Quintessential Jack

by Scott Edwards

  * * *

  Of course, it could very well be that a big factor in Nicholson’s success in film is that he loves doing it. Kent observed, “Jack always has a zest—and I see that little boy, I see Weary Reilly [in Studs Lonigan] again, in a different costume, just jumping in and doing his best.”

  It’s about loving the work and loving those who do love the work. “Jack loves film and film people. When I see him around, I think he feels that he always wanted to be in this business and I think he’s really pleased that he was in it.” Kent pointed out that not all the top actors shared this affinity for the endeavor or the industry, recalling that Robert Mitchum “made fun of it, ‘We’re just pretenders and we really aren’t doing anything great.’ But I think that way down deep, Jack has had a ball and I’m glad because he deserves it.”69

  Barry Dennen agrees that a key to the Nicholson success is his enjoyment of the process. “He’s a lot of fun to be around. He jokes, he laughs, he tells stories, but the minute he goes into acting mode [Dennen makes a gun-loading sound effect], you can hear the bullets being loaded.”70

  Perkins agreed that Nicholson has this unbridled enthusiasm, calling him a “Hollywood boy who worshipped the big old movie stars. He liked knowing them and being respected by them. It was important to him.”71

  * * *

  Two of Hollywood’s greatest come to mind when thinking of Nicholson as an actor who created his own identity, fusing the perception of the man with the impression of his characters. They are Cagney and Cary. Not that Jack necessarily modeled himself after James Cagney and Cary Grant, nor that they on the surface have much in common aside from having attained iconic superstardom.

  The Cagney connection is the more obvious. He is physical, pushing, making hitting an art and shooting an act of thrusting ahead to force the bullets out of the gun. Nicholson shared this physicality, as he does the active eyes and the toothy grin that betrays more than mere happiness or bonhomie.

  Both propel themselves forward and seldom stand still. Nicholson bounces on the balls of his feet, perhaps an interpretation of “the Cagney stance,” poised to act and ready for the moment, always advancing and always with purpose. This was the essence of Cagney’s approach to acting. “Never settle back on your heels. Never relax. If you relax, the audience relaxes.” Cagney was always on the balls of his feet, ready to spring like a bantam chicken.72

  Cagney pushed a grapefruit in the face of Mae Clarke, while Nicholson cleared off the entire table at a diner. Cagney riles up the other independent hacks in Taxi! with the type of anger and true emotion we later see in Nicholson’s appeals to the union in Hoffa. Look into Cagney’s eyes as he’s led toward the death chamber in Angels with Dirty Faces and we see the horror and anguish suffered by Jack Torrance in The Shining. Both Nicholson and Cagney are considered mannered in their acting styles, “so busy with stylized movement that everyone can do a reasonable imitation.”73

  Less overt is the connection between Cary Grant and Nicholson. Like Nicholson, “Grant’s performances often suggested a man who was simply having fun making a movie.”74 Most bluntly, they are both movie stars often accused of playing themselves, of playing the same role over and over.

  Grant had the ultimate smoothness to give the impression that he never was acting and that he was playing himself. How many critics have said this about Jack, especially after he became “Jack”? Grant good-naturedly made fun of his critics’ accusation, telling Peter Bogdanovich, “Even I’d like to be Cary Grant.”75

  Grant’s sophistication helped hide his Nicholson-like physicality and versatility. Both employed explosive energy and studied movement to raise their characters’ blood pressure, thinking that it was not nearly enough to merely bring them to life. Beyond action sequences, this liveliness also applies to Nicholson’s affectations and Grant’s eccentricities, highly stylized creations “made of peculiar movements and an interesting combination of expressive codes.”76

  Like Nicholson’s journey between the Grand Guignol and the understated or the farcical and the menacing, Grant shaded his roles with textures as different as tough and callous in Only Angels Have Wings and hardboiled in His Girl Friday, to heartfelt and heartbreaking in Penny Serenade, unpleasant in Suspicion and cold and manipulative in Notorious.

