Why Morgan Freeman was “angered to death” by his first award: “It made no sense”
Think of a narrator in your head right now, and if your first thought is David Attenborough, then scroll down to your next entry, and there is a very high probability that the dulcet tones providing an internal monologue for this exercise are Morgan Freeman.
One of the most ubiquitously enjoyed voices in the world, Freeman’s ability to lend a double dose of respectability and credibility to the projects which have the good grace of featuring his uttered words has often belied his acting ability.
Across the decades, Freeman has routinely delivered impressive acting performances. His first breakthrough on screen came with 1981’s Driving Miss Daisy, which, despite nearly pigeonholing the star, did provide mainstream recognition. Of course, that only continued as he delivered standout performances in The Shawshank Redemption, Seven, Million Dollar Baby and Invictus. But even these moments undercut something that has always been closest to Freeman’s heart.
Before he found his way up to the top of the Hollywood Hills, before he became a movie star and the most trusted voice in the world, Morgan Freeman was a proud stage actor. Before appearing on The Electric Light Company in 1971, Freeman had been a part of some truly impressive productions in New York.
Broadway became like a second home for him as he ventured out into the unknown world of acting. So, it makes sense that when asked about the most important achievement sin his career, Freeman would not look to his many, many on-screen roles but remember an oft-forgotten production of The Mighty Gents back in 1978. And, if you did forget it, then don’t be annoyed at yourself, the play only ran for a week.
Freeman played Zeke in the production and delivered such a great performance that it won him a ‘Clarence Derwent Award’ and ‘Drama Desk Award’, and a nomination for a Tony. But while the moment remains a monumental time for the actor, the play still clearly irked him. “A week. It just angered me to death,” Freeman admitted when discussing its embarrassingly short time on Broadway. “I took it very personally that they closed the show.”
Actors are often at the brunt of the reason why a show didn’t succeed, but for Freeman, it was clearly something else: “It made no sense at all to do it on Broadway. When they move something to Broadway, I don’t care what it is, they want to Broadwayise it. If it’s a nice, heavy, long piece of drama, they’re gonna water it down so it fits this medium [he points to the television], which is what Broadway aspires to.”
Freeman was becoming a veteran of the screen in 1978, but he clearly felt that stage productions should be able to stand on their own, removed from the necessity to appeal to the masses. But this play succumbed. “They have to appeal to the great number of people,” he continued, “which is the lowest common denominator.”
The event would put Freeman off acting on stage for some time. He continued: “That’s why I have no desire at all to be on Broadway anymore. When you first come to New York, that’s the place to be. Well, I’ve done Broadway now four times. That’s enough.”
Now, he may well be the voice of integrity on screen, but clearly off it, he has some way to go, as Freeman performed on the stages of Broadway another three times, playing the Lunt-Fontanne, Bernard B Jacobs and Eugene O’Neill theatres on New York’s most theatrical street.
But though he may have been telling a fib here, his love for the theatre remains the most honest part of Freeman’s acting career.
