Donald Sutherland, one of the most consistent, sure-handed, and prolific actors of the last sixty years, left us a few weeks ago. One of the signature performers of the New Hollywood era, we were remiss in not previously punching his ticket for admission to the Mid Century Cinema pantheon. In the decade of the 1970s (which we will extend to include 1980 for reasons that will become be obvious), Sutherland appeared in thirty feature films, including several enduring New Hollywood landmarks—all without turning in a subpar performance.
An appreciation of Sutherland’s immense gifts as an actor require a close attention to detail. Not one to chew the scenery, his reputation rests on refined, nuanced performances, as opposed to outsized exhibitions designed to bring the house down. An embodiment of the less is more credo, Sutherland was capable of communicating a broad range of emotions with subtle facial expressions, understated gestures, and the virtuoso modulation of his vocal range—I think I will just go just go ahead and assert that Sutherland was the greatest voice actor of his generation (do drop me a note if you disagree).
Despite fashioning a distinguished career that continued apace over the past four decades, Sutherland is best and properly remembered for his seventies films. He appeared in five movies in 1970 alone, including the comedy Start the Revolution without Me, opposite Gene Wilder, and as the titular Alex in Paul Mazursky’s sophomore effort, Alex in Wonderland, which was shot by László Kovács and featured Ellen Burstyn. The following year, an extended cameo appearance yielded one of the best scenes in Little Murders (directed by Alan Arkin, written by Jules Feiffer, and presumably done as a favor for his friend Elliott Gould); Sutherland was also among the notable characters who populated Bernardo Bertolucci’s sprawling epic 1900 (1976), and he took leading roles for John Schlesinger (The Day of the Locust, 1975) and Federico Fellini (Fellini’s Casanova, 1976).
In addition, although one of our many rules of thumb (actually this one is closer to an iron law) is “we don’t know these people,” Sutherland nevertheless does come across, in his public appearances and personal commitments, as a heck of a guy. A committed leftist back when that was genuinely risky and way cool (not performatively strident and chillingly censorious—take note, you kids out there), Sutherland was a driving force (with one-time paramour Jane Fonda and other notables) behind the FTA (“Free the Army,” or colloquially, with a more vulgar F), the anti-Vietnam war barnstorming troupe that entertained G.I.s in an implicit rebuke to the gung-ho Bob Hope; he subsequently co-produced the film version of those events. And with fellow lefties Fonda, Peter Boyle, and Howard Hesseman, Sutherland also co-produced and starred in the extremely earnest, politically committed, and not very good Steelyard Blues (1973).
But it is a rare film that was not enhanced by Sutherland’s presence. Regarding Blood Relatives (1978), a minor Claude Chabrol, which is very solid after a sluggish first third, our old notes refer to an “excellent Sutherland”; assessing The Great Train Robbery (1978), we’re with Ebert (“Sutherland . . . is [Sean] Connery’s perfect partner); and, as for Animal House (1978), I can report that when lecturing on the existential reasoning behind what gives money its value, I quote directly from Sutherland’s perfectly delivered (if inappropriately venued) after-hours, cannabis fueled, mind-bending lecture.
Ultimately, however, one does not gain entry to the Hall of Fame for being very good very often. And so here are five sensational performances from the 1970s, (ish), that admit Sutherland into the pantheon of the New Hollywood greats—and on the first ballot.
5) Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978) Philip Kaufman’s remake of Don Siegel’s classic Cold War inflected science-fiction thriller, has been a tad over-praised (it has somewhat less to say than the original, and somewhat less coherently). It is, however, quite an excellent suspenser, anchored by Sutherland in the lead, well supported by an always fascinating Leonard Nimoy, Brooke Adams, and a young Jeff Goldblum. But Sutherland carries this movie, who turns in what Richard Schickel described as “an energetic, intelligent, emotionally rangy performance.”
4) MASH (1970) The fact that MASH checks in at number four on this list should tell you something about the top three—this was the film that (justly) established director Robert Altman and actors Elliott Gould, and Sutherland (the original Hawkeye Pierce) as major New Hollywood players (and helped launch the careers of a half dozen others; this was also Robert Duvall’s breakthrough after ten years of dues paying). The story goes that Sutherland and Gould tried – and failed – to get Altman fired from the picture, and the rest, as they say, for all hands on deck, is history.
3) Don’t Look Now (1973) You want range? Fine. Here’s some range. I’m hard pressed to come up with the wrenching emotion that Sutherland’s character doesn’t experience in this beautiful, mesmerizing, rather unsettling movie, via Director Nicholas Roeg from the Daphne Du Maurier story, opposite the (also excellent) Julie Christie. Even when Sutherland uncharacteristically (but very appropriately) “goes big” here he does it with class and style (I’m thinking especially of the overpowering opening sequence). And speaking of class, that allegedly boundary-pushing sex scene which everybody breathlessly gossips about is, much more importantly, a master class in cinematic storytelling.
2) Klute (1971) As we have written previously, Klute is Jane Fonda’s movie, and it is entirely about her character, Bree. But Sutherland, playing a character with no backstory in apparently affectless pursuit of a mystery that the movie could not care less about, turns in a bravura performance—without ever once coming close to losing his cool (or mussing his hair). Yet as director-producer Alan J. Pakula noted, “Donald gave the subtext of obsession.” Also note the performance – entirely non-vocal – during the movie’s crucial post-seduction scene, and his interactions with various figures in the New York City underground (including Roy Scheider) as he pursues his investigation.
1) Ordinary People (1980) A lot of hipsters dump on this movie, because they feel that Bob Redford (yes, we’re that close) took home the academy award for directing that should have gone to Martin Scorsese for Raging Bull. Since I don’t put much stock in awards shows, I can look past that and see a stunning, riveting film: impeccably directed, beautifully written, and featuring outstanding performances from a deep, talented cast. And none of them is better than Sutherland – who wasn’t even nominated for an award, but who turns in the greatest performance of his career. The evolution of his character, with the key turning points of his visit to the physiatrist (Judd Hirsch) and then, finally, a confrontation with his wife (Mary Tyler Moore), is little short of heartbreaking.
