He was sick of playing tough guys, so the photo I chose to post is of the kind of role he wanted to be playing more often.
Even with just a handful of lines, with his enormous presence, Michael Madsen could imbue his characters with depth. There was an innate violence in his demeanor that made him instantly believable in tough guy roles. Who could have played Budd like that in Kill Bill? Or Grouch Douglas in the deleted massacre scene at Minnie's Haberdashery in The Hateful Eight?
Robert Mitchum, Charles Bronson, Robert Shaw, Lee Marvin, Sterling Hayden. Madsen had that. All the other younger actors who did are now gone: Ray Liotta, Rutger Hauer, Chris Penn, Tom Sizemore. Mickey Rourke, sadly, doesn't have the right look anymore. William Forsythe and Tom Berenger, maybe? I'm unconvinced. Madsen was truly the last of the Mohicans. I'm grieving him and cinema as we know it.
Movies (a poem by Michael Madsen)
Remember when all the men on the ship said good night to Mr. Roberts?
Or when Shane rode off over the mountain?
Kirk Douglas trying for the note on the trumpet.
Jimmy Cagney screaming on top of the tower.
Bob Mitchum going after those kids,
and Humphrey Bogart pulling off leeches.
Marlon Brando finding the dead pigeons on his roof.
Gloria Swanson walking down those fucking stairs,
and Betty Davis testing the weight of a rifle.
Chuck Heston finding his mother and sister,
and Charlie Bronson getting shot in The Magnificent Seven.
Burt Lancaster with his rose tattoo,
and Burt Lancaster on Alcatraz.
Kirk Douglas coughing in his room with Jo Van Fleet ,
and Kirk Douglas looking at his dead horse in the rain.
Lee Marvin in the Twilight Zone,
and Lee Marvin in Point Blank.
Mr. Blonde dancing,
and Dennis Hopper with the gas mask.
Steve McQueen laughing in the backseat of a Mercury,
and Steve McQueen smiling at the engine.
Tim Roth as the only interesting monkey,
and Harry Dean walking and making Paris Texas.
Watching Paul Newman eating those eggs,
and Paul Newman telling George C. Scott that he wasn't getting any more money.
Karl Malden telling Marlon he was gonna hang,
and Karl Malden talking to Blanche and lighting that bent cigarette on the waterfront.
Jack playing the piano.
Jimmy Stewart loving Donna Reed,
and Jimmy Stewart doing just about anything.
Fonda in the Dust Bowl,
and Fonda Jr. on the motorcycle.
Lon Chaney with a thousand faces,
and Lon Chaney Jr. running around with Frankenstein and Creature Features on TV in Evanston.
Leaves blowing across the floor of the empty summer home while Monty Clift goes to the chair.
Jake La Motta shadow boxing in slow motion at the beginning of Raging Bull,
and Anthony Quinn yelling and dancing across the ring dressed like a crazy Indian at the end of end of Requiem for a Heavyweight.
We are all on the run,
from the richest Maharaja to the lowest dirty stinking pedophile.
The big, the small, the smart, the dumb, the right, the wrong, the lost, the found, the forgotten, the remembered, the free, and all the long timers.
All on the run one way or another.
Yesterday, I was the answer to 46 down in a crossword puzzle in the LA Times.
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