I never had many actors as friends. I suppose that’s because the days at work are usually long and work is often play, so it’s a different kind of friendship. But I have loved so many actors. Their wit, charm, and style. Their vanity, insanity, and courage. So, knowing I will forget more than a few, let me attempt to distill that affection into this simple index:
A is for Julie Andrews, the most elegant movie star of them all. And Woody Allen, the funniest screenwriter of them all. For Abbott and Costello. And for Jean Arthur in movies like Shane and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.
B is for Burstyn and Blanchett, Beatty and Bening. For Banderas. For Javier Bardem, Peter Boyle, and Richard Burton. For Kevin Bacon, Gabriel Byrne, and the Bridges clan (how I enjoyed working with Lloyd!). B is for Kathy Bates and Anne Bancroft. And B is for Brando—and I’ll watch it all, the good, the bad, and the great. B is for Ingrid Bergman. For Bogart and Bacall. What I would have given to work with Bogart.
C is for Cagney and his athleticism, passion, and tenderness. It’s for Joan Crawford. For Sean Connery, Jimmy Caan, and Michael Caine. C is most definitely for Tom Cruise. For Don Cheadle. For Montgomery Clift and John Cazale. For Lee J. Cobb and Tony Curtis. For two Chaneys and a Chaplin. And Gary Cooper.
D is for Bette Davis. To hell with flawless skin and symmetrical features and a swimsuit body. It’s the force of her acting (like Nicholson’s) that develops the film while it’s still in the camera. It’s for Depardieu, Deneuve, and de Havilland. For Daniel Day-Lewis and Willem Dafoe. For two Matts, Dillon (because I love Drugstore Cowboy) and Damon (because we both died in Team America). For De Niro, D’Onofrio, Del Toro, and DiCaprio. Faye Dunaway, Marlene Dietrich, and James Dean. Douglas, père et fils. And for Duvall, one of the rare originals in Hollywood.
E is for Emilio Estevez (that’s two E’s). And for Clint Eastwood, the Bill Belichick of Hollywood. He’ll make movies after he’s gone. (“You’ll find the shot list in the brown folder in my office.”)
F is for Firth and Fiennes, for Glenn Ford and Albert Finney. And Errol Flynn. For Laurence Fishburne. It’s for all the Fondas. (What a family. And wasn’t Henry Fonda great in Fail Safe? Tied with Fredric March in Seven Days in May for Best Portrayal of the President.) For Mia Farrow.
G is for Jimmy Gandolfini, whose great talent got me to watch TV again. For Mel Gibson. And Andy Garcia, Scott Glenn, and Gielgud. And Andy Griffith. For John Goodman and Ryan Gosling. It’s for Cary Grant, Ava Gardner, and Clark Gable. (Don’t miss Gable in The Misfits.) G is for Alec Guinness. And Garbo. And John Garfield. And Judy Garland.
H is big. Two Hepburns (Katharine and Audrey), two Hunts (Helen and Linda) and a Hunter (Holly). Two Hoffmans (Dustin and Philip Seymour) and a Huffman (Felicity). Hackman and Hanks. H is for Anjelica Huston, Goldie Hawn, and Salma Hayek. Ed Harris and Woody Harrelson. Heston and Holden. Dennis Hopper, Anne Heche, and John Hurt. It’s for Timothy Hutton and Rock Hudson. And Julie Harris. (For Julie’s memorial, I wrote that her voice was like rain.) And my dear, dear Anthony Hopkins.
I is for Jeremy Irons and Amy Irving and the talented Michael Imperioli.
J is for Samuel L. Jackson. And the Jones gang, as in Dean, Cherry, and James Earl. And Derek Jacobi.
K is for three Keatons, Diane, Michael, and Buster. For Boris Karloff and Ben Kingsley. For Grace Kelly and Gene Kelly. For Keitel and Kidman. It’s for Kevin Kline. And Deborah Kerr.
L is for Patti LuPone, that funny, crazy, raging hurricane of talent. It’s for two Leighs (Vivien and Janet) and a Jason Leigh (Jennifer), Ray Liotta and Nathan Lane. It’s for Jessica Lange and Sophia Loren. For Bela Lugosi, Peter Lorre, Alan Ladd, and Burt Lancaster. For Angela Lansbury and Martin Landau. For Carole Lombard. And Jack Lemmon.
M is for Robert Mitchum, Ray Milland, and Walter Matthau. For Malkovich and McKellen, Rita Moreno and Liza Minnelli. Demi Moore and Julianne Moore. For Steve Martin and Bill Macy and Malcolm McDowell. Zero Mostel, Eddie Murphy, and the Marx brothers. For Barry Miller and Viggo Mortensen. For Elizabeth McGovern, Frances McDormand, Helen Mirren, and Bette Midler. For Anna Magnani. M is for Paul Muni, Fredric March, and James Mason. For Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, and Shirley MacLaine. And Mastroianni.
