How do you recognize one of the all-time great actors?
When they pass away, you don’t even know where to begin.
Take the words of Donald Sutherland’s son, Kiefer, who announced his father’s death at 88: “I personally think he was one of the most important actors in the history of film.” Despite the first-person qualifier, this is almost a statement of fact. Few actors have been part of so many artistically significant films throughout their careers or have been so crucial to the medium's success and longevity. Few actors committed as intensely to every role, whether it was a passion project or a job for hire. And few actors were as immensely enjoyable to watch.
Donald Sutherland was not only great but also beloved. Ask any acting enthusiast to name their favorite Sutherland performance, and they’ll need time to decide, likely changing their mind several times. His roles in "Ordinary People," "Don’t Look Now," "Klute," "Six Degrees of Separation," the 1978 "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," "The Dirty Dozen," and "MAS*H" are so distinct and perfectly executed that any other actor might have been typecast after just one of those performances. Yet, Sutherland's characters stood uniquely apart from one another.
He thrived on challenging, potentially alienating roles, especially in obsessive auteur projects like "Fellini Casanova," "1900," and "A Dry White Season." But he also excelled in roles that seemed standard on paper, such as the ruthlessly bland President Snow in "The Hunger Games" films, which may become "gateway drug" performances for future Sutherland fans, much like "Star Wars" and "Lord of the Rings" introduced audiences to Christopher Lee. Even into his 70s and 80s, Sutherland delivered richly detailed, often revelatory performances, whether portraying an Alzheimer’s-afflicted senior in "The Leisure Seeker" or J. Paul Getty in the FX series "Trust," where he played a miserly monster who wouldn't pay his grandson's ransom until receiving a severed ear.
Sutherland had an instinct for finding the most honest way into a moment. He could take a familiar Hollywood trope, like the hard-ass coach who secretly loves his athlete like a son, and turn it into something that could make even the most cynical viewer emotional. This was evident in "Without Limits," where his funeral scene performance ranks among the most moving in sports movie history. When he speaks to the mourners, it feels less like a film and more like watching an ordinary man at a memorial service. His portrayals of grieving parents in "Ordinary People" and "Don’t Look Now" draw viewers into the heart of that specific kind of pain, characterized by traumatized numbness and a desperate reach for familiar comforts: cheering at a swim meet, a too-quiet family dinner, or an anxious and needy tryst.
From the moment Donald Sutherland broke through in the late 1960s, he seemed destined for greatness. After years of honing his craft onstage and on Canadian television, he starred in a series of counterculture war films, including "The Dirty Dozen," "Kelly’s Heroes," and "MAS*H." These roles paved the way for his transition to leading-man status in films like "Klute," "Don’t Look Now," "Steelyard Blues," "Casanova," and the 1978 remake of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." The latter provided one of the most iconic images in horror-film history: Sutherland pointing and screaming, an image that has become an inescapable meme. From that decade onward, Sutherland solidified his reputation as an actor whose presence was always a delightful surprise, especially when his appearance was unexpected.
Sutherland was a bohemian, hedonistic leftist, known for his political activism, including making the anti-Vietnam War documentary "FTW" with Jane Fonda, which earned him a place on a CIA watch list. He never completely shed his free-spirited, mustachioed persona that seemed straight out of a commune. In a 2017 profile on "60 Minutes," he recounted his first failed movie audition, where producers told him he didn't look like a "guy-next-door" type. Sutherland thrived in roles that required a touch of eccentricity, such as the anachronistic proto-flower child in "Kelly’s Heroes," the Hannibal Lecter-esque arsonist in "Backdraft," or the self-absorbed reverend in "Little Murders," who transforms a simple marriage ceremony into a monologue reminiscent of a pre-internet TED Talk.
Sutherland was a master of the high-impact cameo, capable of condensing a whole movie's worth of performance into a brief appearance. His 16-minute role in "JFK" as Mr. X, the informant who explains the conspiracy to Kevin Costner’s character, is a prime example. He ends his monologue with a memorable, jocular line: “The truth is on your side, Bubba!” Whether in lead roles or cameos, Sutherland brought an unparalleled depth and charisma to his characters, making him a cherished figure in cinema.
You could also argue that Donald Sutherland exemplified the legendary actor who embraced quirky, off-brand small roles or major roles in franchise films that others might view as mere paychecks. He approached each role with such integrity that it felt as if he believed it could be his last performance. Beyond his brief but impactful roles in "JFK," "Backdraft," and "Little Murders," consider his slapstick cameo in "The Kentucky Fried Movie," where he appears in a trailer for a nonexistent disaster film called "That’s Armageddon!"; his silent, entirely physical performance as the tormented psychologist and would-be weather-machine technologist Wilhelm Reich in the music video for Kate Bush’s “Cloudbusting”; or his voice role on "The Simpsons" as Hollis Hurlbut, the head of the Springfield Historical Society in “Lisa the Iconoclast.” In the latter, he transforms what could have been a simple farce into a quietly heartbreaking story of a historian grappling with the realization that his professional identity was built on a lie. Even Sutherland’s voice-overs for products were masterclasses in authenticity. A 2008 ad for Simply Orange Orange Juice becomes the pitchman’s equivalent of a sonnet.
