James Whitmore, the
film, stage and TV actor, won a Tony, Golden Globe
and an Emmy, and nominated for two Oscars; but to younger readers of this blog, he
may be best remembered as Brooks, the gentle prison librarian in “The Shawshank
Redemption,” and as TV and radio spokesman on countless dog and plant food commercials. But he should
be remembered for his entire body of work, which spanned almost 60 years
in virtually every genre including crime noir, comedy, drama, sci-fi
and a musical. I liked him in every role he ever played, but none
more than that of John Howard Griffin, the true-life journalist who
artificially darkened his skin to pass
for a black man in the deep South in order to experience racism first
hand. Whitmore's 1964 film, "Black Like Me," was based on Griffin's book
recounting his harrowing experiences. Because Griffin was a friend from
childhood of my mom whom I knew, the movie and
Whitmore’s riveting
performance held special meaning for me.
In the ‘80s a friend and I went to see the short, bandy-legged actor give a lecture on the process of acting. He walked jauntily out onto the stage holding a stack of books, positioned himself behind the lecture, plopped the books down and began talking. After a few minutes I noticed him wince very slightly and pause for a beat, and I mentioned this to my companion, She had missed it. Whitmore continued talking but seemed to be losing his initial energy, and now could be heard nervous whispering in audience. And then, abruptly, Whitmore grabbed both sides of the lectern, bent his head down and said with a weakened voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, this has never happened to me on stage but I feel ill and must excuse myself. “The sound of a single gasp spread through the audience as he walked slowly off-stage, then silence. No one knew what to do next.
A minute or so later there was a commotion and out came -- literally bounding -- Mr. Whitmore. He was in his mid-60s, but he looked like a youngster as he galloped to his previous spot behind the lectern. Ramrod straight, he grinned to the audience and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I have just demonstrated the subject of today's lecture … ACTING.” And now a new wave of sound erupted from the audience ... laughter and applause.
I’d never seen a demonstration like that before or have since.
In the ‘80s a friend and I went to see the short, bandy-legged actor give a lecture on the process of acting. He walked jauntily out onto the stage holding a stack of books, positioned himself behind the lecture, plopped the books down and began talking. After a few minutes I noticed him wince very slightly and pause for a beat, and I mentioned this to my companion, She had missed it. Whitmore continued talking but seemed to be losing his initial energy, and now could be heard nervous whispering in audience. And then, abruptly, Whitmore grabbed both sides of the lectern, bent his head down and said with a weakened voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, this has never happened to me on stage but I feel ill and must excuse myself. “The sound of a single gasp spread through the audience as he walked slowly off-stage, then silence. No one knew what to do next.
A minute or so later there was a commotion and out came -- literally bounding -- Mr. Whitmore. He was in his mid-60s, but he looked like a youngster as he galloped to his previous spot behind the lectern. Ramrod straight, he grinned to the audience and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I have just demonstrated the subject of today's lecture … ACTING.” And now a new wave of sound erupted from the audience ... laughter and applause.
I’d never seen a demonstration like that before or have since.
No comments:
Post a Comment