Quintessential Jack

by Scott Edwards

  Nicholson confronts Leonardo DiCaprio with his story of a rat in a tour de force of exposition and expression—wonderful teeth and nose of a rat and lively, animalistic eyes of someone thinking too much about too many things with too much distortion and distrust. Find the truth of the character in and behind those eyes. He unnerves Leo’s character Billy, and it’s real. When Costello returns to the table, sneaking back and sniffing at Billy and reaching in ostensibly because he left his cigarette behind, there’s a good chance it was an ad lib. If not, it’s more impressive still.

  Nicholson’s is the first voice you hear in this movie, in voiceover. He sounds more Irish than elsewhere in the movie, weathered and old prior to being introduced in shadow and silhouette, quietly forceful in the opening grocery scene. We are then introduced by Martin Scorsese to a guy of edges. Jack’s Costello knows how to get an edge on his game, over his adversaries and victims and those he controls, but he is not necessarily in control of the edge on which he is delicately balanced.

  Reporter David Boeri covered the Whitey Bulger case for over twenty-five years and considered Nicholson’s portrayal in The Departed (2006) “over-the-top…. The Joker moving from Gotham City to South Boston.” Nicholson is shown here with co-star Leonardo DiCaprio.

  That edge is the key to the character.

  Nicholson is not merely playing a villain, a bad guy, a mobster or even a cold-blooded killer. He’s more dangerous because he doesn’t care what he says or does. He’s infinitely more dangerous because he’s dissociated from any kind of normal thought or rational behavior and disconnected from any concept of right or wrong. Long ago, Francis stopped recognizing any difference, stopped caring one way or another.

  Amoral and psychotic, the calm Costello scares more than the explosive one. Nicholson’s range imbues the character with a psychological makeup that’s unbalanced and that keeps others off-balance. When he shoots a couple on the beach and observes that the woman “fell funny,” he does so with a grin of true curiosity. He is disconnected from the act and from its meaning, reducing a pair of cold-blooded murders committed point blank in the open and in bright daylight to a humorous crack as if about a jump shot that caromed off the rim in an unexpected way. Boeri found the line consistent with the killer he covered. “That was something Bulger might say. He was a cold character.”12

  Add the scene where Costello matter-of-factly removes a severed hand from a plastic bag, takes off the wedding ring, and gives back the hand—all while discussing business with Billy as if doing paperwork, with no toughness, no reaction—and you’re sensing a psychopath and not a characteristic bad guy.

  Here, the real-life inspiration and the movie character depart from one another. “He may well have enjoyed killing people,” observed Boeri, “but there’s no evidence of Bulger playing in blood, of holding a severed hand, of celebrating gore. He might have liked killing people, but there’s no sense of that wild-eyed bloodlust that Nicholson engages in in The Departed.”13

  He doesn’t play it one-dimensional and obvious throughout, or even in any controlled, understandable pattern. Laughing and chummy here; threatening and intimidating there; sarcastic and cutting altogether; Frank Costello keeps you on your toes and off your guard. Berating priests to enjoy their clams but to refrain from “doing” the young boys contrasts sharply with a cocaine orgy with two young women at an opera, where he looks to be a truly wasted and out-of-control devil.

  Bulger was nothing like this character, explains Boeri. He was shrewd, cold, fastidious, calculating, and not particularly interesting—in sharp contrast to engaging in “self-indulgence and debauchery in this sort of sybaritic style that you see Nicholson in, with arched eyebrows, the hair out of place, the look of dissolution, and this maniacal laugh.”14

  Scorsese’s picture becomes a contest of intensity between DiCaprio, Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon and Alec Baldwin. All that is crushed when Frank mercilessly bashes Billy’s broken hand with his own boot in order to determine if Billy is still a cop.

  But in another sequence, Costello croons “Mother Machree” in a parodic manner. Later, he teaches Asian microprocessor smugglers that automatic weapons don’t enhance their manhood and lectures upon how a proper transaction is made “in this country,” adopting a perfect tone of controlled power that seizes the upper hand through sarcasm and bigotry. Nicholson’s Costello takes control. His control gives him the edge, using the type of affected familiarity that delivers the advantage, along with humor that’s not meant to be funny. Always attentive to wardrobe throughout his career, Jack looks quirky and puzzling with a wonderful floppy hat and ’70s-ish brown sunglasses.

