Samuel L. Jackson in John Boorman's In My Country. SAMUEL L. JACKSON: B.M.F.!
BY
ALEX SIMON
Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the March 2005 issue of Venice Magazine.
No actor since Michael Caine has had as diverse, or as numerous, a body of work as Samuel L. Jackson. With 84 film credits since making his big screen debut as “Gang Member No. 2” in Ragtime (1981), Jackson has played everything from philosophical hitmen to Jedi masters during his remarkable career. His commitment to working consistently and his instinct for choosing quality work earned him a rare distinction in January of this year: Samuel L. Jackson is now the highest-grossing actor in film history, with his films earning over $3 billion worldwide in box office receipts, surpassing the previous record held by Harrison Ford. Not bad for a kid born into poverty in Washington D.C. December 21, 1948, as Samuel Leroy Jackson. Raised by his maternal grandparents (and later his mother) in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Jackson was a child of the 60s, discovering his social conscience early by taking active part in the civil rights movement while still in high school. After graduating from Atlanta’s Moorehouse College with a degree in drama in 1970, Jackson toiled for years in New York as a stage actor, gradually establishing a reputation as one of his generation’s finest actors, but still doing jobs like working as Bill Cosby’s stand-in on TV’s The Cosby Show to pay the bills.
As the 80s progressed, Jackson became a more familiar face on the big screen, with bit parts in films such as Coming to America, but it was Spike Lee who really gave Jackson his big break in 1987’s School Daze, followed by scene-stealing turns in his classic Do the Right Thing (1989), Mo Better Blues (1990) and finally in Jungle Fever (1991), playing a crack addict (just weeks after getting out of rehab himself for a long-time drug and alcohol addiction). The role earned Jackson the Best Supporting Actor award at the Cannes Film Festival, the first time a supporting acting award was ever given at the legendary fete. Finally, in his early 40s, Jackson found Hollywood calling him for work. Jackson has averaged 4-5 films per year ever since. As his career as a character actor took of with supporting roles in hits such as Goodfellas, Patriot Games, Jurassic Park, True Romance, Menace II Society, Fresh, and Against the Wall, stardom was just around the corner.
Quentin Tarantino’s 1994 landmark Pulp Fiction not only was the seminal film of the 1990s and the most influential film since 1967’s Bonnie & Clyde, it also earned Samuel L. Jackson a Best Supporting Actor nomination, and international stardom with his portrait of hitman/philosopher Jules Winfield. Since that time, Jackson has seemed to appear on movie screens everywhere. While there is no doubt that some of the films have been better than others, Jackson’s undeniable talent and screen presence have been a consistent factor throughout. This year alone, Jackson has five films hitting cinemas around the world: Coach Carter, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, XXX: State of the Union, The Man, and John Boorman’s In My Country, in which Jackson portrays an American reporter covering the truth and reconciliation trials in South Africa. Co-starring the luminous Juliette Binoche, Brendan Gleeson, and Menzi Ngubane, the Sony Pictures Classics release hits American screens March 11.
Samuel L. Jackson sat down with Venice recently, wearing his trademark Kangol cap, to discuss life, politics and his love of cinema. Here’s what transpired:
In My Country deals with post-Apartheid South Africa and the Truth and Reconciliation hearings that the new government held. Tell us about what drew you to the project.
Samuel L. Jackson: I was drawn to it because when I was in college in the 60s I had classmates who were from South Africa. And we would talk about their country, about Apartheid, how they got away from it and what it was like for them to be in the United States during the Civil Rights movement. As I got in the world, I met more and more people from South Africa, people like Hugh Masekela, and I kept up with what was going on there, particularly during the truth and reconciliation trials, which was like page eight news in this country. I also kept in touch with many friends who went back to South Africa after Apartheid ended, who would tell me all about the changes happening in the country. I just felt like this was a very important story to tell, because it’s one many Americans don’t know about. We know that Apartheid ended and that Nelson Mandella was released from prison, but for most of us, it stops there. We believe in vengeance. They believe in reconciliation and forgiveness. It’s a tough concept for Americans to understand, I think.
You shot the film on location in Cape Town, South Africa. Was this your first trip there?
No, I’ve been there several times before, doing promotional tours and things for my films. I also have some relatives who live there.
