Paul Newman @100: The Early Roles (1954-1959)
On January 26th, it'll be a century since Paul Leonard Newman came into this world. To celebrate this centennial, various writers from our Film Experience team will explore some of the blue-eyed star's best performances and most interesting pictures. There'll be some analysis of Oscar-honored triumphs, perchance a look at his directorial career, re-evaluations and sweet farewells as we remember one of the greats. As one dives into Newman's life on screen, feel free to explore the actor's tag on the site and re-discover some of the many, many pieces we've already posted about him over the years. From Oscar histories to overviews of his creative partnership with Joanne Woodward, there's a lot to enjoy.
For now, let's go back to the start, where everything began. Let's look at Paul Newman's early roles, those 1950s projects that saw him go from a nobody to a veritable, no doubts about it, Hollywood star…
Before he was ever put in front of a movie camera, Paul Newman was a navy man who served in the Pacific Theater during World War II. That experience would come to inform some of his performances later on, but before we get to those, one must talk about theater. The stage, not the screen, was young Newman's true passion. He was already enamored with that idea before the war, so it's no surprise that he chose to pursue acting when returning to civilian life. This artistic path started at Kenyon College, Ohio, and continued as Newman found a place in a number of summer stock companies in 1949. Then came Yale and, finally, the New York Actors Studio under Lee Strasberg.
I recommend Ethan Hawke's The Last Movie Stars if you want to learn more about Newman's first years as a stage performer. It was a strange period for the young would-be star, one marked by a sense of inadequacy that could sour into outright self-loathing. Still, he persevered and, around the early 50s, some exciting things started to happen. Like many NY-based theater performers of his era, Newman found opportunities in the nascent business of TV, specifically those special broadcasts that saw acclaimed plays be made available to the masses like never before. There, he got to work with such future big names as Sidney Lumet, Arthur Penn, John Frankenheimer, Jason Robards, Eli Wallach, Sydney Pollack, and Joanne Woodward.
Still, no matter how big he got on TV and in the New York theater scene – Newman originated the roles of Alan in Picnic and Chance Wayne in Sweet Bird of Youth – the movies were where he was destined to be. That particular journey started in 1954 when he shot his first picture and was screen-tested for East of Eden opposite a flirtatious James Dean. The former would be a sore spot for the rest of Newman's life, as he often disparaged his involvement in The Silver Chalice. A sword and sandal bible epic of its vintage, it's almost indistinguishable from a cadre of similar projects, only notable for its avant-garde art direction and glorious Franz Waxman score.
Well, I suppose The Silver Chalice is also notable for how boring it manages to be despite starring a young Paul Newman in skimpy little togas. Alas, neither his beauty nor acting chops could compensate for the lousy material. And to be honest, his thespian qualities weren't quite there yet, resulting in a sullen performance that's only interesting insofar as a star's hostility towards his own movie can be. The East of Eden screen test would prove more fruitful. If nothing else, it planted a seed in Hollywood executives' minds, linking Newman to the new generation of hot young stars coming out of the theater world – James Dean, specifically.
In 1955, Newman was a last-minute replacement for Dean in a musical version of Our Town that aired on NBC. A nothing performance, it was still better than his Silver Chalice turn, in part because it tapped into the young actor's charisma, his magnetism, sexual or otherwise. After Dean died in September 1955, Newman stepped into another of the other man's projects, playing a washed-up boxer in a TV adaptation of Hemingway's The Battler. Nearly unrecognizable in the present-day portions of the narrative, Newman disappears into the role. Sure, you notice the strain of a young up-and-comer trying to prove himself, but it works.
The Battler would bring two other projects Newman's way, this time on the big screen. First came Somebody Up There Likes Me, a Rocky Graziano biopic that was tailor-made for James Dean and, indeed, developed as his star vehicle. Sadly, unlike in Our Town and The Battler, the other man's shadow looms over Newman as the delinquent turned world champion. You can see him try so hard to be like Dean, or an off-brand Brando, that it's like you're watching a performance of a performance. Still, it proved to be his breakout role, and the picture was a commercial success. It's also a handsome piece of filmmaking, all things considered, with Oscar-winning black-and-white cinematography.