  Costello goes downhill quickly after a police killing that redefines his world. A fantastic shootout and Frank’s escape from his car lead to a final, explosive confrontation with the ultimate rat (as played by Damon) and Frank’s glorious death. He’s gurgling up blood, propelled backward into the dump box of a dump truck, and finally blown back into a crucifixion pose. Amongst Nicholson’ death scenes, this one is near the top, ending in a stance reminiscent of that in The Shining.

  Through Bulger’s lawyer, Boeri asked the crime boss if he saw The Departed. “I got an answer from him that was clever, though not what they would call dispositive”: Bulger admitted that he had seen the movie, “and later says the place where he allegedly saw the movie is a nice theater.”15

  Who are The Departed? The dead, of course. They’ve departed from their background and upbringing (just about everyone) … from their honor and training and moral code (the corrupt police and compromised investigators) … and perhaps from their sanity and humanity (Jack defining Francis Costello).

  * * *

  Heroes can also lose their way, because they are human and because their faults flesh out their characters. Garrett Breedlove departed Earth itself, returning from space without trajectory for a life without a flight plan. In Terms of Endearment, he’s revealed in his first scene as a drunken buffoon of a lech.

  Prior to his big “Jack” entrance, the character referred to only as “The Astronaut” is discussed, setting the tone for Breedlove not as a character but as a figure. He’s reduced to a celebrity object—a celebronaut—forever known only for accomplishments extremely limited in number though infinitely limitless in nature.

  Astronaut Garrett Breedlove is first spied upon by Aurora (Shirley MacLaine, whose character name is an astrological reference that’s relevant to a relationship with an astronaut) as he’s falling out of his car in a white tux and bow tie. Breedlove resembles a suitably aged Wilbur Force, Jack’s Little Shop of Horrors character. Nicholson uses the same across-the-hair-on-forehead sweeping gesture we’ve seen before and since. It’s a little Zero Mostel, a little Red Skelton.

  When called a “hero” and “real live astronaut” in conjunction with descriptions of disappointment and disillusionment, Nicholson intentionally overacts, indicating that this is the whole point. He is compelled to deflate the image, while doing the same to his ego, believing that image to be unattainable or at least unsustainable.

  I spoke with Apollo 9 astronaut Rusty Schweickart, who also happened to attend high school with Nicholson in Manasquan, New Jersey. Rusty encapsulates the psychology of that era’s space explorers, military or test pilots whose lives changed forever when they joined NASA. Ready for adventure, check. Ready for danger, check. Ready for challenge, check. Ready for flight, check. Ready for fame, not necessarily. The first man to pilot the lunar module, Schweickart admitted to me, “I don’t like being a hero, if you haven’t noticed, and I don’t like playing up to heroes. It’s not something I’ve ever done.”16

  Jack attended Manasquan High School in New Jersey with future astronaut Rusty Schweickart, yet never sought help about the Garrett Breedlove character in Terms of Endearment.

  Apollo 11 Command Module Pilot Michael Collins agreed: “I’m not a hero. I get very irritated if people call me a hero,” providing a contrast to Congressional Medal of Honor recip
ients who have “done something ‘above and beyond the call of duty.’ Astronauts, no. They’re good, they’re competent, they’re smart (some of them), but they’re not heroes, no.”17

  Nicholson becomes nuanced. This was a transitional character for the actor, who previously had been broader and bigger, actively cueing the viewer that comedy ensues. Here, though largely comedic, his range within the character is honest and complex, colored enough to provide the entertainment yet not overdone to distraction. He’s subtle, with shades of humanity and vulnerability balanced against the spoiled arrogance that can be an unfortunate consequence of making history.

