Robert Mitchum

Send us Fan MailI can see him coming out of a run-down building, into a rain-swept, darkened street. He’s wearing a fedora pulled down over his forehead, with a large, rumpled trench coat to match. He moves wearily, a big man, not plodding, but not stepping lively either. If he speaks, it’s laconic, with a somewhat slow pace to the words, seldom rising above a conversational tone. Not much bothers him. Oh, the occasional clue that’s out of place, the occasional femme who means to do him wrong. Sometimes, he has to dodge bullets or fists. Once in a great while, he takes a crack on the head. But he keeps going. He smokes incessantly --- striking the match and the flame illuminating his face, with its hang dog look and sad eyes. It lights him up --- it’s Robert Mitchum. He’s the King Cat of film noir. The star of innumerable war films, some highlighting heroic officers, some as just a simple grunt who wants to go home. He’s a Western hero or antihero. He’s a malevolent villain who has LOVE and HATE tattooed on his knuckles. He threatens a family in which he thinks the lawyer father has done him wrong. He walks with hoods in Boston, the Yakuza in Japan. And he does all of this, not with the Method, not with histrionics, not with knock-your-eyes-out good looks --- he does it with stillness. With acting by not appearing to act. By being Robert Mitchum. He broke all the rules. He didn’t give a damn. An unlikelier Hollywood star there never was.Website and blog: www.thosewonderfulpeople.comBluesky: @wonderfulpeople.bsky.social