What have been your impressions of the country during your visits there?
Well you see, I’d never been to Cape Town. Joburg is kind of like the wild, wild west. As soon as I got off the plane, I was surrounded by five bodyguards: great, big Boer guys. The leader was like “I’ll always be in front of you. This man will always be behind you. This man will be to your left because he draws from the left. This man will be to your right because he draws from the right. The guy behind you will always be watching our backs. If we try to take you down, just let us take you down.” I was like “Uh, okay…Where am I?” (laughs) I just got off the plane. Nobody said “hello.” We got in the car and they were doing evasive maneuvers the whole way, it was crazy. I wanted to go visit Soweto, and they said no. They said if they took me there, I might have to watch them do what they really do, and they didn’t want that. They would screen people who came to my room. It was bizarre. Cape Town is totally different. It’s like a resort. I could walk around, had no bodyguards. It’s a totally relaxed atmosphere. There’s shantytowns everywhere, but there’s not much crime to speak of. The biggest tension there is between the Africans, the blacks, and “the coloreds,” who are the mixed people. The black people came in (after Apartheid) and started to do all the menial labor, and the colored people lost their place. They never had to have pass cards and could come and go as they pleased. Now they don’t know where they belong. It’s very strange.
Tell us about working with the great John Boorman.
I had been reading this script for a couple years, and they kept trying to find a director. When John came on board and started talking about it, it was the first time it made sense to me in terms of where I thought the film could go. John’s got such an amazing body of work, particularly in dealing with the intricacies of relationships, he was able to make the film about much more than the truth and reconciliation hearings. He made it about two people who had to discover their own truth, and reconcile their lives. John brought a great deal of humanity to the film, I think.
Tell us about Miss Binoche, who I love.
Yeah, me too! (laughs) She is so passionate and so driven, that it was hard to believe some days that she wasn’t South African. She really absorbed herself in the country and culture. She did intricate research. Being with her in a scene is pretty incredible. She gives of her whole self the whole time. She’s very attentive to detail. We really enjoyed being together. There was a time when a scene was over, and we needed to laugh, to relieve the tension, and we were able to do that quite easily. There were a lot of people in the film who were part of the truth and reconciliation hearings and survived Apartheid, so it wasn’t uncommon for people to break down after a scene was over. So having some laughter in there was very healthy.
Your body of work, nearly 90 films since 1981, is varied but has one common thread, and that is a tremendous social conscience. What are the roots of that, do you think?
I grew up with segregation, in Tennessee, so all my life I felt a disparity for inequity, and how I saw people treated, especially my grandparents. I used to go to work a lot with my grandfather. He was a maintenance man for a real estate company and worked in a hotel. My grandfather always looked like an “older person” to me, although he was only in his mid-50s at the time. All the (white) guys who worked in the office would call him “Ed” or “Edgar.” Whenever white people would come to our house, they would call my grandmother “Pearl,” and she would call them “Mr. Smith,” “Mr. Venable,” and so on. That was confusing to me for a very long time, because I was always told that younger people addressed older people as “Sir,” “Ma’am,” or “Mr.” and “Miss.” That never happened with them, no matter where they went if the people were white. If they didn’t know their names, they would call them “boy,” or whatever. Then there were places I couldn’t go. Things I couldn’t do. There were white kids who would ride the bus to school every day while we walked that would unscrew the lightbulbs from inside and throw them at us, yelling “Nigger!” And there wasn’t shit we could do because they were on a moving bus! (laughs) So I lived with that for a very long time. When the sit-ins started in the early 60s, I took part in them. I didn’t tell anyone at home about it. But I would participate, sit at the lunch counter, and when the police would show up, I would just run! I didn’t want to go to jail, either. I reached a point when I got to high school, I would read a lot more than the people I hung out with, and was pretty worldly about politics, because that was one thing I always knew in my heart: that I was not going to spend my life in Chattanooga, Tennessee, so everything I did was geared towards escape! I even applied to colleges that were so far away from home, like University of Alaska, that my mother said “You must be out of your mind, if you think you’re going there!” (laughs)
Then you went to Morehouse College in the mid-60s.