  There’s also a transition within the character that’s masterful. In the first actual meeting with MacLaine, he is blustery, uncomfortably veering from lecherous to uncertainty to blindly self-confident. Then, when Aurora shows up at his door a few years later after having been driven away from her own birthday party, he proves his lack of “star” guile, once again looking unglamorous and ordinary. He lets his gut hang out, the inspiration for the line, “sexy with a belly like Jack Nicholson” in Cindy Lee Berryhill’s song “Damn, I Wish I Was a Man.” The singer-songwriter explained the reference to me. “Yeah, I’d say it was that film Terms of Endearment, that encouraged that line. I remember his character having a big belly and yet the character still had that bad boy sexiness about him.”18

  Garrett is not prepared for this approach by Aurora, so off-guard he’s confused and looking and acting more like David Staebler in The King of Marvin Gardens than a famous astronaut. The next day on their date, however, Breedlove is back in control. He’s prepared, with a manly confidence in place. Breedlove is dressed for the part, at the wheel of his fast machine—the sports car so associated with that era’s pioneer astronauts. Nicholson shades another angle on the character at lunch, exhibiting uncouth and uncaring behavior that’s offset by a realistic presentation of that character and the real charm of the man. Jack’s clearly having fun and enjoying the role, showing it with the playful hiss on the word “ass” when he accuses MacLaine of having a bug there in need of being killed.

  After this lunch, we meet another part of Garrett that’s perhaps the most real of the lot. This is quintessential Jack and the quintessential image of Garrett with Aurora. Driving on the beach and steering with his feet, Nicholson shows the joy of power, the exhilaration of risk, and the spirit of adventure (and of showing off). It’s reminiscent of Nicholson’s ride with Captain America in Easy Rider, Jack’s arms waving as if flying, totally free in the moment. Schweickart observed, “It was kind of wild. I remember the Corvette whipping through the surf in Galveston.”19 Apollo 14 astronaut and fourth Moonwalker Alan Bean said, “Good stuff with the Corvette. I never heard of an astronaut driving it with his foot.”20

  Then, in the surf, Breedlove shifts from romantic to lusty to pained to angered, ultimately admitting that Aurora brings out the devil in him. Perhaps he means the devil as Jack, his womanizing persona in real life as well as a premonition of his Van Horne character in The Witches of Eastwick a few years later. As Apollo 16 command module pilot Al Worden put it, “Jack Nicholson had a hell of a time getting her. Finally, he had to realize that she was a great gal and he had to change to make that relationship work.”21

  Within the family environment, Nicholson reduces Garrett to extreme discomfort as Aurora’s family reunites. He retreats quietly back to his own world, shrinking as he moves away, adding another shade to the man, another phase of the Moon. When Breedlove timidly returns, he kisses Aurora with the knowing regret that betrays that he would be better off with her, yet cannot handle the commitment.

  This iconic scene with Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment (1983) is reminiscent of Nicholson’s ride with Captain America in Easy Rider, as the ex-astronaut comes as close to the freedom and adventure of space as he can on earth.

  When he travels to Nebraska to support Aurora (her daughter, played by Debra Winger, is dying), Garrett’s matured into strength—that is, until Aurora confesses her love and Garrett shows himself to be boyishly unprepared.

  Finally, we see the last phase of the Moon Man’s character shading. After Winger’s funeral, Garrett shows a caring insight in a scene with a little girl. He’s part Godfather (like Brando at the end of the first film in the trilogy) and part grandfather.

  Jeff Daniels, who played Winger’s scapegoated husband Flap Horton, described the veteran actor’s process as an artistic exploration. Daniels saw how Nicholson struggled for his lines and for his approach in the first five takes. “But then in takes six through ten, he was able to put it all together, and each one was quite different from any of the others.” Director James L. Brooks was faced with the decision which to use, with the resulting debate between actor and director inching Nicholson toward the auteur position. “It was wonderful to see Jack rehearse on film,” Daniels added, “and to have the power and clout, in order to do that and to influence which take or pieces of which take will be used.”22

