Name a comparable actor, or someone whose qualities remind you of Donald Sutherland.
Anyone?
Difficult, no? I doubt there is one, certainly not with the same lucky combination of physical traits and vocal singularity.
In no particular order: the blue eyes, the long, narrow Modigliani face, the suave lankiness, the glorious upside-down “V” eyebrows that made 57 varieties of dialogue both sinister and amusing. And, once heard, never forgotten, the mellow-cello voice, luxuriantly authoritative, trustworthy when needed. Sutherland sold a lot of products in commercial voiceovers after his stardom; I was halfway out of the house and heading to the grocery store 10 seconds into his first Simply Orange orange juice ad.
But Sutherland’s career called for plenty of less trustworthy characters, always striking without grandstanding, sneakily human when the material was up for supporting a hungry actor’s efforts. Sutherland died Thursday in Miami after an illness at the age of 88, and seeing “The Hunger Games” cited in so many obituaries is testament to what he brought to President Snow, leader of a bleak future America. He could, and did, deliver a lot more than surface villainy.
The Canadian-born actor was a sickly child, deeply self-conscious about the size of his ears, and his looks in general. Confronted by young Donald with the question “Am I good looking?,” his mother took a few long seconds to find an answer. Which was: “Your face has character.” He hid in his room the rest of the day and, nearly a lifetime later, he acknowledged to “60 Minutes” and interviewer Anderson Cooper that he never got over it.
Yet she was right about the “character” part. Never nominated for an Academy Award, Sutherland’s work got plenty of respect but not the industry recognition it deserved. We take actors with long, interesting careers for granted. Was he too self-effacing? For Oscar races, sure. But he courted subtlety by instinct, likely because he knew what his face and voice brought to a role without effort.
It was different on stage. A quarter-century ago I saw Sutherland in dramatist Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt’s “Enigma Variations,” Sutherland’s first stage project in nearly 20 years. Sutherland seemed a little tense, and cautious; the play didn’t quite hold up its end of the bargain.
By then Sutherland had been playing enigma variations his entire career. Living in London in the 1960s, working in a variety of Hammer horror films, he took on various unstable supporting roles — usually, as Sutherland noted, “artistic” types. By chance he ended up with a scene of his own in the brutally popular Hollywood smash “The Dirty Dozen” (1967), for which he was hired (small part, but he made the most of it) after someone saw him on the Roger Moore TV series “The Saint.”
His sly comic insolence launched him. He and Elliott Gould co-starred in Robert Altman’s brazen, nose-thumbing “M*A*S*H” (1970), and both actors — utterly perplexed by the improvisatory working methods on set — wanted off the picture. These things happen. It happened with Cary Grant and director Leo McCarey on “The Awful Truth” in 1937, which proves that some mighty fine actors are easily rattled by people who wing it.
With no concern for completism, here are five examples of his work that came to mind for me.
Hawkeye Pierce, “M*A*S*H” (1970): Later in 1970, Sutherland also played the gleefully anachronistic beatnik in “Kelly’s Heroes,” a much dumber war comedy. “M*A*S*H,” the movie that inspired the TV series, has many of the same adolescent impulses behind it but it’s an infinitely greater picture. I love the throwaway moment when Sutherland, in the operating room with Elliott Gould, identifies himself as Dr. Jekyll and Gould’s character, Trapper John, as Mr. Hyde. When he hits the words “Mister” and “Hyde,” up goes that fantastic eyebrow for choice comic punctuation.
Matthew Bennell, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (1978): I’ve always been in the bag for Philip Kaufman’s remake of the 1956 science fiction thriller, largely because of the rich dualities of trusted friend/shrieking alien afforded Sutherland. Also, for just how great Sutherland and Brooke Adams are together, as in the scene where their characters, work colleagues with a hint of something more, share dinner at Matthew’s place and Adams does her googly-eyed trick to prove she’s still human. It’s a beguilingly weird moment and Sutherland’s reaction is pure delight.
Calvin Jarrett, “Ordinary People” (1980): It is famously difficult for even a first-rate actor to play a good-hearted, essentially passive character. Director Robert Redford initially cast Gene Hackman in the role of the Lake Forest father straining to find a way to connect with his guilt-ridden son, and to finally sever ties with his emotional-lockdown wife. Hackman, who fell out of the project over money, likely would’ve brought a stronger current of tension to Jarrett. But Sutherland’s very touching in the part, and his final scene with Timothy Hutton is handled with tact, grace and the emotion that has eluded the character for the near-entirety of the film.
X, “JFK” (1991): In Oliver Stone’s quasi-insane pileup of conspiracy theories (I mean, pick your favorite hundred) Sutherland is deployed as the unidentified government official who goes simply by the letter “X,” and who lays it all out in a 16-minute granite hunk of near-monologue for Kevin Costner’s Jim Garrison. Sutherland worked on the material for months to memorize it and, crucially, to make it seem worthy of the screen time. His sheer enthusiasm for the web of deceit he’s relaying becomes the relish of the justifiably paranoid.
Judge Parker, “Lawmen: Bass Reeves” (2023): I include this not because it’s Sutherland’s finest hour, but his final screen appearance. His breathing had grown labored by this time, his mobility limited. But like so many of the enigma variations the actor created for us, this one melded sympathy, understanding, officiousness and a quality of mystery. In the third episode of “Bass Reeves,” the judge is swearing in David Oyeolo’s character of the real-life U.S. Marshall, with the warning that in his corner of Arkansas, “few men survive long enough to be good at it.” The same can be said of actors and their careers. This one survived plenty long, for good reason. To understate it, Donald Sutherland-style: He was pretty good at it.
Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.