Yeah, 1966, at the height of the black power movement. It was so bizarre, because there were some older guys, in their early 20s, who were part of my freshman class. They were Vietnam vets, going to school on the G.I. Bill. We’d be up all night, drinking, raising hell, and these older guys would come in, really pissed because they were trying to study. They said “You guys need to study, pay attention and get serious! There’s a war going on. We just came from it.” We were like “What fuckin’ war?” “Vietnam?” “Where’s that? Let’s get the map. There’s no place called Vietnam on this map!” “Right there, Indochina. That’s Vietnam. We’re in a war over there. My friends are dying there. Your relatives are going to be dying there!” Sure enough, a month and a half later, my cousin was killed in Vietnam. He’d just joined the army, shipped out, and was killed almost immediately. So that really woke me up, and started reading up on it, and thinking “Wait a minute, the French were there all that time and got their asses kicked. What makes us think we can win this war?” “Well, we’re the United States.” “No, they fight guerilla style, kind of like what the Indians did using the terrain and nature to fight back against the French and the English when they came over here.” So it was a very “fight the system” mentality where we learned to question everything our government was doing, something that’s really missing in younger people now, I think. These kids today have no idea what they’re going to inherit once all this bullshit’s over.
Yeah, it’s very disconcerting. They should be raging against the machine, but if anything, they’re bigger conformists than even my generation, Generation X was, at their age.
It’s comfort, man. Playstation, hip-hop, there’s so much alcohol out there right now that I’ve never even heard of! It sure wasn’t around when I was still drinking. It’s like “What? You drink something called Hypnotic?!” (laughs)
You have a daughter that age who just graduated from Vassar. What do you guys talk about when these issues come up?
Well she has a very strong social conscience. When I was on my way to South Africa to make the film, she was in England and taking part in all the anti-war demonstrations that were going on. So she inherited that same political awareness of what’s going on in the world, that if they don’t do something, everything’s going to get out of hand. The 22 year-olds, for the next 20 years it’s going to be their generation that’s going to have to run things. Believe me, we’ve entered into something that we weren’t a part of before, but now we’re going to be a part of forever, because when you look at history, anyone who gets involved with a war against Islam, winds up fighting them forever. Their attitude is “You killed my great, great, great, great grandfather in 1503, so now I have to do something because my family honor is at stake!” To which I say “No, motherfucker! You weren’t there!” There’s no reasoning with people who think that way. So we have to figure out a way to rationalize with them in a way they can understand. The problem is, we’re not fighting for the right cause. We’re fighting for profit, profit which doesn’t trickle down to the ordinary American citizen.
I really think, though, on the one hand that Bush and his cronies really do believe in what they’re doing, which is empire building. They’re brining white, Christian, “democratic” values to the pagans of the Middle East.
Only because they keep saying it, over and over again. I think they really know what their raison d’etre is.
Chaney, Rice and the rest of the Hitler youth, maybe. But I think Dubya really believes in what he espouses.
(laughs) You know what, I think he has fooled all of us into believing he’s this sort of dim-witted puppet. The biggest trick the devil ever pulled was making the world believe he didn’t exist. This is no fool. He’s been playing the fool for so long, that we bought into it. You can’t come from the background that he does, with his dad being the biggest drug dealer in the world when he ran the CIA, and not have some of that rub off.
Let’s get back to your film work. Probably the most socially conscious filmmaker you’ve worked with is Spike Lee, whom you worked with three times. In fact, the first film I remember seeing you in was School Daze.
Spike was like our savior when we were all struggling actors in New York. Every summer we knew we were going to go to Spike Lee’s summer film camp, and make enough money to get us through to Christmas. He had a great core group of people and we’d make a film. Being in those situations with those people, there was a strong sense of family. And because all the actors had worked together so much in the theater, we had a way of coming in and taking what Spike had on the page and giving it a different kind of life than what he gets out of his films now. We had been connected for a very long time. Me, Fish, Giancarlo, Bill Nunn, Ossie and Ruby, who brought a wealth of experience and whom we respected so deeply.
Tell us about Mr. Davis, who recently passed.