One of Sutherland’s most poignant scenes was in "Ordinary People," where Mary Tyler Moore’s icy, numb Beth finds her husband Calvin, played by Sutherland, sitting at the dinner table in the middle of the night. He confesses, “I don’t know if I love you anymore.” Initially, Sutherland played the scene with Calvin breaking down into sobs. After reviewing the rushes, he asked to reshoot the scene, feeling he had shown too much emotion. Director Robert Redford initially refused but changed his mind three months after production wrapped. By then, the original cinematographer, John Bailey, was unavailable, and Moore was committed to a play. Redford offered to have Robert Surtees, who shot "The Graduate," film it and said, “I’d have to play Mary’s part … would you mind doing it again?” Sutherland agreed, and they reshot the scene, with Sutherland acting opposite Redford as Moore.
He was, quite simply, one of the best ever to do it. Yet paradoxically, he was one of the least recognized for his consistent greatness, at least by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which awards the Oscars. Sutherland finally received an honorary statuette in 2017 for lifetime achievement, 55 years into his acting career, after never having been nominated even once in regular competition. Why? Perhaps it was because Sutherland had a rare ability to be dashing and assertive, making audiences feel they were in the presence of a true and thrilling leading man—some kind of movie star—while simultaneously making you believe you were just watching an unembellished record of a man doing what that specific man would do.
Often, Sutherland was as good as any other actor from the same film who received an Oscar nomination, and they might not have been nominated without Sutherland’s sturdy support. Take "Ordinary People," the Best Picture winner for 1980. It garnered six nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director (Robert Redford), Best Adapted Screenplay (Alvin Sargent), Best Actress for Mary Tyler Moore, and Best Supporting Actor for both Timothy Hutton and Judd Hirsch (Hutton won). Nothing for Sutherland. On Entertainment Weekly’s list of the 25 worst Oscar snubs for acting, this one ranked No. 15. You could call it a blatant injustice. Or you could say that Sutherland’s greater reward was knowing how extraordinary he was throughout his career, so good that people would continue to lament his non-nomination for the rest of his life (and beyond).
In many years, Donald Sutherland’s performances were as good as, if not better than, those that received Oscar nominations. One film that stands out is "Six Degrees of Separation," the dazzling, nonlinear 1993 adaptation of John Guare’s play by Australian director Fred Schepisi. Sutherland starred alongside Stockard Channing as Paul Kittridge, a hotshot art dealer, and his socialite wife, Ouisa, with Will Smith as Paul, the brilliant, earnest, secretly gay hustler who charms his way into the Kittridges’ townhouse. Channing deservedly received a Best Actress nomination, but it was Sutherland, once again playing the husband, who held the film aloft like a tweedy Atlas. He dazzled in monologues about art and delivered heartbreaking admissions of gullibility and emptiness. In classic Sutherland fashion, he surprised the audience with revelations that seemed obvious in hindsight. During an important dinner, Paul and Ouisa subtly begin airing their fundamental conflicts. The scene cuts to the couple fighting in the courtyard, and when Paul realizes his voice has risen to an embarrassing volume, he falls silent. He gives Ouisa a look that suggests a reflexive apology, then shockingly says, in a cold, guttural voice, “I am a gambler.”
Sutherland was also undeniably sexy in that “What, really? Him?” way characteristic of many of the hottest ’70s leading men. He once recounted asking his mother as a boy, “Am I good looking?” She looked at him and finally said, “Your face has got character.” This left him in a year-long depression. However, enough moviegoers disagreed, making Sutherland one of cinema’s greatest oddball leading-man crushes. His appeal wasn’t just due to his tall, lean frame, gregarious energy, or convincing performances as intelligent characters (remember his caddish professor in "Animal House?"). It was also the way he looked at his leading ladies: mesmerized, moonstruck. He often played scenes with a flirty undertone, even when the role didn’t necessarily call for it. There was frequently an “is he or isn’t he” (i.e., in love) aspect to his leading-man roles.
In Philip Kaufman’s 1978 remake of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Sutherland plays a San Francisco health inspector named Matthew who draws his unhappily married co-worker Elizabeth (Brooke Adams) into a sci-fi conspiracy. Early in the movie, their scenes almost make you wish you were watching them in a romantic comedy. Adams and Sutherland believably portray characters who, deep down, are in love with each other but haven’t quite recognized it. Sutherland amps up this sensibility by playing every scene with Adams as physically close as he can get without invading her space. He continually does little things that read as auditioning-boyfriend behavior but are plausibly deniable as such. For example, he hands Beth a bottle containing a rat turd he found in a stewpot at a restaurant (this movie’s version of a gentleman handing a lady a flower), and then, after reclaiming it, gently holds her hands for a second and smiles as he speaks to her.
Sutherland was an icon who didn’t announce himself as such. He was as distinctive as any actor people try to impersonate, yet impossible to imitate, because everything about him seemed spontaneous and authentic—from his look and sound to his energy and presentation. Reading quotes from Donald Sutherland inevitably brings his honeyed bourbon voice to mind. Watching videos of him discussing his craft, one anticipates the moments he deflates deep questions with a joke. When critic Mark Cousins showed him the famous sex scene between him and Julie Christie in "Don’t Look Now" and asked if he looked back nostalgically, Sutherland quipped that his first thought was, "Oh, the wig looks good."
Every photo of Sutherland, from any stage of his career, evokes his unique beauty: haunted French-philosopher eyes, a sharp, narrow face, and the slightly off-kilter posture from childhood polio. His bold, sometimes heedless grooming choices stamped him in the 1970s and continued even late in life, when he cultivated a professor-emeritus-of-painting vibe with shoulder-length hair swept back and tucked behind his ears. Offscreen, he was so completely himself that you felt as though you knew him, yet onscreen, he was so unpredictable that you could never guess where he was going.