The grit in his gritty performances came from an instructor telling a young Hackman that he “wouldn’t amount to anything”
Illustration/Uday Mohite
No matter what you feel about a project, be the best you can be, because sometime, somewhere, someone will see it
— Gene Hackman
I spent yesterday with Gene Hackman. I went back to the overlapped dialogue between him and Denzel Washington in Crimson Tide. His final diatribe with his Maker before leaping to his death in The Poseidon Adventure. His viciousness in The Unforgiven, watching his work opposite Clint Eastwood--also in Absolute Power. His comedic turn in The Birdcage with Robin Williams. And his super villainy in the Superman series.
His ability to pull off the cheesy and the complex with such ease and elan, was what endeared him to audiences over generations. And me, over decades.
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The grit in his gritty performances came from an instructor telling a young Hackman that he “wouldn’t amount to anything”. A Marine officer who saw him as a doorman said “Hackman, you’re a sorry son of a bitch”. Rejection motivated Hackman, who said:
“It was more psychological warfare, because I wasn’t going to let those guys get me down. I insisted that I would continue to do whatever it took to get a job. It was like me against them, and in some way, unfortunately, I still feel that way. I think if you’re really interested in acting there is a part of you that relishes the struggle. It’s a narcotic in the way that you are trained to do this work and nobody will let you do it, so you’re a little bit nuts. You lie to people, you cheat, you do whatever it takes to get an audition, get a job.”
Gene Hackman did very little, in his performances, his face, his lips could curl and contort at will—his anger, his toughness seemed to emerge from a lifetime of fight and fightback, as if success never lets you forget the starvation, the rejection, you’re the perennial tough guy, always taking on the unseen bullying forces, his greatest roles often seem to follow that trajectory. Hackman was at his best feeding off a protagonist, a love-hate partner, to me his finest work was in Mississippi Burning, cheek by jowl with Willem Dafoe, as they crossed swords, then exchanged feathers in their battle against 60s racism.
He made acting look so simple, you never felt the hard work that would go into a DeNiro or Daniel Day Lewis performance—he was an Everyman actor, and so, ever so relatable.
Its not that he wasn’t trained, Hackman and Hoffman and Robert Duvall did theatre in New York.
He could be ruthless, reckless, ribald, rebellious, remorseless. A blink separated a pat from a punch. The wail and the whisper had only a wink in between them. He believed in the truth. And he’d be ruthless in that--sometimes uncouth, but an uncut diamond.
In his expressions, the cold and the kind were a word apart—a speech, a monologue, a rant could change course with a mere pause—no warning.
The smile was open to interpretation—he had charm as he caused harm. He was invested in a ferociousness, a preciousness, he knew his craft—but an inert craftiness disallowed the predictable. He was trained, but never shorn of the rawness. He had a method, he had madness but never let the Method show. He had the manic and the mercurial in equal measure. He had no great looks but a look that was riveting. He took men in authority to depths of degradation, but always invested them with honesty and truth.
He had a voice, a rasp that could roar, or rattlesnake at will, those years on stage, truly helping.
He was a unique Everyman. An actor who never acted, a star who not just shone but glittered over a fifty year career.
Gene Hackman, your connection with us was more than just French.
But your loss to us will always be Unforgiven. Rest well Detective Popeye Doyle, Sheriff Little Bill Daggett, Lex Luthor, Royal O’reilly Tenenbaum.
Rest well.
Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
