Rest easy, Gene.
Kevin Costner didn’t hesitate when he was asked what it was like to share the screen with Gene Hackman: “Gene was the best actor I ever worked with.” He then drew an important distinction — while his Untouchables castmate Sean Connery was the biggest star, Hackman was the finest performer.
Costner’s words capture why Hackman’s passing — overnight at his home in New Mexico — has stirred such an outpouring of love this morning, despite his not starring in a film in over two decades. There was no vanity, no self-indulgence — just effortless talent, carried with that twinkle in his eye. He disappeared into roles, inhabiting them so fully that you forgot the actor and believed only in the man before you—a screen legend in the truest, purest sense.
Whether playing cops, politicians, outlaws, coaches, or con men, he brought an honesty that made every character feel real — even when he struggled to identify with them. Popeye Doyle’s dogged hunt in The French Connection, Coach Dale’s quiet grit in Hoosiers, Harry Moseby’s weary determination in Night Moves — none of it ever felt like acting because Hackman never coasted. He worked for it, every time.
Throughout his illustrious career, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences recognized him with five Oscar nominations, including two wins: Best Actor for The French Connection and Best Supporting Actor for Unforgiven. But Hackman’s greatness wasn’t confined to those iconic performances. He brought depth and truth to the simplest stories. To see his brilliance, don’t just watch The Conversation (though, of course, you should absolutely watch The Conversation) — spend 90 minutes with him opposite Melvyn Douglas in I Never Sang for My Father. A quiet, largely forgotten film, it’s a masterclass in restraint, proving how Hackman commanded the screen without ever reaching for the spotlight.
He kept a healthy distance from Hollywood after retiring in 2004, settling into a quiet life in Santa Fe, where he spent his days writing novels and playing golf. But when he did speak, that same plainspoken candor shined through. Reflecting on President Reagan’s passing, he told Larry King, “You know, I’m a Democrat, but I also loved the idea of that man. He was so committed to America — a beautiful American.” The same could be said of Hackman himself.
At 16, he lied about his age to enlist in the Marine Corps. Stationed in China as part of the post-World War II occupation, he worked as a field radio operator before serving in Japan and Hawaii. Rebellious by nature, he clashed with authority but left the Marines with a discipline and resilience that would define his career. After five years in the military, he used the GI Bill to study journalism and art at the University of Illinois, before finding his true calling.
Hackman came of age artistically during cinema’s finest hour — the New Hollywood era, a time when filmmakers pushed boundaries. Before casting directors counted Instagram followers to fill a role, actors earned their place one of two ways — they were genetically blessed to look like movie gods (the Beattys, Redfords, and Newmans of the world) or they were simply damn good. Gene Hackman was the latter. As Pauline Kael put it, “He has bags under his eyes, and his face has caved in a bit. Maybe that’s why when he lights up, it really means something.”
Even though he has not starred in a film in over 20 years, Hollywood feels smaller without him today. Maybe that’s because, as New York Times critic Janet Maslin — one of the most respected voices in film criticism — once wrote, Hackman had “no identifiable quality” that made him stand out. “He simply makes himself outstandingly vital and real.” That was his everyman magic — he felt like someone you knew. He was your old man, your uncle, the guy at the end of the bar with a wry smirk and a story that got better every time he told it.
Growing up in Little Havana, that familiarity felt personal — my dad was his spitting image. Watching Superman II on repeat — on a worn-out VHS my mom had taped for me — I was seeing my pops outsmarting everyone in the room as Lex Luthor, the greatest criminal mind of our time!
I lost my dad a couple of years before Hackman would return to screens, steady and familiar as ever as the voice of Lowe’s. In the years since, my appreciation for him has only grown. Every time he reappears—commanding the U.S.S. Alabama in Crimson Tide, scheming in The Birdcage, or unraveling in The Royal Tenenbaums—it feels like a warm Sunday afternoon with an old friend, the kind you wish you could stretch just a little longer.
Rest easy, Gene.