A Damn Fine Cup of Culture

Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.

As Alan talked about in his Six Damn Fine Degrees instalment last week, there are very good reasons to dislike some actors even when we enjoy their performances and the films they’re in. The same is true for directors, producers, writers, and so on. Hollywood has its fair share of bigots, racists, antisemites, homophobes, abusers, and various bastards of any shape or size. And the more we find out about what went on in yesteryear’s film industry, the more skeletons pop out from the closet. This may make our feelings about some of our favourite films more complicated, but I’d agree with Alan: all in all, it’s better to know.

However, sometimes we develop irrational dislikes of the faces we see on the silver screen. I started off hating Eddie Redmayne for no better reason than, well, literally disliking his face… and, yes, his acting style and often his choice of roles. Possibly his voice as well. But I’m mostly over it. Mostly.

But for a long, long time I nursed an irrational dislike of an actor who had done even less than poor Eddie to deserve my ire. Reader: I used to hate David Morse.

At this revelation, some of you readers out there might be going: David who? David Morse is probably one of those actors whose face many would recognise without them necessarily knowing his name. People older than me might remember him from the ’80s hospital drama St. Elsewhere, but I first registered him, really registered him, when he created and released a virus that destroyed almost all of humanity. In case you don’t remember this happening: it happened – happens – will happen in 1996, and it is all recorded in that famous documentary 12 Monkeys.

Why did I develop this irrational dislike for Morse based on his relatively small part in Terry Gilliam’s reimagination of Chris Marker’s La Jetée by way of Hitchcock’s Vertigo? Certainly, they call such dislikes irrational for a reason, but irrational isn’t the same as random. Why hate Morse but not, say, Anthony Hopkins for eating the livers of census takers? Or Kathy Bates for taking a sledge hammer to James Caan’s ankle? Or Gert Fröbe, Donald Pleasance/Telly Savalas/Charles Gray, Christopher Lee, Curd Jürgens, or any of the other actors who famously played Bond villains? I can’t really put my finger on it, but there was something more personal about David Morse as Dr. Peters, perhaps because the existential despair of Bruce Willis’ character James Cole caused by the particular end of the world Cole finds himself in was so palpable and tragic – and because Dr. Peters gets away with it. (Should I have been angry at Terry Gilliam instead? His public statements of the last decade or so suggest that this might have been the saner course of action.)

But something happened to me since I learned to hate David Morse. Sure, there were films in the years that followed the 1995 release of Gilliam’s time-travel tragedy which reinforced my rancor, especially Dancer in the Dark (which may have had more to do with the film as a whole and its bullying of the audience into feeling bad, then worse, then even worse). But over time I mellowed. I was barely miffed at Morse when he played a non-hip hop variety of George “Here comes the general” Washington in John Adams. And it was probably the David Simon (it’s a conspiracy of Davids!) series Treme about post-Katrina New Orleans where I came to love him for his performance of a police officer becoming increasingly disillusioned with his city’s police corruption. The performance, much like the series, is a slow burn, but I ended up liking Treme as one of the best of Simon’s series, one that deserves to be up there with The Wire (and that, arguably, is better than that series’ fifth season). Give Morse a good script such as the ones written by Simon and his frequent collaborators and put him in a scene with Melissa Leo, and… wow.

So, since I am certain that David Morse is among our readers, here goes: I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry for disliking you as an actor because you once played an apocalypse-addled bioterrorist that made Bruce Willis and Madeleine Stowe sad. I’m sorry for maintaining this irrational dislike for too long a time. I’m sorry it took me roughly fifteen years to give you a fair chance. And now, if I see your name in the credits of a new film or series, I’ll be more likely to watch it. I suspect I’d even be able to rewatch 12 Monkeys without bearing any grudges.

Eddie Redmayne, though? Hate the guy! The way he flirted with Marilyn Monroe, the way he tried to kill Queen Elizabeth, the way he wouldn’t stop going on about empty chairs at empty tables! I’d like to see David Simon try to rehabilitate him! (Eddie, if you’re reading this: You’re cool. I don’t really hate you. But, seriously, enough with the chairs and tables, man!)