P.NEWMAN

text from a work in progress show exploring masculinity, and a possible antidote to its toxicity through my one-sided relationship with the late Hollywood actor Paul Newman

Paul Newman may be best known to some for his blue eyes peering out from supermarket shelves on a salad dressing bottle, but my relationship with Paul didn’t begin in Tesco. Instead, it began in my living room when my eyes met with his…pixelated eyes on a TV. When he wasn’t him but playing Butch Cassidy, on a VHS tape of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and yet through some dual mechanics of desire and identification — I fell in love.

I never met Paul. He died of lung cancer in 2008, when I was still a child. But, cinema’s image is intoxicating or whatever. With each frame rehearsed and planned meticulously, it presents a perfected image. A world more beautiful, more dramatic, more comedic than our own is sold, and for a young spongey brain this perfected image is absorbed, engrained, and completely bought.

It might be more than a case of early identification with a charming and talented actor that has led to this present-day one-sided relationship. In interviews he’s engrossing, goofy, and handsome. Off screen, his salad sauce company Newman’s Own donates all profits to charity, adding up to over $550 million since 1982. It’s not just that as a child he became my head’s version of what I should strive to be, it’s that there is nothing bad to say about him and so he continues to be.

It’s frustrating having to live life under the shadow of this man. Why couldn’t I have idealised Marlon Brando, or Matt Baker or my parents? And then be let down like everyone else when they realise their heroes are just humans, and then accept myself when I inevitably fuck up, instead of my brain overthinking and reminding me constantly of every mistake that Paul wouldn’t make. I want to find just one true flaw of him, because otherwise I think I’m going to drive myself mad trying to be better than I probably am.

OK. Now, I’m going to do a brief rundown of his biography, just in case, you don’t know who he is. Like my friend, Georgia who thought I was talking about Paul Rudd or Polly who suspected I meant Paul Simon. I didn’t.

And don’t think this is just a skimmed Wikipedia article, I’m literally doing an exhibition about him. I’ve watched the movies. I’ve read books on him. Seriously, test me. Don’t ask me anything about concept or art, ask me trivia about Paul Newman. I don’t care about art. I care about Paul.

Newman was born in Shaker Heights, Ohio in 1925. He was kicked out of University for denting the college president’s car with a runaway beer keg. (Yes, bad. However also, slightly very much quite cool, so doesn’t count as a flaw). Newman grew out of his frat-boyishness when he joined the Navy during WW2. Originally trained as a pilot, he was shifted to radioman when he was discovered to be colour-blind (again, not really a flaw). After a fluke ear infection (a fluke! not even reoccurring) kept him from flying in a mission that led to the death of his entire detail, Newman left the war determined to not waste his life. This led him to acting, studying in New York at the Actors Studio, where he also embraced New York’s liberal politics.

His feature film debut came with The Silver Chalice in 1954, a film deemed by Newman ‘the worst motion picture produced during the 1950s’, to such extent that when it was later shown on TV Newman bought a newspaper advert warning viewers not to watch it (Which for me, cancels out any contribution towards a bad movie). Not to be thwarted, he continued working to more success through the 1950’s (stand outs being Somebody Up There Likes Me, 1956, and a diluted Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, 1958) and gained prominence as part of the second wave of Hollywood actors. Newman would unsuccessfully get caught in casting feuds with Marlon Brando and James Dean (Brando won On the Waterfront, and Dean East of Eden), but while Brando self-destructed and Dean died young, Paul Newman survived.

The 60s marked his ‘H’ films, The Hustler, Hud, Hombre, and he ended the decade with my favourites of his roles as Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy. He had 85 screen credits, consistently testing his range and maturing as an actor as he naturally aged. Highlights of his credits not mentioned include, The Color of Money, The Verdict, Road to Perdition and his last role as Doc Hud in Cars.

Honestly reading about this man is infuriating. I wish I hadn’t. Stop now or you too will suffer the curse of Paul (you end the curse by doing an exhibition about him).

Here’s a quick list of things: He’s been nominated for 10 Academy Awards (winning for Color of Money in 1986), is the Godfather of Jake Gyllenhaal (apparently not Maggie though) raced in the 1999 Le Man’s and came 2nd, was the inspiration for the superhero Green Lantern, gave Susan Sarandon part of his salary when the studio refused equal pay (Twilight), #19 on Richard Nixon’s List of enemies, made loo roll with Robert Redford’s face on, and owns the ‘Hole in the Wall Gang’ summer camp for sick children.

How can anyone live up this?

I keep trying to find a fault. Maybe because it stops my head listing mine. Best I’ve got is that those sparkling blue eyes were colour-blind. And that he couldn’t dance- yet did anyway. Which is even better. Here’s a quote, from Newman, which I think speaks to this:

‘I’d like to be remembered as a guy who tried — tried to be part of his times, tried to help people communicate with one another, tried to find some decency in his own life, tried to extend himself as a human being’

Maybe the key to Newman’s uncorrupted life is trying. Trying to be better. And it’s through this he becomes a possible antidote to toxic masculinity; because he doesn’t sound like it on paper, apart from acting his only loves were fast cars and beer. And his wife of over 50 years, Joanne Woodward (also a very good actor, but someone else can do that exhibition). A marriage this lengthy starting in 1950’s Hollywood is a rarity. Newman’s reputation is as faithful and strong in his convictions. He marched with Martin Luther King, stood up early for gay rights and same sex marriage. He protested the Vietnam war and nuclear arm race. Even with beer he switched favs from Coors to Budweiser when he discovered their right-wing politics.

So maybe, I shouldn’t be getting hung up on not living up to Paul. Maybe I should be hung up on the idea of extending oneself to other people and doing so with conviction. Maybe I should dance more.

Maybe it’s the trying the counts.

Thank you Paul for trying and succeeding.

Matt x

www.mattfarrart.com / mattfarr.art@gmail.com
exhibited with : www.drawing-life.com