buck Barrow, the older brother of Warren Beatty’s character, Clyde. His performance was powerful, subtle, and heart-wrenchingly impactful; the scene where Buck dies is a display of brutal majesty.

Subsequently, Hackman maintained an unwavering pace throughout the 1970s, ’80s, and ’90s, making it challenging to provide a succinct overview of his filmography: In the gritty yet captivating disaster movie “The Poseidon Adventure” (1972), he portrayed a man of faith who dared God to take his life instead of others. His knack for comedy was evident in roles such as a pompous conservative senator in “The Birdcage” (1996) and a cigar-smoking, disorder-creating blind man in “Young Frankenstein” (1974). Westerns were also part of his repertoire, including “Wyatt Earp,” “The Quick and the Dead,” and “Unforgiven,” for which he received an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. He demonstrated his acting prowess to a young Tom Cruise in Sydney Pollack’s “The Firm” (1993), and played a sheriff-turned-FBI agent in Alan Parker’s true-life Civil Rights drama “Mississippi Burning” (1988). For younger audiences, Hackman might be most recognizable from his later role as the cranky, rebellious patriarch in Wes Anderson’s “The Royal Tenenbaums” (2001), particularly the memorable scene of him gleefully speeding along on a small racecar with his grandchildren.

In another take, we can say that Hackman excelled at portraying villainous roles: his chuckle was both unsettlingly mischievous and exhilarating. He transformed Lex Luthor into an arrogant, dapper antagonist in various Superman films. One of my preferred Hackman villains is the cunning rural crime boss Mary Ann from Michael Ritchie’s bitterly satirical film Prime Cut (1972). Mary Ann disguises a human-trafficking operation within a heartland meat-packing plant; he has no qualms about mutilating his adversaries and filling their disintegrated remains into sausage casings. He is a smirking, backslapping charmer, so charmingly repulsive that it’s unclear if nobody in his small town knows about his criminal activities or if everyone does. Hackman relished every aspect of the role: he enjoyed delving deep into his characters, even those who seemed shallow, and uncovering their secrets to reveal them to us like a treasure trove of pennies.

This actor had an extraordinary, adaptable face, not necessarily a movie-star type but possessing fragments of stardom: the cleft chin, the quick smile, the slightly plump nose that somehow gave his face a comically majestic appearance. He was neither unattractive nor strikingly handsome; he was simply average. However, he won his first Academy Award for his portrayal as the relentless narcotics detective Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle in William Friedkin’s 1971 film, The French Connection. The movie is renowned for its iconic and magnificent car chase scene, but the scene’s exceptional editing isn’t what makes it stand out. Instead, it’s Hackman who provides the human element that gives the scene life. In the film, Popeye can be seen driving a stolen vehicle, racing to evade an oncoming subway train on an elevated track. He collides with other cars and trucks, narrowly escaping head-on collisions, swerves to avoid a woman pushing a baby carriage: there is both fear and ruthlessness in his gaze. Unlike the artificial blend of car and human in Julia Ducournau’s Titane, in The French Connection, Hackman and his runaway vehicle symbolize a far more authentic fusion of man and machine. He wasn’t merely driving; there was some indescribable force propelling him, filling him with its fierce, angry energy.

One of Hackman’s most remarkable performances, rivaled only by the best delivered by actors throughout history, is his portrayal of the tormented surveillance expert Harry Caul in Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation (1974). No actor has ever conveyed paranoia so poignantly. In a captivating and disquieting dream sequence within the movie, Harry pursues a mysterious woman, a reflection of the woman he’s been tracking in his current assignment, portrayed by Cindy Williams. He shares secrets with her that he has not revealed to anyone else, attempting to warn her of impending danger. However, she appears unable to comprehend his words. As she, along with the dream, starts to fade into mist, Harry states, “I’m not afraid of death,” and you might assume this marks the end of the monologue. But a moment later, he adds, “I am afraid of murder.” It is the secondary thought that speaks volumes.

Towards the end of the movie, Harry attempts to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, primarily playing his tenor saxophone to unwind, but the melodies he produces only serve to remind him of the spectral echoes haunting his ears. The phone rings twice, first with nothing but a dial tone and secondly with the sound of tape rewinding and a voice informing him that he’s being watched. In response, Harry starts disassembling his apartment, initially in an organized manner, but eventually with growing aggression, searching for a listening device that remains elusive. As a desperate measure, he destroys a statue of the Virgin Mary, an item previously sacrosanct due to his deep-rooted Catholic faith. The movie ends with Harry once again playing his saxophone amidst the desolation of his apartment. Harry is a man who listens in rather than participates; he’s an eternal outcast, and Hackman skillfully conveys this feeling, like a chilling, sweeping wind that penetrates to the bone.

Watching Gene Hackman in action was like witnessing one miraculous example among his astoundingly diverse roles. It left many of us with our jaws dropped, wondering things like “What on earth is he doing?” or “How on earth is he doing this?” or even “Why do I find myself completely convinced by it all?” Actors who can sell a role as convincingly as Hackman could sell you a car – so persuasive was his performance that you’d end up driving away in a Cadillac you might not have been able to afford, feeling nothing but satisfaction. Yes, he had us hooked, and we’d gladly take the bait again.

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2025-02-28 00:06

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