One last performance

Do movie stars ever envision how their careers will end?  Would they prefer to exit with a bang?

Hollywood actors are very much like athletes.  Their careers reach a peak and taper off–sometimes suddenly, sometimes after years of unabated abuse and stubbornness.  Usually it’s the coach–or the Hollywood studios–that tells the player it’s time to quit.  Most would rather keep throwing the ball rather than sit on a beach and sip margaritas.

Michael Clark Duncan didn’t get the chance to enjoy his twilight years, whether it be on a beach or continuing to entertain audiences.  His sudden death was tragic.  On a career standpoint, although his recent string of films and television work did not measure up to his triumphant hits a decade earlier, you get the sense that Duncan hadn’t exhausted his potential.  Duncan inhabited a working-class attitude to Hollywood–constantly grabbing gigs during the highs and lows; always getting parts and doing his job well–even before The Green Mile–the film for which he will be immortalized.  His Oscar-nominated turn as the Christ-like death row inmate, John Coffey, is the kind of endearing performance that most actors would clamor for on their epitaph.  It adds a tender reverence for a man of colossal size.  His large toothy smile and hearty chuckle instantly put audiences at ease–enabling him to master parts as both the villain and the nice guy. 

According to the Internet Movie Database, Duncan’s final film is the unreleased The Challenger, directed by newcomer Kent Moran.  I imagine one year from now, when the Oscars roll out his memoriam, folks will see footage from The Green Mile.  

Before news of Duncan’s untimely death, I pondered over how movie legends would want to be remembered.  Did they give a damn about ending on a high note, with a modicum of dignity or just ending?  Do they hope that their body of work will linger in the memories of fans; their misses and waning periods overruled by their success?  Even when tragedy is not involved, rarely do Hollywood actors leave the industry on their own terms.  Rather than relinquish the spotlight, its torn usually from their taut fists.  Most stars would rather continue working until their health or mortality says otherwise.  Even cinema’s Golden Age icons–Jimmy Stewart, James Cagney, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum–eventually retreated to television and supporting roles during their twilight years.   Only rarely do headline actors get bored or tired of the charade and bow out, even when they establishment still accepts them at their pinnacle status.  Two living legends come to mind: Gene Hackman and Sean Connery.

Both men held stardom on-and-off for nearly five decades.  Both have been officially retired for nearly ten years.  Both had a opportunity to exit on a considerable high note.  Connery had just completed Finding Forrester (2000), a respectable film in which he played a dying poet who mentors a troubled youth.  Hackman had The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), another respectable film where Hackman, within the large ensemble cast, gave one of his greatest performances.  Neither actor garnered an Oscar nomination, but their impact was undeniable–even poignant given the stage of their careers and utter existence.  Both men played terminally ill men who perform one last noble feat. 

Unfortunately, both men pressed on and finally hung it up after a couple of embarrassments.  Connery’s immediate follow-up to Forrester was the abysmal bomb, the comic-book adventure, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003).  Hackman accumulated three more films before co-starring in the equally-appalling Welcome to Mooseport (2004).  The film silenced Ray Romano’s film aspirations before he even had an option for a career in the silver screen.  In a recent interview, Romano joked, “I’m the one who made Gene Hackman retire.”

Presently, neither actor has signaled one final comeback.  Connery briefly considered returning as Indiana Jones’ father for a brief stint in the most recent installment.  In hindsight, it was a good decision.  What’s worse than leaving on one embarrassment?  Two.

I can think of two legends that left show business with one final noteworthy curtain call: John Wayne and Henry Fonda.  For the Duke–Mr. Wayne–was 1976s The Shootist: a summation of the actor just as much as it about his character, J.B. Brooks.  The film begins with a narrated backstory of Brooks with a montage of clips from Wayne’s earlier westerns.

In the film, Brooks learns he’s dying.  His doctor is played by none other than Jimmy Stewart in one of his last roles.  During his remaining days, Brooks mentors a young man, Gillom (Ron Howard) while his enemies close in for vengeance.  In the finale, Brooks triumphs but is fatally wounded.  He witnesses Gillom kill Brooks shooter and toss away the gun in disgust.  Brooks smiles in approval and dies.  The real Wayne would slowly wither away for the next three years before succumbing to stomach cancer in 1979.  During that year’s Oscars, Wayne made an appearance.  He was frail, shockingly thin–no longer the Duke, but a weak gentlemen who had left fans with one final hurrah as the iconic Wayne archetype in The Shootist.  It may not rank as the greatest Wayne film, but it’s remarkably poignant. 

There’s also Henry Fonda.  During the 1970s, his career had eroded to television and supporting parts.  His daughter Jane Fonda purchased the films rights to the Broadway success, On Golden Pond so she could cast herself and her father in the roles akin to their own; hoping the film would mend their strained relationship.  Not only was it one of Fonda’s first lead role in over a decade, it was only his second Oscar nomination–the first in over 50 years.   Fonda won.  His daughter Jane received the award in lieu of her father, whose declining health prevented him from receiving the award personally.  Fonda had finally been bestowed Hollywood’s most cherished honor, left an indelible performance before passing away one year later. 

I noticed that many actors with career-closing roles always involve mentor-ships with a younger actor in some way–as if the veteran is passing the torch.  Henry to his daughter, Jane.  The uber-conservative Wayne to the liberal Ron Howard.  Even Connery coaches Shane West during the story of Gentlemen.  Hackman helps his children played by Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow and Ben Stiller in Tenenbaums.  This is not to suggest that the elderly actor is molding his replacement.  But it seems that the aging stars are shaped around nurturing a younger generation; the changing of the guard if you will. 

There’s also Cary Grant in the last performance for the forgettable Walk Don’t Run (1966).  The film ends with him gazing happily at his two young co-stars as they commence a blossoming romance.  It’s the kind of ending he once shared had with his own female co-star.  There’s Jimmy Stewart in The Magic of Lassie (1978) whose last moments have him watching a boy reunite with his dog: the kind of sentiment a younger Stewart might have embraced personally in earlier tales.

Inevitably, it seems that actors lucky enough to carry a torch for decades must embrace a new type of role to survive.  The best example is Michael Caine, who mentioned in his autobiography an epiphany he had.  He glanced into a mirror and was shocked to see the old man staring back.  Instantly, he knew that he would no longer be permitted to kiss the girl in the film…unless it was on the cheek of his daughter.  So the old man resolutely acknowledged the new era of his career.  He continues to play mentors–recently coaching Bruce Wayne through three of his biggest successes.  If, God forbid, Caine retired tomorrow, he would have one last image of him (SPOILER) warmly toasting his protege (Christian Bale).

There are a number of careers that were cut way too short, sometimes before they even began.  There was Bruce Lee, whose died three weeks before Enter the Dragon paved the way for a wave of kung fu cinema in the 70s.  His son, Brandon Lee, was killed by a erroneous stunt during the making of his sure-fire star-making action flick The Crow.  James Dean completed three iconic performances back-to-back but only lived long enough to see one released.  The other two: Rebel Without A Cause, spoke to millions of America’s youth, and his Oscar-nominated turn in the classic, Giant.  Of course, there was Heath Ledger, who never saw his staggering, Oscar-winning role in The Dark Knight.

Back to the veteran survivors.  I checked IMDB.  Michael Caine has two more movies already in production.  Maybe it’s not important if you step out of the limelight with a winner, just as long the light stays fixed on you.  Duncan may not have surpassed his work in The Green Mile, but he had a lot left to give. One last performance.