  Jack and Cary transform single characters in singular roles. Nicholson grows and becomes more “human” the more time he spends with Helen Hunt in As Good as It Gets, just as Grant grows and becomes more “normal” in response to Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby. Both rom-coms dramatize a sunrise that happens to these men’s personalities as the protection of their facades erode. Yet make no mistake, love can only conquer when the right actors bring the right temperament, humor and vulnerability to their roles—to make the audience forget that acting is happening.

  * * *

  Shirley Knight talked about how she and Nicholson progressed as actors between their early acting classes and when they reunited on As Good as It Gets, saying that both were more shy then, searching when very young. “We now both have a certain joie de vivre and confidence that we show both in our character and in our work.”77

  That skill came over time, according to Millie Perkins, who feels that Nicholson’s accessibility and iconic fame is largely attributable to being a great entertainer who’s very lucky and seems aware that luck played a big role in his success. “In later years, he did some fabulous work, but at the time I thought of him as someone who was an entertainer … and he became an actor later.”

  The “actor” part is where the study, dedication, hard work and preparation came in. Along with a little intercession from the show business gods, as Perkins sees it. “Somebody blessed him somewhere along the way and said, ‘You’re gonna have it all, all the time.’ He did it. He got it. He did what he wanted to do.”78

  Not bad for someone whose June 18 (year not indicated) Jeff Corey acting class session notes read, “Jack rather bland and tended to be too ingratiating and kindly for its own sake.”79

  * * *

  2

  * * *

  Heroes and Villains

  You search for the little things. A bit of a flinch, a lick of the lips, a flit of the eyes, a blot of some sweat. Trying to look innocent is the quickest way to tell someone’s guilty. Looking like you’ve done this before—been in a police lineup, or two, or ten—is another. Spotting the villains is certainly easier than finding the heroes.

  Presidents, astronauts, respected newsmen. These are the ones we’re taught to admire. Respect them because they are special. Become them because they are worthy. They walk taller, look bigger, seem stronger. You won’t catch them flinching, licking, flitting or blotting. But you can ID them because you’ll feel the energy you can’t explain and can’t ignore.

  The most celebrated heroes and the most evil villains stand out from the rest of us, not only for what they’ve done, but also because of how they carry themselves and the aura they carry with them. So it’s only natural that they can intermingle in some sort of power summit of powerful personalities.

  Our hall of heroes includes a president of the United States facing his country’s greatest threat. An Apollo astronaut faces life after his most momentous accomplishments. A network news anchor faces a new reality for his profession. They’re all important. They’re all heroes. And two out of the three are boring.

  None of the villains are boring. Not even close. Two mob leaders, a hired gun and two jewel thieves menace with panache. Maybe evildoers can’t coast. They can’t live off their past and must maintain their edge. Admirers aren’t as demanding as enemies. Plus, heroes may be reluctant, but villains seldom are. Or they’ve gotten over it long ago.

  Actors often say they prefer playing the bad guy over the good guy. Meatier roles, more interesting characterizations. Additional freedom and extra abandon. Let’s face it: Stoic dignity, control and humility can’t compete with unhinged, unpredictable and uncontrollable. Leadership is ne
cessary, but danger is tasty.

  * * *

  Jack Nicholson has played the president—in Mars Attacks!—and his commander-in-chief doesn’t carry nearly as much command as his mobsters, the Joker in Batman and Francis Costello in The Departed. His supporting role as TV news icon Bill Rorish can’t touch his supporting role as gunslinger Billy Spear in The Shooting. His only American hero that outshone his villains was Terms of Endearment astronaut Garrett Breedlove, more memorable and multi-dimensional than jewel heist failures Alex Gates in Blood and Wine and Jay Wickham in Flight to Fury.

  The bad guy–good role vs. good guy–bad role contrast is easily seen when comparing Nicholson’s two Tim Burton movies. Mars Attacks! is flat and unfunny, while Batman has depth and style. The former sports an all-star cast that’s all but wasted, an attempt at a Mad Mad Mad World quality, without the quality. Thoroughly unenjoyable, the film is fun-deprived and laugh-free, with just about everyone unlikable and superficial.

