RIP Paul Newman

Lord Reith, who was the head of the BBC in the days when that was something to be proud of, issued many sound edicts. One was that the word 'famous' was redundant. If someone was famous, he reasoned, they didn't need to be called so, and if they weren't famous, they shouldn't be called it. If that axiom was in force today, most of Britain's 'celebrity' media would be out of a job, and I for one wouldn't be shedding any tears.

One person who was genuinely famous however was Paul Newman, who died over the weekend. He was most famous to an older generation than mine, it is true; not simply for his great acting skills or his looks (there was a trace of irony behind his piercing blue eyes: he was in fact colour blind) but also his salad dressings. Here is a good example of Newman's greatness and the accompanying smallness of most so-called 'celebrities'. It began when he asked a shopkeeper to sell some leftover salad dressing of his. The shopkeeper agreed, but only if he could put Newman's face on the bottles, or no-one would recognise the connection. Newman agreed, but reasoned that if he was going to do something that tacky (his word), the money ought to go to a worthwhile cause. And thus one of his extensive charitable causes began. That's the sort of thing great people used to do.

Back to Newman's acting. I suppose modern audiences might not be so familiar with Cool Hand Luke, The Sting or The Hustler. They might, however, have seen Newman's last film, Sam Mendes' Road to Perdition. It also stars Tom Hanks and Jude Law, amongst others. Newman effortlessly acts them off the screen. That's what great actors have always done.