  I had the opportunity to ask real-life astronauts what they think of Nicholson’s Garrett Breedlove character and the difficult adjustments he must make. “It’s a little Hollywood, a little over-the-top, but it was entertaining … and Nicholson was great,” remarked Apollo 16 moonwalker Dave Scott. As for being conflicted about having accomplished something so important but having that defining moment diminish into the past, Scott reflected, “I figured we were lucky to do it and did it, but life goes on and you gotta do other things.”23

  Dick Gordon, Bean’s Apollo 14 crewmate, added, “Your life is a book and they’re full of chapters. And if you write 30, at the end of each chapter you go on and do something else. And that’s life.”24 Bean talked about becoming an artist devoted to telling the space story. “I’m celebrating one of the greatest human achievements of all time. It’s maybe better than Magellan, I don’t know. But a thousand years from now, they may say that what we did on Apollo was more.”25

  Apollo 13 commander Jim Lovell directly addressed the challenges. “Some of us didn’t work out so well…. We all faced working for a living after our space flight. You know, it’s really great, you’re sort of on a pedestal and then you step off the pedestal and you talk to somebody and they say, ‘Well, what can you do for me now?’”26

  Worden has become philosophical about the transition. “Why do you allow that to get to you? It’s hard to explain, because once you’ve been in a spot where you’ve got the president of the United States going out of his way to do something for you, that’s hard to live down.”27

  This challenge is most pointedly portrayed in the film when Aurora accuses Breedlove of pathetically using the trappings of space fame to trap women. He explodes about having “earned it” and of being one of only a small number of astronauts in the history of the world. There’s partial truth and partial jealousy in her insinuation. He indeed does use it, but his accomplishments are truly special, and he is rightfully proud of that rare achievement. This hurt rage sparks another shading of the character and one which resonated with the real astronauts. As Colonel Scott explained, “Some guy’s office looks like a museum; other guys you could hardly tell they had been there [the Moon].”28 Worden summed it up dramatically by admitting, “You live the rest of your life borrowing against that three days.”29

  Michael Collins, who didn’t know anything about the movie (“I’m aboriginal”), felt otherwise. “I don’t feel defined. Some do, some are would-be astronauts, astronauts and all-the-rest-of-their-life astronauts. I’m not. I was an astronaut. It was the best job I ever had, but I went on to other things and I don’t feel defined.”30

  Greatness was not a word to be associated with the unsatisfying, if not annoying, sequel to Terms of Endearment: The Evening Star. This is a painful movie until the latter section, when Garrett returns on the occasion of an Apollo reunion, walking into the frame in a scene mirroring his breakup with Aurora at her gazebo. In this cameo, Jack’s more devilish and jokey, yet softer and more phil
osophical. When Aurora talks about looking for her true love, Breedlove jabs her about her diminished opportunities and punctuates his “not that many shopping days till Christmas” crack with a fun little, playful “Woo!”

  Marion Ross, best known as Mrs. Cunningham on TV’s Happy Days, portrayed Aurora’s maid and friend, Rosie. She admired the interplay between Nicholson and Shirley MacLaine, saying, “They got along really great,” though also contrasting the actors’ respective personalities. Nicholson was a great guy and “the crew loved him,” while MacLaine “was tough to get along with. She was tough on everybody.”31

  Breedlove exhibits true fondness for his old flame and older ex-lover. There is the tenderness of lovers who have become old and precious friends. They recreate the driving scene on the beach, Nicholson’s primary purpose for being in the film, during which Aurora lets Rosie’s ashes fly in the wind as Garrett’s convertible races beside the surf. Ross was honored that her character brought the pair back to the beach to relive that iconic moment from the original film, marveling at the tribute and calling it “a really wonderful scene.”32

  * * *

  Not necessarily heroes (except to those in or aspiring to journalism), newsmen of the sort played by Nicholson in Broadcast News were truly admired. Think Murrow and his men, Walter Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, Harry Reasoner and Howard K. Smith, John Chancellor and Barbara Walters, and even later reporter-anchors such as Dan Rather, Peter Jennings and CNN’s Bernard Shaw. They were respected, larger than life, and heroes of the truth. Bill Rorish represents the last of his era, while William Hurt’s Tom Grunick stands for a less credible, more flashy future.