PAUL NEWMAN
Jan. 26, 1925-Sept. 26, 2008
By Martin Scorsese
In 1986, I had just started shooting The Color of Money and I'd designed a shot in which the camera was supposed to move in on Paul Newman as he reacted to Tom Cruise's ''sledgehammer break.'' We did a few takes; it seemed fine. The next day I looked at the dailies, and I was amazed. It was more than fine. It was everything I needed and more. And I thought: This is a star and a great actor. This man knows how to project himself so well and with such refinement that it's become second nature.
Now I was seeing it firsthand, as the movie was being made — a movie I was directing. But, of course, I'd seen it before. Many times before. I'd grown up with Newman, and I'd seen him grow up, from the promising young actor who appeared to be filling the space left by James Dean in movies like Somebody Up There Likes Me and The Left Handed Gun (and, to a certain extent, The Hustler) to one of the most quietly authoritative actors we had, in Slap Shot, Absence of Malice, and The Verdict, among others. A true modern star, who emerged as the old Hollywood was collapsing. And a great modern actor, who had honed his craft and his art to such a fine point that he could communicate a whole emotional history in a reaction shot.
Our paths crossed for the first time by mail. After I made Raging Bull, my life and my career were at a low ebb. During that time, I received two unsolicited letters of admiration that meant the world to me. One was from Robert Aldrich, a director whose pictures I'd always loved. The other was from Paul Newman, and in a way it was the more surprising of the two. Needless to say, I have always treasured that letter.
A few years later, I had a chance to work with him on The Color of Money. I was intrigued by the idea of seeing what had become of Eddie Felson from The Hustler. I was also intrigued by another idea: working with a real movie star. Not that I hadn't before, but they were my contemporaries, people I knew, in certain cases close friends. This was going to be different, and I was excited by the prospect.
He was, as I suspected, a true professional as well as an extremely dedicated artist, and his instincts were pitch-perfect. But what surprised me were his generosity and kindness. We're always hearing about what a terrific person this or that star is, but in this case it was true. He genuinely cared, and he really got to know the people around him. I remember his kindness and patience with Tom, with Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, with me. And with my dog, whose barking once woke him up out of a sound sleep, making it extremely difficult for him to shoot the next day. ''That dog is going to run your life,'' he once warned me.
We tried to find other projects to do and never quite managed to pull anything together. We did become friends, though, and I would often turn to him for advice. From time to time he'd ask me for a copy of a movie from my library. Once I sent him a tape of From the Terrace, which was one of the first pictures he and Joanne Woodward made together. He sent me a lovely note about the two of them sitting down to watch the movie and holding hands.
The last time we saw each other was right before the opening of The Aviator. There was an event at the Westport library, and then my wife and I went out for a quiet dinner with Paul and Joanne in an unpretentious local restaurant. I have a nice memory of that night, and of many other times I spent with Paul Newman, from afar and up close, on screen and as a good and trusted friend. I loved him as an actor; I loved him as a man. And I miss him very much.
Newman, 83, died of cancer in Westport, Conn.
You Might Also Like
- News Article 2008 Tributes
- Hit List Scott Brown's hit list | Scott Brown
- Sound Bites Sound Bites: 2008's best music quotes
- Sound Bites Sound Bites: 2008's best TV quotes
