A Tribute to Robert Duvall

Today I pay tribute to the recently departed Robert Duvall.

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Scott's Self-Indulgent Movie Podcast · Episode 1071: A Tribute to Robert Duvall

The movie world lost a titan yesterday, as legendary actor Robert Duvall passed away peacefully at home, at the age of 95. Which is wild to imagine since Duvall was in films since the sixties and only very recently stopped performing on screen.

So today I wanted to highlight what made Duvall so special and what his life and career meant to me.

At first glance, Duvall was a stalwart of classic cinema, starring in more iconic films in his career than four or five other Academy Award winners including The Godfather trilogy, Apocalypse Now, To Kill A Mockingbird, M*A*S*H*, Network, The Natural, and John Wanyne's True Grit.

The key element here? He wasn't the star...but he always gave the movie exactly what it needed.

Perhaps the two best examples are his collaborations with Francis Ford Coppola. The Godfather films are ruled by their distinctive and often explosive lead and supporting performances. The mumbled wisdom of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino's swings between pensive and furious, James Caan's abrasive Sonny, John Cazale's pathetic Fredo. And while all of this is swinging around, we have Duvall as Tom Hagen, operating as the emotional anchor and conscience. Both omnipresent and removed. Which is exactly what you need when the rest of the cast are brooding, making wild acting choices, or exploding on screen.

And based on his later career, he seems honored and enthralled to have been a part of it, offering his voice and credibility to multiple Godfather video games.

Cut to Apocalypse Now and Duvall is brought in for a glorified cameo...who delivers one of the most quoted and parodied lines in cinema history "I Love the Smell of Napalm" in the morning, on top of about five others. A dyed in the wool example of a military masculine bravado that is both infectious and crucial to establishing the disconnect between the horrors of war and those carrying out the war. Shirtless and talking about surfing as his men carry out a series of atrocities in the background.

A role so distinctive he earned an Oscar nomination despite appearing in one scene.

It's very easy to see why Tom Cruise, who worked with Duvall on Days of Thunder would bring the legendary actor in for a bit part as a gun shop owner for his Jack Reacher movie. If you asked him to make the audience laugh. He would. If you needed him to convey authority, even for a scene, he'd do that too. He refused to phone in a single performance and seemed to revel in the opportunity to layer in humanity to every cop, cowboy and military type he played across his storied career.

And if you just so happened to want a barn-burner of a legal drama performance, he'd come in, rain down hellfire, and get another Oscar nomination as he did for A Civil Action and The Judge.

Then there's the starring roles.

These were fewer and far between in Duvall's illustrious career, likely due to Duvall not fulfilling a "leading man" image, but when he did, he'd give you Oscar nominated gold.

The odd man out in this bunch is The Great Santini, an underseen 1979 flick with Duvall starring as a militaristic father figure who is the hard-edged catalyst to a tough coming-of-age film. It's a stirring presentation of toxic masculinity that seems to operate more as control of one man's self-image that seems to deny his own humanity...until the very end.

Whereas the other two films, Tender Mercies and The Apostle feel like companion pieces about the power of connection, redemption and faith. 

Mac Sledge and Apostle EF are birds of feather. Talented, charismatic men carrying demons of past failures, past relationships, and the men they used to be. Failures that shape them and the love and connection that pushes them to be better men who use their gifts for others.

And if I'm being perfectly honest, redemption stories for alcoholic country singers and Petecostal preachers aren't my bag. At first glance this feels like the trite, love and faiths heals all, messaging that drives me up a wall when I encounter it in the real world.

But Duvall's performances make these movies work. His charisma. His humanity. His failures. His pain. His attempts at redemption. Each of which center around taking action, big or small, to be better. One day and one apology at a time. Taking the time to build back and earn a life worth living, even if he doesn't feel he deserves it.

It's a formula so effective, Jeff Bridges was able to get an Oscar trophy of his own with a familiar formula with Crazy Heart...and of course Duvall showed up in that movie as well.

I'll circle back to Mercies, not just because it's the film that got Duvall an Oscar, but because it connects to something deeper.

A lot has rightly be made about Duvall's dedication to the role, racking up more than 600 miles of travel throughout Texas to play country music and familiarize himself with the accents. But when the film was distributed it got very little promotion. Duvall's response was that the studio didn't get country music.

And I think there's something deeper there. Because whether he ever said it directly, the real heart of country music, of storytelling, and movies isn't just a cowboy hat plus the four key words every modern country track seems to celebrate (beers, trucks and small town living). It's life. Dealing with the pain of being a flawed person and trying to feel comfortable with comfort and with happiness. Sitting with that discomfort and doing your best in spite of you and the world's faults.

Whether he was playing moral or immoral men, Duvall was so good at conveying the weight his characters carried and the facades they would fight to maintain a brave face. But when given the chance, he'd always give you the desperately human center at his character's core and that will always stick with me.