I spent my first decade in New York working at VarietyI frequented the old Park Avenue South offices and more than once found myself sharing an elevator with James Earl Jones as he traveled to and from Verizon to shoot commercials. The giant of an actor, who died today at age 93, never failed to say a warm “Good morning” or “Good afternoon,” and though I didn’t recognize his face or his imposing 6-foot-2 frame, I couldn’t mistake his sonorous voice.
His voice was the earth-shaking bass rumble that came from behind the menacing mask of Darth Vader in the Star Wars saga, starting with the original 1977 film, and the stentorian growl of Mufasa, king of the lion lands and father of Simba in The Lion King.
It was also the voice of a revered stage actor, who forged his reputation in the 1960s and 1970s, taking on the great classical roles in productions of Shakespeare in the Park. The Winter’s Tale, Othello, Troilus and Cressida, Coriolan, Hamlet And King Lear. His versatility led him to Hickey in The Iceman is ComingLennie in Of Mice and MenLopakhin in The cherry orchard and Troy Maxson in Fences.
I was able to see this masterful performance of the tragic hero in August Wilson’s 1985 masterpiece only on video at Lincoln Center’s treasured Performing Arts Library. Even without the electricity of live theater, the pathos and pride, the strength of will masking a broken spirit in Jones’s portrait of a Pittsburgh garbageman bitter about the Major League Baseball career he was denied, rang out loud and clear. It earned him the second of his three Tony Awards.
Because Jones has remained so true to his theater roots, I’ve been lucky enough to see him on stage on several occasions. The first time was when he returned to Broadway after nearly two decades away, opposite Leslie Uggams in a 2005 revival of Ernest Thompson’s play On the golden pond. Even in this creaky vehicle, Jones was majestic, rising above the standard lovable curmudgeon persona to infuse it with a dazzling intelligence, a wicked humor and a burning vulnerability when a life-threatening health issue exposes his fear of death.
In 2008, he brilliantly played the authoritarian Southern patriarch Big Daddy in an all-black, ragtag production of The Cat on a Hot Tin Roofthen returned two years later, partnering Vanessa Redgrave, their combined stature elevating the wobbly Miss Daisy and her driver.
Jones continued to work on stage until he was 85, demonstrating a discipline and stamina of eight performances a week that many actors a fraction of his age struggle to maintain.
In Gore Vidal’s election satire, The best manJones was one of two octogenarians to steal the show (the other was Angela Lansbury), playing a former president staring into the abyss of mortality but invigorated by the fight of a contentious primary race and wary of which candidate will get his support.
It was a pure delight because the…
