St. Paul of Tinsel Tow

Of the thousands of movie lines Paul Newman uttered, his most memorable was likely from "Cool Hand Luke:" "What we have here is a failure to communicate."

As an actor, however, communication never failed Newman. He was always on his game, whether playing the emotionally crippled Biff in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" dealing with Big Daddy's mendacity, or creating compassion for outcasts in all those famous "H" films: "Hud," "Hombre," "Harper" and "The Hustler."

He wasn't a movie star. He was even less a matinee idol. He was a professional actor honing his craft and showcasing his chops. As a performer he had more in common with jazz musicians than other Hollywood stars. Being good at what he did was how he liked to be viewed in life. Now, it would probably be his preference for being remembered in death.

He worked hard.

He didn't skimp.

He gave it his best shot, always, every time.

He was a pro.

Newman died last Friday at age 83 from cancer. Always distant and reclusive away from the screen, he seemed to have bought into the wisdom of novelist Gustave Flaubert, a belief that an artist needs to be regular and orderly in his life so he can be wild and creative in his work. And Newman was so good at being creative that audiences had a hard time separating him from his portrayals. Was Newman Butch Cassidy, or was Cassidy Paul Newman? In short, it's hard to imagine a re-make of a "Cool Hand Luke," for instance, in which the actor cast in Newman's role wouldn't suffer by comparison.

Like Jack Nicholson, Newman created the definitive version of dozens of characters.

In later years, his forays into the business world away from Hollywood led to some grand successes, his legendary contributions to the less fortunate and also some cheeky humor.

"I saw Paul Newman's picture on a bottle of salad dressing yesterday," one stand-up wag claimed. "I didn't even know he was missing."

And Newman's Tinsel Town marriage to Joanne Woodward will forever stand as an island of solidarity in a town known for its rotating bed partners.

He made several mediocre films good just by being in them. And he made several good films great.

Now those films become his contribution to the world — a little parting gift for those who will try to steer through his wake.