The other role to come out of The Battler was that of Billy the Kid in Arthur Penn's The Left-Handed Gun. Though the movie only came out in 1958, it had been in development since Dean's short-lived heyday, meant as a project to showcase him within a Western context. Instead, it became a Paul Newman vehicle, as Penn had already directed him to great effect in The Battler. Moreover, the young thespian had played Billy the Kid in one of those TV broadcasts, acting out the outlaw's final days according to a script penned by Gore Vidal. Perchance because he had that background work in place, Newman delivered one of his best early performances.
It's a disarming turn, full of innocence and regret where one would expect the gun-slinging machismo of the Old West. It helps that Penn and cinematographer J. Peverell Marley figured out something that many filmmakers would use and abuse in Newman's career – shine a bright light in front of those blue peepers and get the camera up close and personal - instant movie magic. But beauty aside, the performance is notable for how it seems to build upon Newman's previous Hollywood gigs. Stuff like The Rack where he used his war experiences to inform the portrayal of a traumatized soldier, The Helen Morgan Story where he's way too self-consciously sexy in a "bad boy" sort of way, or a solid but unexciting romantic role opposite Jean Simmons in Until They Sail.
That being said, with each movie, you see Newman grow as an actor, learning how to be comfortable in his skin and take control of his roles rather than the other way around. 1958 was a banner year in that regard, well beyond The Left-Handed Gun. After all, that same year, he delivered the quintessential expression of his star persona as a sex symbol, the scorching Long Hot Summer, where the man's chemistry with Joanne Woodward is enough to set the screen ablaze. It's also part and parcel of a fascinating performance, his first tour de force, and a worthy winner of the Best Actor prize at Cannes.
If nothing else, even if he had been a flop, the picture would mark his color film debut. Yes, for the first time in history, the world would finally see the blue of those eyes projected on a big screen, shining with impossible depths of yearning and angst, maybe an impish seductiveness too. But, of course, that wasn't the work that would get him his first Oscar nomination. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof did the honors, though the project frustrated Newman to no end. Censorship and studio demands meant that Tennessee Williams' play arrived in movie theaters bent out of shape if not wholly castrated. Unable to play Brick's queerness, the star found himself caught between a rock and a hard place.
The resulting performance oscillates between stiffness and rage, a fire forever wavering from tamed cinders to a full-on explosion. In the end, these elements become more feature than fault, injecting a twisting volatility into the heart of a sweaty Southern melodrama that needs such vitality. In contrast, Newman's last '58 stunner was Rally 'Round the Flag, Boys!, a lovely farce where, instead of tense unease, the star leans on his comedic side and on his chemistry with Joanne Woodward. If you have ever wondered how and why Paul Newman became a star, watch that 1958 quartet, and you'll surely understand. Still, before the decade drew to a close, there was one more movie to get in theaters.
In 1959, Newman only appeared in The Young Philadelphians, a literary adaptation directed by Vincent Sherman, with gorgeous silvery cinematography and an Oscar-nominated supporting turn by Robert Vaughn. The picture drags a bit by the end, and its societal observations are never as incisive as the storytellers presume. And yet, Newman is in top form, not really showy, but entirely at ease and in control of how he's perceived, sometimes insouciant, always engaging. Even the slips into more hot-headed theatrics feel grounded in a characterization that never strikes a false note. Plus, he's got great rapport with a nervous Chihuahua. Now that's a movie star!
Next on our Paul Newman Centennial Tribute: his 60s classics and more Oscar nominations.
Reader Comments (2)
I was hoping you'd write about Paris Blues, but I just realized it's from '61.
I'd also love to read more of your thoughts on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I've always found it a mostly overacted, campy mess and could never understand why it's a beloved classic. As far as Williams adaptations go, Taylor is much better the following year in Suddenly, Last Summer and Newman gives a stronger performance three years later in Sweet Bird of Youth.
Frank Zappa -- I've written about those films before, though I didn't go into much detail regarding the '61 classic. Let me share some links...
PARIS BLUES
http://thefilmexperience.net/blog/2022/8/30/ranking-the-woodwardnewman-collaborations.html
CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF
http://thefilmexperience.net/blog/2020/5/1/did-paul-newman-win-for-the-wrong-movie.html
http://thefilmexperience.net/blog/2020/8/4/almost-there-burl-ives-in-cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof.html