N is for Paul Newman and Liam Neeson and Nick Nolte. For Patricia Neal. For Edward Norton and Sam Neill and David Niven. But for so many reasons, for so many moments, N is for Nicholson. Nicholson. Good God, what an actor.
O is for Olivier and Peter O’Toole and Maureen O’Hara. And for Carroll O’Connor and Edmond O’Brien. And O belongs to Gary Oldman, who is, in my opinion, the greatest film actor of his generation.
P is for William Powell. For Chris Plummer and Sean Penn. For Mary-Louise Parker, Gerry Page, Bernadette Peters, and Joan Plowright. And Estelle Parsons. For David Hyde Pierce and Mandy Patinkin. Most of all, P is for Gregory Peck. And Poitier. And Pacino. If you watch the films of these last three alone, you’ll learn everything you need to know about acting.
Q means I’m holding two pair: a pair of Quinns and a pair of Quaids (Anthony and Aidan, Randy and Dennis).
R is for the great Basil Rathbone. I must have watched that Sherlock Holmes serial with Rathbone and Nigel Bruce dozens of times. It’s for Christopher Reeve and Chris Rock, Mark Ruffalo and Mickey Rourke. For Meg Ryan, Molly Ringwald, and Gilda Radner. For Ray Romano (whose TV show made me laugh out loud on airplanes). For George Raft, Claude Rains, Edward G. Robinson, and Ginger Rogers. Isabella Rossellini and Gena Rowlands. R is for two Redgraves (Vanessa and Lynn) and a Richardson (Natasha). For Burt Reynolds and Tony Randall, both of whom were dedicated to the theater. It’s for Jean Reno, one of the most interesting leading men of the last fifty years. R is for Julia Roberts and Debbie Reynolds and Redford.
S is for Woody Strode. For Dean Stockwell and Harry Dean Stanton. For Spacey and Spader and Sutherland, father and son. For Jerry Stiller. And Maggie Smith, Susan Sarandon, and Jean Simmons. For George C. Scott and Campbell Scott, Paul Scofield and John Savage. It’s for Gloria Swanson. For Kim Stanley, Eva Marie Saint, and Sissy Spacek. For two Stapletons (Jean and Maureen) and a Swank. For two Sheens (Martin and Charlie) and a Shandling. For Roy Scheider. For Tom Selleck and William Shatner. For Will Smith and Gary Sinise. Rod Steiger. For Maggie Smith. And Omar Sharif, Barbara Stanwyck, and James Stewart. For Peter Sellers, Elaine Stritch, and Meryl Streep. For Sinatra. And Streisand.
T is for Spencer Tracy. It’s for two Turners (Kathleen and Lana) and a Tomei. For Gene Tierney, Kristin Scott Thomas, and Emma Thompson (don’t you love Emma Thompson?). For Aida Turturro and John Turturro. Rip Torn and Jessica Tandy. Two men who danced their way to movie stardom, Russ Tamblyn and John Travolta. It’s for three Taylors: Robert, Rod, and of course the biggest movie star of them all, Elizabeth.
U is for Ustinov. And Blair Underwood. And, believe it or not, a pair of Ullman(n)s, Tracey and Liv.
V is for von Sydow and Jon Voight, both among my favorites. How I love Jon Voight in Deliverance.
W is for the incomparable Debra Winger. And Billy Dee Williams. For Sam Waterston and Chris Walken and Treat Williams. For Owen Wilson and Forest Whitaker. W is for two Watsons (Emma and Emily) and a Weaver (Sigourney). For Rachel Ward and Natalie Wood. It’s for Gene Wilder, Robert Wagner, Eli Wallach, Richard Widmark, and Jonathan Winters. For Winfrey, Witherspoon, and Winslet. Denzel Washington and Robin Williams. For Mare Winningham and Alfre Woodard. For the remarkable Shelley Winters. And Teresa Wright. For John Wayne. And Joanne Woodward. And Orson Welles.
X is a rating we all try to avoid.
Y is for Michael York and Chow Yun-Fat. For Loretta Young.
Z is for Zellwegger and Zeta-Jones. And Anthony Zerbe. (Zerbe, in Papillon: “How did you know that I have dry leprosy? That it isn’t contagious?” McQueen: “I didn’t.”)
I’m exhausted. But there you are. Not a bad list. And so many I left out! Maybe even on purpose? That could be a whole other book!