The only time Gene Hackman felt “omnipotent” as an actor: “Believe me, I haven’t had it since”
Every actor with dreams of making it to the top of the industry requires at least a little ego to succeed, but declaring omnipotence seems several steps too far. Funnily enough, Gene Hackman admitted that he didn’t feel all-powerful for long before he came crashing back down to earth.
There’s no shame in a performer being confident in their abilities, especially someone like Hackman, who was inarguably one of his generation’s best and comfortably ranks among American cinema’s all-time greats. Still, believing that he possessed unlimited power reeks of arrogance, and it came back to bite him when he was swiftly reduced to a string of paycheque gigs that left him adequately humbled.
The two-time Academy Award winner was a relatively late bloomer in Hollywood, with his breakout role in Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde arriving when he was in his late 30s, but Hackman made up for lost time by delivering a series of standout performances that entrenched him as a bona fide star by the mid-1970s.
A searing turn in I Never Sang for My Father, an Oscar-winning showcase in The French Connection, a box office blockbuster in The Poseidon Adventure, an under-the-radar masterpiece in Scarecrow, Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, and a fantastic against-type outing in Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein only solidified his credentials, but that was precisely when the wheels started to come off.
Hackman was open in acknowledging how his debut in an effects-heavy studio picture was a financially motivated decision above all else, and the dangerous combination of headlining acclaimed prestige films and anchoring crowd-pleasing feats of cinematic escapism saw him fly too close to the sun.
“In the early 1970s, I had some successful films,” he told the Chicago Tribune. “The French Connection had prestige and commercial success. The Poseidon Adventure wasn’t any kind of an acting stretch, but it was a big hit. I felt I could do anything I wanted to do. I had this great omnipotent feeling, and, believe me, I haven’t had it since. So I did all these films that meant something to me personally.”
Big stars using their newfound clout to appear in projects they hold close to their heart is nothing new, but when too many of them fell short of expectations, Hackman realised that he had to swallow his pride, shake off his short-lived feelings of omnipotence, and go where the money was.
“I was so disappointed, so crushed, really, at their receptions,” he remarked of his lull, which led him directly into the tedious dramedy Lucky Lady, which he did “strictly for the money,” the British war drama March or Die, which saw him seriously injured when he was thrown from a horse and production was halted, and Richard Donner’s Superman, which made him feel like a cash-grabbing sellout.
The comic book adaptation was the straw that broke the camel’s back, with Hackman completely vanishing from the silver screen for three years after shooting the superhero flick and its sequel back-to-back, time off he could afford to take thanks to his multi-million dollar payday for playing Lex Luthor.
Hubris has been the downfall of many actors, but at least Hackman was smart enough to step back, reassess his priorities, and return with renewed focus after his self-imposed exile.