  Aside from the wonderful Sylvia Sidney, Pam Grier had the only real character and the only real feeling in the film, while Rod Steiger seemed the only one who realized this was supposed to be a comedy (or at least knew what to do about it). Many of the other players instead assumed a knowing tone and affected manner that seemingly was meant to cue the audience, “Hey—we’re being comedic now!”

  Much of the problem lies in the distance between the source material and its all-too-loose adaptation. Based on trading cards co-created by Wally Wood— “one of the greatest science fiction comic book artists of all time, if not the greatest,” according to comic book historian Arlen Schumer,1 the movie was slapstick and campy instead of scary and fantastical.

  “It should have been like Night of the Living Dead meets science fiction, with horror and fear combined with aliens and technology,” Schumer explained. “The movie did a disservice to the legacy of the cards. Those cards were done in the spirit of The War of the Worlds. That was scary, meaning that when Mars attacks, it’s gonna be all-hell-breaks-loose and they have no mercy.” Schumer attributes this to Burton’s lack of understanding of the original source (as with Batman). Burton’s interpretation was “a little too goofy and kind of light.”2

  Nicholson had two roles, the bland president and the broad Art Land, with the latter likely a way to make up for the former. As President Dale, he starts appropriately thoughtful and optimistic, almost a businessman-as-head-of-state before its time. His other character is all teeth and big movements, but the fun-loving ne’er-do-well feels more natural for Jack than moving into the Oval Office would. The two characters do feel like they’re played by completely different people, in look, carriage, sound and attitude—a true testament to Nicholson’s breadth. It’s just that the role of the leader of the free world isn’t interesting enough. Not bumbling enough to be hapless nor intense enough to be mock-dramatic, this character is simple and simply weak.

  With tightly pursed lips, Nicholson’s James Dale is self-important but empty. Preparing for the arrival of the Martians, he accordingly shows the Hollywood interpretation of a phony politician who’s all style, lacking in substance, and filled with false strength. Nicholson’s composed but stupid; thoughtful yet superficial; stoic yet befuddled; in some ways similar to his below-the-surface Rorish in Broadcast News. Even in disaster, he has his president exuding false restraint. In his “Why?” monologue to the Martians, Nicholson adopts a charming but empty politician mode, exuding a sort of smarmy leadership.

  He does loosen up a bit in the bedroom scene with Lisa Marie and in bed with Glenn Close, looking less than dignified and far below sexy, the kind of personal freedom from “image” and “movie star” that’s characterized many of Nicholson’s performances. Jack also acts gamely and realistically when playing against the special effects, after having done so effectively when wondrously attacked by The Witches of Eastwick.

  But it’s really the Art Land character that garners his attention. Until he takes off his hat and lets his hair netting down, you might not have guessed that this was the celebrated Nicholson, though makeup artist Ve Neill contended that “everybody knew it was Jack. There was no hiding that.”3

  Additionally, he’s having fun when he’s Land. His presentation to the cowboys and sheiks serves as parody to Bruce Dern as Nicholson’s brother in The King of Marvin Gardens—once again lampooning his friend and frequent partner (after having played an entire role as Dernsie in The Fortune). At the nuke point, Jack’s Art gamely hangs on, like a drunkard holding onto his last piece of dignity.

  * * *

  There is more (so much more) in Burton’s earlier work and his first collaboration with Nicholson, as Jack Napier in Batman. Like in A Few Good Men, Nicholson makes this movie. He gives it weight. He adds style. He creates. When Nicholson talked about what he has learned as an actor, he said, “I was particularly proud of my performance as the Joker. I considered it a piece of pop art.”4

  To Batman comic expert and author of The Silver Age of Comic Book Art Arlen Schumer, that was precisely the problem. The reference to pop art connects to the TV series, not the original comic. “The TV show is not really the ‘right’ version of Batman. And the TV show is all Tim Burton knew. He didn’t know anything about the comics.”5

  Nicholson not only gives the movie its acting substance, but he reportedly played a major part in making its production possible in the first place, with part of the pitch being “and we’ll get an actor like Jack Nicholson to play the Joker.”6