Working with him on Do the Right Thing was a fascinating experience because I was always in that radio station, watching him through that was. I grew up in a very similar neighborhood in Chattanooga, and knew what the neighborhood drunk was all about. Ossie really embodied all those things in playing that role. He also was like the heart, soul and conscience of that community in being there. We were all pretty crazy during that time, and Ossie was sort of our balance. It was also pretty dangerous shooting in Bed-Stuy at that time, because we’d wiped out all these crack houses to shoot there, and the dealers and users were pissed off. They were always trying to reclaim the territory at night or intimidate during the day. There were some guys they could intimidate, but there were others of us that were like “You know, I just happen to be an actor, but I used to be the same kind of guy you are, so when you talk about fuckin’ me up, you think I’m just gonna stand there and let you fuck me up? That’s not gonna happen.” So Ossie was just sort of a calming influence during all that and he really helped to keep things cool.
Speaking of that, you were just a few weeks sober when you played Ossie’s junkie son in Jungle Fever.
I was two weeks out of rehab. It was great that I had Ossie and Ruby there, especially during the scene when Ossie shoots me. When my character died, it was almost like I was killing off that part of my life. It was very cathartic. As soon as I wrapped that movie, I suddenly started getting all these other jobs. I ran into Spike about three days before he took the film to Cannes. He was like “Probably gonna get an award at Cannes.” I said “They don’t give supporting awards at Cannes. But, I’d still love to go with you. Are you gonna take me?” “No, no. John’s going and Annabella and Wesley…” And then they called me to tell me I had won Best Supporting Actor, the first year they gave the award out. Boy was I pissed he didn’t take me! (laughs) And it took me almost a year to get the award from Spike! One day not long after, I called my agent and I’d always joke with her, asking ‘So, did Hollywood call today?’ And she said “You what Sam, amazingly, they did!” And that’s when I got White Sands, which was my entrée into Hollywood.
You made it as a working, supporting actor in your early 40s. But you didn’t become a bonafide star, playing leads, until your mid 40s. What helped you keep the faith during the lean years?
Interestingly enough, I used to have this idea about how acting jobs worked. When I was going to college getting my theater degree and learning all this stuff, I would go to New York and jump into this huge actor pool, and I figured that theater was like the mail room. I’d toil in there for a while, then I’d get a TV job, which would be like getting my own desk, hanging around in the office. Then I’d get big in the TV world, which would be like becoming a supervisor. Then I’d get discovered and start doing movies, which would be like being at the top of the food chain! (laughs) That’s how I thought it worked. Then the more I did work, the more I realized it was about breaks and timing. As I started to do more and more plays with different directors of greater and greater magnitude, with directors who would challenge me more, I got so caught up with that and the audience’s appreciation every night, that I forgot all about that other stuff and it became for me, all about the craft and becoming a better and better actor. I was so happy with what I was doing, I forgot all about being a movie star. By the time I did go into rehab, I had absorbed all those lessons already. When I came out and did Jungle Fever all those things I had done just crystallized in that particular moment. Rather than playing Gator as an “addict,” I played him as a family manipulator, because that’s what I was. I used up all my friendships, in a whole lot of ways. I had so many people tell me how cathartic it was to see that film because, it seemed, everyone had a crackhead in their family. When I was in rehab, I remember doubting if I could be an actor without using drugs, because I’d never done anything without drugs or alcohol before. That was the first thing I’d done substance-free. So it never occurred to me that it was going to happen, but I knew that I just couldn’t give up on the acting thing, because it’s just who I was, and who I am. I still have lots of friends in New York doing plays, making a living. And if I hadn’t had the breaks that I’ve had, I’d probably be back there with them.
You really hit paydirt with Pulp Fiction, earning an Oscar nomination as Jules Winfield, the philosophical hitman. You’ve gone on to work with Quentin Tarantino 1 ½ more times (Jackie Brown and a bit in Kill Bill). Tell us about the universe of Q.T.
There’s so much to say about Quentin: the passion, the knowledge, the joy and enthusiasm while he’s working, the sheer cinematic encyclopedia that he is, is just joyful. The poetry of his words is infectious. I love speaking his dialogue. It’s so much fun being on his sets. It’s all about the collaboration. He makes us go to dinner together, to form relationships. He has big beer busts for the crew on Friday. He has film nights where he’ll show some quirky films he wants everyone to see. He’s also open to suggestions all the time. I’d walk through fire for Quentin.
