I just watched the last third or so of IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. Of course, I’ve seen it, by actual count, 67 million times before. Since my first viewing I’ve been impressed by the movie. Since my second or third viewing, I’ve realized that James Stewart’s performance was really good. Then I realized it was great. Then I realized it was shatteringly brilliant. And today, for the first time, I truly really appreciated, as an actor, what’s going on here.

People, even including show biz types, try to accept a movie on its own terms, as some sort of removed reality. Then if they really stop and think about it, they recognize an actor doing good work, a director in charge, designers getting it right. As concerns the actual nuts-and-bolts of filmmaking, that’s usually the end of it.

As an actor you sometimes go one step further: “Oh, nice line reading…nice subtle reaction there… I love the way he walked out of the room..”  Stuff like that. But usually not much more.

Today, though, watching the last half hour of IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, something more occurred to me. This is something I could have, maybe should have, thought of long ago. But I didn’t, so leave me be. I’m doing the best I can.

What I’m thinking about starts in the movie with the missing $8000. I know I don’t have to explain that because we’ve all seen the movie. Anyway, that’s when George Bailey’s life really, ultimately goes straight to hell. For the next extended section of the movie, Jimmy Stewart plays anger, fear, desperation, all the bad stuff. And he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.

Then, finally, after Clarence has done his magic, George gets it. The snow starts falling again, his lip starts bleeding again, Zuzu’s petals make their return. And George Bailey is happy. He’s as happy as anyone in human history has ever been. Jimmy Stewart has to play that, and he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.

But what really occurred to me for the first time today was… The scenes with desperate George probably took a week to film, at the least. And every day of that week or more, actor Stewart had to be at the very extremity of anger and fear and desperation over and over again. He probably had to be suicidal for a full day. 

Then, thank God, the misery is past and it’s time to be happy. This is no easier, believe me. Stewart had to be at the opposite extremity now, happier than humans are allowed to be. He had to experience and evince pure joy. For another week. Every day, over and over, he had to smile till his cheeks hurt, laugh and make it real, love all these people who are, really, just other actors.

This sort of acting, in extremis, is difficult on stage eight times a week, really difficult. So difficult, in fact, that it’s often not really achieved. But to do it over and over, day after day, for a week or more, first maximally miserable, then impossibly joyful, that was Mr. Stewart’s assignment. Something almost impossible, I’d think. But there it is. The proof of it is on the screen and it is undeniable. 

And, though it’s really beside the point, it’s still worth remembering that this was the first performance for an actor after years of war. Genuine war, in his case. Actual dangerous, life-threatening, soul-changing war.

Mr. Stewart…Bravo. Brav-the-damn-o.

A while back I was flipping through a slew of YouTube videos, ‘cause I don’t know no better, and I found myself watching the cast of LES MISERABLES performing “One Day More” on the Tony Awards show back in 198-something. And there, getting his moment on camera, was Leo Burmester as Thénardier. I smiled when I spotted him.

        I don’t think of Leo that often, but over the last 40+ years, whenever he has entered my view or crossed my mind, it was always as “Leo, the guy who had my career.’
He didn’t really, but sorta. But not really. Just sorta. It went like this.

In 1975 I got a phone call from the producer at a local (Louisville area) dinner theater. I had worked at this theater less than a year earlier, so we knew each other. He wondered if I’d be interested in coming in to audition for the role of “Dolan” in his upcoming production of MISTER ROBERTS. Why, of course I would! So we arranged that I would meet him at the theater in just a couple of hours.
      I arrived in good time, met the producer, and read a scene. He said, “good, good, that’s fine.” Then he drew a breath and said, “this is a weird situation.” 
Turns out that he’d staged MISTER ROBERTS at another of his theaters just a few months earlier and he wanted to re-use a bunch of actors from that production. One of those actors was the guy who’d played Dolan. That being Leo Burmester.
He’d been trying to get in touch with Leo for a long time -- I think maybe he said for “a few weeks” -- but, despite leaving multiple messages with his service (ah, the olden days), Leo hadn’t called back. Earlier that very day the producer had called Leo one last time. He left a message saying that time was too short, he had to fill the role, so if Leo didn’t get back to him by 5 pm, he’d cast somebody else.
The producer told me this story in an apologetic tone. He said that the role was mine unless Leo got back to him by five o’clock. He was sorry to be so indefinite, but he needed to cast the role, he’d given Leo that ultimatum, so…
I told him I understood, no problem, and I left, driving directly home. As soon as I walked through the door, the phone rang. Of course it did. Leo had just called back and accepted the role. The producer apologized again and said--as all producers do-- “I’ll find something for you in the future.”  To his credit, he did. I did four more shows for him over the next couple of years.

That’s just the beginning of the story --and my only real part in the story. Leo did the run of MISTER ROBERTS, then later, he played a major role in the premiere production of Marsha Norman’s GETTING OUT at Actors Theater of Louisville. Probably no connection really, but I always associated Leo’s MISTER ROBERTS gig with him being hired at Actors Theater. In other words…maybe that could have been me.
The play got great reviews, as did Leo, and it moved to Off-Broadway where, again, great reviews and awards.

From there it was onward and upward for Leo. He replaced John Goodman as Pap Finn in BIG RIVER on Broadway. He originated Broadway roles in LES MIS, BURIED CHILD, THE CIVIL WAR and others. He also appeared in a bunch of movies and TV shows, where I would regularly spot him. Most of his film work was in pretty small roles. And, small or large, he did get to work with Martin Scorsese, James Cameron, William Friedkin, Sidney Lumet, and Clint Eastwood.

        Of course, there’s no real career theft here unless you count him taking the MISTER ROBERTS job from me. His role in GETTING OUT was not something which I’d have done well, and it was that which led to everything else for Leo. So, no, it wasn’t that Leo had my career, more that I could watch him work and pretend that “I could have done that.” I never ground my teeth because he got roles that I didn’t. Matter of fact, I smiled when I saw him. He felt like a connection to my own past. A guy who’d made good.

        I only met Leo a few times, way back in those Aulden Dayes, and our meetings were merely of the “hey, nice to see you…hey, how are you?” sort of thing.

Leo died in 2007 of, apparently, a tick bite. One of Nature’s more lousy jokes.