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So you've hopefully noticed that I try not to burden people on this distribution with over-long messages. Terseness is all. But I am moved today to tell you about the great Chicago-born actor Robert Ryan, who was born on November 11, 1909. Today we know a lot more about the man, thanks to a terrific new article by J.R. Jones in the Chicago Reader, based on a long, autobiographical letter that Ryan had sent to his children.
As Ryan's daughter tells Jones, "You wonder, looking at some of the parts that he played in movies, what it was in him that was able to access those really dark, scary characters." The menace that Ryan was able to convey did feel more like a reality than a portrayal. Especially in black-and-white, his eyes were so dark that something infinite -- at times infinitely scary -- seemed to lie behind them. Yet the effect was usually far more magnetic than repellent, which only made it more frightening, of course.
I was moved by the article's account of a 1931 tunnel tragedy at 22nd Street in Chicago, and then it occurred to me that my father, who was 19 at the time, was living in Little Italy just a few blocks away. Though his childhood was very different from Robert Ryan's, my dad also became a dedicated actor (though not a professional). And like Ryan, he was half Irish. They had some things in common, including those dark moods.
Two of Robert Ryan's films -- "Crossfire" and "Billy Budd" -- made a deep impression on me as a young man. Eventually, he inspired a song and graced the cover on my humble first CD, called Sweet Science. The cover photo is from one of his best movies, "The Setup." (Whoever called boxing the "sweet science" probably never stepped into a ring.)
A couple of the song's lines are verbatim from "Crossfire," but it could just as well be about my dad, or the songwriter, for that matter.
He's got eyes like two little bits of coal
Dark smudges on the windows to his soul
And there's something smoldering just below
He's got eyes like two little bits of coal
I wrote those words after seeing Robert Ryan as the sadistic master-at-arms John Claggart in "Billy Budd," based on the Melville book. I've always wondered if "Moby Dick" might have earned a spot on the short list of all-time greatest films if Ryan had played Ahab. Gregory Peck was perfect as Atticus Finch, but I could never buy him as Ahab -- too much the nice guy trying to play mean. Instead, watch the Billy Budd trailer for a small taste of Ryan tapping his inner Cheney.
When writing my song, I'd been listening to a lot of Dock Boggs -- another dark fellow. It also has a little Muddy Waters and Captain Beefheart in it, for what it's worth. Those three didn't make boy's music; as Levon Helm might say, "It's an adult dose." Something about all of them and about Ryan just spoke to me as I moseyed toward middle age. With time, I've come to relate better -- sometimes all too well -- to the wellspring of anger that often defined my father's passion for acting, which he pursued well into his 70s. When mortality starts coming into view, hanging onto that sort of intensity isn't easy. If the alternative is resignation, I'll settle for being a slightly pissed-off old guy.
Vernam Cipher
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