How did you feel when a lot of the black community in Hollywood got upset by Quentin’s frequent use of the “n word” in his films?
To me it was total bullshit. Even the Hughes brothers came to me with that shit. I was like, ‘Wait a minute. I was in Menace II Society. I know how many times you said “nigger.” So it’s okay for you to say that, but Quentin can’t?’ That doesn’t fly with me. We’re talking about art here. We’re not talking about censorship. For Spike to say it, that his wife ran out because she was offended, probably right after I said that six nigger sentence in Jackie Brown, then he turns around and does Bamboozled, and in the first eight minutes, he said “nigger” like, 80 times! So you can’t have it both ways. If you use it in the proper context and you know what you’re doing, then I don’t see the problem. Quentin grew up watching blaxsploitation movies because this black guy who lived downstairs took care of him, so he knew what he was talking about. So they have to know that Quentin uses the word not for the excitement or titillation of it, but for the reality of what’s going on, especially a character like Ordell. I probably added the word about 30 more times than Quentin wrote it. I did what I had to do to make the character real. I grew up with people like him and grew up being him to a large extent.
You got to work with the late John Frankenheimer on his comeback movie, Against the Wall.
To actually meet somebody like John and be part of his resurgence in film was a real honor. He was a real actor’s director. He would place the camera after he watched us rehearse, and made sure it wasn’t in our way instead of framing the shot first, and then putting the actors in it, like a lot of directors do. They just put you on a spot, and you have to act on that spot. He offered a lot of creative freedom for us and what he was able to capture on film. The results were a lot more dynamic than what most ordinary directors were able to get. I think coming from live television like he did, he really appreciated what actors brought to the table, as opposed to what he was bringing. He felt it was his job to capture our work, instead of the other way around.
Another great you got to work with was Martin Scorsese in the classic Goodfellas, along with De Niro, Joe Pesci and Ray Liotta.
That was an interesting shoot. I was frankly the only person of color around there and we were shooting in some sort of mob connected neighborhoods and there would be guys hanging around the set who actually knew Stacks Edwards, my character, and gave me a lot of insight into who he was. They would kind of stash me in people’s houses that I would use as my dressing room. I would spend a lot of time with these Italian families in Queens, eating dinner with them, watching TV, and hanging out. I didn’t get to talk to De Niro at all during the shoot because my character didn’t interact with him. Bobby didn’t really deal with people he didn’t have to deal with. We got to be friends later, on Jackie Brown, though. Joe and Ray were the guys who talked to me the most on set. My part was essentially an improv, even the morning Joe came to kill me. We kind of made up that whole dialogue and tried to come up with ways Joe could kill me. Marty got concerned about the blood spatter and kept saying “No, no. More, more!” So I took about eight showers that day while Marty kept upping the amount of blood and brains he wanted flying across the room. (laughs)
A few years later you worked with another legend: Steven Spielberg, on Jurassic Park.
That was an interesting way to watch a guy work. I actually auditioned before they had a script, so I read from a book. He would say “Faster.” And I’d read it faster. Then he’d say “Faster” again, and I’d do it faster, and he did this a few times. When I left there I was like, ‘Gee, I’m not sure if I got that part, or what that was all about.’ But when I did get it, it was only the second time I was working on a studio lot, the first being Patriot Games. Steven had what I thought was a comic book, but it was really a shot list. And sometimes he’d even get behind the camera and operate. He was meticulously prepared. He’s both a technical director and an actor’s director, which is a rare combination.
What was it like working with P.T. Anderson on his first feature Hard Eight AKA Sydney.
Paul was kind of brand new at the time, and I really liked the script because it was very gritty and my character had a lot of issues. Gwyneth (Paltrow) I knew from doing some Shakespeare stuff in New York, plus I knew her mom. And John C. Reilly I knew from before, so it was a cool group, our small ensemble. We went to Reno and had a great time. Paul is sort of a degenerate gambler and we’d hang out at the tables and spend our per diem!
How’d you do?
Really well! I actually won a lot of money while we were shooting that film. Paul had a great sense of what he wanted to do and how he wanted to do it. It was cool to help out a young director like that, who hasn’t hired me since, I might add! (laughs)
I heard that he wanted you for Boogie Nights but you weren’t available.
