Since the silent era in the early years of the 20th century, Hollywood has generated a seemingly endless parade of leading men and leading ladies, many of whom have become iconic in the decades since their passing. In parallel to this procession is an even longer line of character actors. Their jobs are a little harder. They typically lack the square jaws or the feminine allure of their counterparts at the top of the marquee, and as such, their names are sometimes less remembered.
But Robert Duvall, who passed away last weekend at the age of 95, was unforgettable. His career spanned seventy years, and no matter the setting – stage, screen or television – he consistently raised the bar for everyone around him and made every production better just by being a part of it.
A comprehensive list of Duvall’s film credits would be way too long to include here, but even the highlight reel speaks volumes: To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), M*A*S*H (1970), The Godfather (Parts I and II, 1972 and 1974), Network (1976), Apocalypse Now (1979), Tender Mercies (1983), The Natural (1984), Falling Down (1993), Sling Blade (1996).
There were plenty more, along with an extensive list of television credits. Throughout the 1960s, he appeared in episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Untouchables, The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, The Fugitive, The Wild Wild West, The F.B.I., and other popular series.
One of my favorites – and perhaps my all-time favorite – was his portrayal of Augustus “Gus” McCrae in Lonesome Dove, the 1989 television miniseries based on the 1985 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the same name by Larry McMurtry. It’s the story of a 2,500-mile cattle drive from south Texas to Montana in the late 1800s and the two retired Texas Rangers who lead the team, McCrae and his longtime partner, Woodrow Call, played by Tommy Lee Jones.
For those too young to remember, the miniseries was a format of primetime network television that flourished in the 1970s and ‘80s. Often adapted from a work of contemporary popular fiction, the series would tell the story in a limited number of episodes spanning a week or two within the larger season of programming.
Some offerings were considered “good television.” Some were kind of trashy. Lonesome Dove was a cut above. Way above. Directed by Simon Wincer, an Australian filmmaker with a profound understanding of the American western, it was a work of art – a big, sweeping story that spanned six-an-a-half hours over four episodes. It was worthy of a theatrical release, but it just happened to be available in our living rooms.
I was 25 when it first aired on the CBS network in February of 1989. I watched the first episode on a portable black and white TV in my studio apartment in Shaker Heights, Ohio. Given the expansive cinematography, I knew right away that it was probably better off seen in color, so I drove to my parents’ house for the next three nights to watch the remaining episodes.
It was the first western — feature-length film, TV series or novel — that completely pulled me in. I watched it with my dad, a life-long fan of the genre who had spent countless Saturday afternoons some forty-five or fifty years earlier watching scores of B westerns in his local movie house on Cleveland’s east side. In the end, I’m not sure which one of us enjoyed it more.
Duvall’s portrayal of McCrae is loquacious, wry, full of home-spun charm, wit and wisdom. He’s also lightning-quick with his mind, his fists and his guns when the situation demands, as one would expect from a veteran Texas Ranger. The actor’s Emmy nomination for the performance was one of nineteen that the series received overall. It won seven.
A week or two after watching the series, I picked up the 950-page paperback edition of McMurtry’s novel and blasted through it in record time. I was happy to discover that Wincer and his cast got it right. If the book isn’t on every list of Ten Best Western Novels Ever Written, it should be.
Just last year, I watched Lonesome Dove again for the first time in thirty-seven years, this time with my wife. I enjoyed it just as much as I did the first time, and she – who had watched very few westerns in her lifetime – was absolutely enthralled, due in large part to Gus McCrae’s rough-edged but irrepressible charm.
Her experience was not as surprising as it might seem. You don’t have to be a fan of westerns to appreciate and enjoy this series (or the book that it’s based on). Everything about this adventure story is human and compelling from beginning to end – sort of like a version of The Odyssey set in the 19th-century American West – and Duvall and Jones are front and center in all of it. Duvall was 27 years into his film career at the time. He still had a long way to go, but I consider Lonesome Dove one of his finest moments.
The New York Times said the series “revitalized both the miniseries and the western genre, both of which had been considered dead for several years,” while The Houston Chronicle claimed that it “may be the best western ever made.” But The Miami Herald said it best, declaring the overall production “so good it will make you cry.”
It nearly did when I first watched it more than 35 years ago, and again just last year. And with Gus McCrae having taken his final ride into the Montana sunset, it certainly would now.