newman's own

Always the king of lo-fi cool, Paul Newman also had a million and one dazzling moments playing the aching, slow ride to nowheresville--many of which turn up in "The Verdict"--and script aside (the Rampling character is a stick figure, drawn with a nasty crayon) it's Newman at the height of his acting power. There's nothing showy or false creeping into the frame--no reluctance to be as physically drained, as emotionally craven and damaged as necessary--it's a heartbreaking performance, just heartbreaking. The still considerable beauty of his face at odds with the booze, the humiliation, the long dormant, now-woken hunger to matter, to heal, to win. He (and director Lumet) took a workaday plot and turned it into something substantial, something that lingers.

Newman was also a powerhouse at acting with: there are many great couplings in his film career (including Redford, of course) but one of Newman's best can be found in "Cat On a Hot Tin Roof". Playing yet another alcoholic, opposite Elizabeth Taylor as Maggie the Cat--and contrary-wise to Maggie's most famous line, "Sometimes I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof"--Newman builds a performance that is ripe with feline grace and cool disdain; even his rage at life and love and Big Daddy seeming to come with an arched back and low, rolling hiss. All of which might have destroyed the balance if not for Taylor's equal smarts as a movie star--she turns up as a wolf in cat's clothing, circling him until victorious--and whether by accident or design or some mix therein, it's breathtaking to watch.


But whatever the script or co-star, through it all, one thing is constant with Paul Newman: one of Hollywood's most beautiful men always chose the work--the part, the play, the guts of it all--instead of sliding by on a blue-eyed wink and a smile. As one of his shrewd, savvy characters might have said: he's gone, baby, gone--and we're the worse for it.