Yeah, that’s true. And that’s the last time he called me.
He’s still a young man. I’m sure there’s another job in your future there.
Okay, I hope so. (laughs)
Now we have to talk about George Lucas and being part of the legendary Star Wars family.
Wow, it all started so long ago. I was in the first audience the first day Star Wars opened in New York, back in ’77. I remember being totally caught up in it, wondering where the auditions were held for this, and how to get into it, since I was so far away from it at that point. Eventually I ended up on a talk show somewhere in London, and the host asked me if there were any directors that I still wanted to work with, and I said ‘George Lucas. I’d love to be in Star Wars.’ Somebody who worked for George saw it and told him about it. I went back to Sonoma, where I was shooting Sphere, and I got a call and went over to Skywalker Ranch and met with George, and I said I didn’t care what I had to do. I was willing to be a Storm Trooper and wear one of those white helmets just to walk across the screen and be in it! George was surprised that I wanted to be in it, based on my past work, but said he’d think about something for me if I really wanted to do it. So a few months went by, and I got a call saying that George wrote a part for me, and that I should come to London to start work. I said ‘I’ll be there.’ Mind you, I hadn’t seen any script pages, and didn’t know what sort of character I was playing. So I went to London, and the first thing I did was go to a costume fitting. And they brought in these boots, and this tunic and big brown robe. And I was like ‘Wait a minute, that’s a Jedi costume! I’m gonna be a Jedi?’ Then some guys open up a Halliburton case, and there’s three light sabers there, and they tell me to pick one! I’m about ready to pass out now, okay? (laughs) So the next day they give me some pages, and my first scene is with Yoda at this funeral, and I was like ‘Oh my God, I’m talking to Yoda!’ (laughs) That’s when I knew it was official: I was part of it and it was working out. Being part of the Star Wars family is a very cool thing. George creates a very familial atmosphere and is very open to suggestions, like my suggesting the purple light saber that my character has. He’s not as close-minded as people would have you believe. It’s a very important and kind of inspiring feeling to know that when I’m gone, I’ll have that as part of my filmography.
Is it true that the prop department carved the initials “B.M.F.” (a homage to his character’s wallet in Pulp Fiction that read “Bad Motherfucker”) into the handle of your light saber?
Yeah! Isn’t that cool? They did that after episode III wrapped and they gave it to me.
Was it tough doing all the green and blue screen acting in the Star Wars films?
No, not at all. For me, it was like going back to my childhood. I was an only child, and I spent a lot of time fighting imaginary monsters and things in my room when I was growing up. So it was really an extension of that.
You made an interesting comment a few years ago about rappers-turned-actors that may, or may not have been, misinterpreted by the press. Would you care to comment or clarify that statement now?
They only wrote that part. Here’s what I said: I know there are young actors out there doing what I did every day: trudging, pounding the pavement, studying. And if you take someone from another venue, and just hand them that job, and then say to me “act with them,” and I have credentials and people respect the things I do, then I’m condoning the fact that they allow this to happen. If I do that, I invalidate all the things I did and all the things these young actors are doing, and I just refuse to do that.
Let me follow that up with another question, then. I have a very close friend who’s a brilliant, classically trained actor, who is very frustrated by the fact that he’s always losing parts to people like LL Cool J, Ice Cube and Mos Def. What would you say to him, and to other young actors who are in the same spot?
I’d say to keep doing the things they’re doing. Your work and focusing on the craft is more important than that particular job. You’ll start to work when it’s your time to work. I had that same feeling when all the stand-up comedians were getting the jobs. They were hiring athletes, occasionally there’d be someone from the music world. The same thing happens over and over again. Stop focusing on the goal, and focus on the craft.
Any final thoughts before we wrap?
I think that the world of cinema is changing in a very healthy and interesting way. The fact that Jamie (Foxx) and all these other people were nominated for Oscars this year, the fact that we’re doing stories now about African tragedies, that people are watching movies like House of Flying Daggers and Hero means that audiences are expanding their interests. That’s the world we need to be a part of, not the cold world it’s always been. The studios have to embrace a new way of thinking in terms of who the audiences are, and what they can appreciate. I think that’s a great thing. Diversity is always good.
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