  This is Nicholson’s application of character energy at its finest. First-billed above the title star Michael Keaton, here is an actor who ranges from tough and tenacious to fun and flamboyant to smart and salacious. When he warns that Gotham City had better wait until they got a load of him—and his new kind of unpredictable terrors—it’s more menacing than cartoonish. The portrayal affirmed Batman creator Bob Kane’s preference for Nicholson as the Joker after seeing the actor in The Shining.7

  Schumer dismisses this as Kane mythmaking. “Anybody who was a Batman fan who saw The Shining would have said, ‘That’s the Joker!’ … It sounds like something that came out of Bob Kane’s mouth in order to take credit.”8

  Perfect as Beetlejuice, Keaton remains wooden and eminently miscast as any kind of hero. The villain instead saves the day. This is perhaps Nicholson’s most physical role, dancing, strutting, sashaying, parading and doing the other purple one (soundtracker Prince) proud. The pre–Joker mobster is arrogant and understated, with his only out-of-ordinary foreshadowing affectation a slight eye twitch. With the facial deformity, Jack transforms from Jack Napier to the Joker through expanded physicality that’s more bodily demonstrative.

  A true villain, yes. A cartoon character, no. Yet he’s having fun here, shooting behind the back and over the shoulder, the Jimi Hendrix of criminals.

  Jack’s Joker is more than an action figure, using his voice and delivery to slither from guise to guise naturally. He does a spot-on impression of Jack Palance to sidekick and friend Tracey Walter. The vocal emphasis he adopts is Nixonesque, interesting because of his earlier play at Tricky Dick when huffing and puffing and axing down the bathroom door in The Shining.

  Unlike so many of his contemporaries in big roles in big movies, Nicholson delivers his catchphrases with feeling and meaning, without the “Here it comes!” telegraphing associated with lesser artists. He asks about the wonderful toys with conviction, not calculation. He truly wants to know who can be trusted with all that money, employing strength laced with irony.

  Sure, he was the Clown Prince of Crime, but he was also a homicidal lunatic Joker. Schumer felt that Nicholson carried the Clown Prince aspect, but without the true menace of the crazed murderer. “He was cast as the Joker based on what he did in The Shining in 1980, but the problem is they didn’t get around to making the movie until 1988. By the time Nicholson plays the role, he was ten years older and he was ten years heavier.” Jack was the obvious choice, but perhaps too obvious. “Yeah, he
played Jack Nicholson—the grinning, maniacal laugh—but predictable.”9

  I had the honor and pleasure of working on an award-winning advertising campaign with iconic Batman Adam West. When I asked his opinion on Nicholson’s work in the first of the modern interpretations of the character, he paused … he breathed … and he intoned as only Adam West can: “There appears to be a little steam in my stride….Yes, I’ve always enjoyed Jack’s work. Yes, I love it.”10

  Said to be camp, the Batman TV series allowed itself to appeal to adults with irony and style, to kids with action and attitude. Though that comic antecedent became so ingrained, Nicholson shook off any temptation for over-the-top acting. This represents a significant maturing for Nicholson, and a realization that a character from the comics doesn’t necessarily demand broad comedy, or even a broad caricature.

  In The Departed, Jack plays another driven mobster. As with the Joker, Jack is always in control and never overextended in making Francis Costello a real—and really scary—person. In no ways gangsterish (and, for the love of God, in no ways like Hoffa), Nicholson stays centered and nuanced, keeping the energy always internal, so that the viciousness and treachery is contained under the skin where it can do more harm. This is a villain outside of any comic realm.

  Reporter David Boeri, who has covered the Whitey Bulger case for over 25 years and currently does so for the Boston NPR station WBUR, unfavorably compared Nicholson’s portrayal of the fictionalized Bulger with that of the comic villain. Before our interview, he watched the movie again; “I laughed out loud. Because what you have here is not Whitey Bulger; it is the Joker moving from Gotham City to South Boston.” Boeri explained that the real Bulger was a neat and tidy control freak who despised people who drank, let alone indulged in drugs. “The idea that he was scattering coke, throwing cocaine over people, as was indicated in The Departed, that his hair is undone and he’s going into this insane, slovenly, gluttonous behavior is out of consideration. It’s over the top.”11