There is no shortage of icons in this world. We read their obituaries regularly. But it was no mere icon who died Saturday. In a world full of legends, there was only one Paul Newman. We didn’t lose an icon; we lost
His passing signifies an end to a certain kind of star, a certain kind of era for cinema. Unlike so many of his contemporaries, icons such as Marlon Brando or Charlton Heston, Newman’s stature as an actor or star never diminished. He aged with dignity, continually honing his craft. He was an actor’s actor, a star’s star.
He encompassed the wish-list we desire for all our celebrities. He had talent, good looks, a sense of humor, and charisma. And my God, he personified cool. Yet it was his integrity, political activism, philanthropy, modesty, and devotion to wife and family that separated him from the pack. The man served as a model for what true talent and fortune could—and should—strive for: the improvement of both his art and society.
Simply said, he wasn’t just a great actor. He was a great man. And a damn fine cook.
I leave you now with one of his most superb moments on film, and one of the best monologues in American cinema.
