A wise man \u2014 or, more precisely, a wise-ass trucker named Jack Burton \u2014 once opined that “it\u2019s all in the reflexes.” Few actors have had better reflexes than Kurt Russell, who makes a welcome return to theaters this weekend in The Art of the Steal. Having been largely MIA since starring in Quentin Tarantino\u2019s 2007 Death Proof, Russell re-emerges at an opportune time, since there\u2019s still no heir to his wisecracking, heart-throbbing, smirk-smirking throne.<\/p>\n
Russell is perhaps the most undervalued leading man of his generation, so seemingly effortless at action, comedy and drama that it has been easy to take for granted the wide range of roles he\u2019s aced, and the distinctive cool he\u2019s brought to the screen. From his early days as a TV star and Disney contract player to his later triumphs as anti-hero and self-deprecating clown, Russell\u2019s oeuvre is marked by a diversity all too rare in this era of heavily manicured he-men. Equally comfortable taking a pratfall, throwing a punch or warming up a woman, he\u2019s the epitome of self-assured, unpretentious manliness, and a star who, as a look back at his canon confirms, is defined by his unforced versatility.<\/p>\n
Russell\u2019s career began in earnest in 1963 when he appeared, uncredited, opposite Elvis Presley in It Happened at the World\u2019s Fair. It was a minor part in a minor film, but the young actor sassed the King himself and, in the process, proved the potency of his sunny, round-faced smile. That same year, he nabbed his first lead turn, in ABC\u2019s The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters, kicking off a six-year run of small-screen gigs that were energized by his innocent and boyish charm, the traits that ultimately nabbed him a 10-year deal with Disney.<\/p>\n
Of all those family-friendly Mouse House outings, the most memorable remains 1969\u2019s The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, in which Russell stars as a dim-bulb college student who gets zapped and, presto!, gains computer-grade mental abilities. It\u2019s a cheesy, dated fantasy fit only for kids, and yet Russell\u2019s performance is surprisingly resourceful, tapping into his Everyman sweetness, bumbling humor and sturdy self-assurance. That boyish charisma carried him through two more sequels, though Russell would exude even greater poise in 1979\u2019s made-for-TV Elvis, his maiden collaboration with director John Carpenter, a project that gave him his first genuine chance to marry unflappable composure with an undercurrent of dangerous sexuality and, as in his show-stopping performance of “Burning Love,” which helped nab him an Emmy nomination, a sly cockiness and intensity that\u2019s at once alluring and slightly imposing.<\/p>\n
Taking No Shit, Severely<\/p>\n
Elvis changed the course of Russell\u2019s career by emphasizing his magnetic swagger, which continued to flourish in a series of heroic roles that vacillated between gruff badassery and wise-cracking lunacy. The former mode was best served by Escape From New York, a dystopian action fantasy featuring Russell as Snake Plissken, the eye-patched soldier-turned-convict charged with rescuing the president from a future Manhattan that has been transformed into a maximum-security prison. Radiating take-it-or-leave-it machismo, Russell\u2019s sleeveless performance is elevated by his smarter-than-you sneers, which are broken up by one-liners delivered in a raspy whisper that makes him seem like the roguish grandson of Clint Eastwood\u2019s Dirty Harry. Plissken was the perfect vehicle for the actor\u2019s brand of fierce physicality and don\u2019t-tread-on-me brusqueness, qualities that he\u2019d again tap into as a genetically modified killing machine in Paul W. Anderson\u2019s better-than-you’ve-heard Soldier (a performance of super-robotic masculinity) and as a serial-killing stunt-car driver in Death Proof, a turn marked by a deviant, come-hither twinkle in his eye.<\/p>\n
Cracking Wise While Saving the Day<\/p>\n
Plissken fully established Russell\u2019s ass-kicking credentials. However, it was two subsequent roles that turned him into an icon of smirky heroism. The first, and finest, was Carpenter’s Big Trouble in Little China (1986), a rollicking genre mash-up that cemented his persona as a guy who was up to the challenge of saving the world (and the girl) yet couldn\u2019t help but find it all just a bit ludicrous. As trucker Jack Burton, Russell bounces through a saga of martial arts assassins, damsels in distress and supernatural villains with a perpetual look of you-gotta-be-kidding-me amusement. He pulls off the tricky feat of enhancing, rather than undercutting, Burton\u2019s superheroism by turning him into something of a jester, his obnoxious arrogance ideally offset by his slapsticky buffoonery. And while 1989\u2019s Tango & Cash is a collection of unintentionally funny buddy-cop clich\u00e9s, Russell\u2019s pairing with Sylvester Stallone likewise demonstrated that the actor was most comfortable embodying gung-ho archetypes only if he could also poke fun at them, if not outright emasculate them, in this case via a memorable tongue-in-cheek scene involving Russell\u2019s cop in garish drag.<\/p>\n
Reveling in the Ridiculous<\/p>\n
While many other action stars have tried their hand at humor (often to distressingly awkward results), few have been so comfortable discarding their macho-man guises for out-and-out nonsense as Russell, whose turns in 1987\u2019s Overboard and 1992\u2019s Captain Ron allowed the star to express his inner goofball. While the latter is an uneven comedy bolstered by Russell\u2019s willingness to embrace caricature, it\u2019s the former that truly stands as a testament to his skills. As a rube who tricks an amnesic heiress (Goldie Hawn) into thinking she\u2019s his wife and the father of his white-trash kids, he’s all fast-talking deviousness and rubbery physicality, carrying himself like a mulleted muscleman whose limbs are a little too loosely hinged. By so enthusiastically acting the fool, Russell comes across as perfectly comfortable in his own skin, thereby enhancing his aura of unassailable confidence and cool.<\/p>\n
The Everyman, Albeit More<\/p>\n
Over-the-top absurd or larger-than-life heroic, Russell\u2019s best performances never lose sight of a more basic, engaging fallibility and humanity. It\u2019s no surprise, then, that the actor has had such success playing average guys thrust into overwhelming circumstances. Be it the Antarctic research team member suddenly forced to contend with a shape-shifting alien in 1982\u2019s peerless The Thing, the husband whose wife goes missing on an open stretch of desert highway in 1997\u2019s phenomenal Breakdown, the firefighter tasked with a baffling arson case in 1991\u2019s Backdraft, the military man contending with an interstellar portal in 1994\u2019s Stargate, or the head coach of the 1980 men\u2019s Olympic hockey team in 2004\u2019s stirring Miracle, Russell colors his characters\u2019 heroism with a no-frills, down-and-dirty stoutness and resourcefulness. It\u2019s that quality, that someone\u2019s-got-to-do-it approach to tackling daunting hazards and odds, which gives even his legendary gunman Wyatt Earp (in 1993\u2019s Tombstone) a relatable, down-to-earth ruggedness and resolve. As in his greatest roles, he\u2019s more man than myth.
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