JONATHAN BANKS
Hollywood is not all about the George Clooney matinee idol look or the stunning beauty of a
Charlize Theron. Since day one leading men and ladies — Clark Gable, Gregory Peck, Rock Hudson, Cary Grant, Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, Paul Newman, James Dean, Steve McQueen and Robert Redford for instance or Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Hedy Lamarr, Gene Tierney, Brigitte Bardot, Sophia Loren, Marilyn Monroe, Ingrid Bergman, Maureen O’Hara, Elizabeth Taylor, Natalie Wood, Janet Leigh and Rita Hayworth — were among the most striking and ravishing beings on earth. And in many cases they could act a little too.
But as time passed, for every ‘ten’ on the silver or small screens there were others who were not so blessed in the fetching or alluring departments. Roles were created for them and parts were written because they too could act. Folks like Marty Feldman, Steve Buscemi, Jack Elam, Joe Viterelli, Vincent Schiavelli, Ron Perlman, Michael Berryman and Rowan Atkinson. Even (or especially) Samuel L. Jackson who has appeared in more than 125 films. Or Margaret Hamilton, Linda Hunt, Anne Ramsey, Heather Matarazzo, Rachel Dratch, Rhea Perlman (no relation to Ron) and Rosie O’Donnell.
Professional acting and comedy are what they are and faces are just faces.
The face however is the first thing one sees — or should be — and it makes a lasting impression. Throw in some expressiveness, an uncanny mannerism or two and a unique tic or quirk and voila, an unforgettable and rich patina is created. It can start in the eyes or the mouth or even in the wrinkling of an interestingly shaped nose. The ears can do it; do they stick out or are they plastered to the sides of the head? Are they too large or too small? Do they wiggle or otherwise move when animation is in play? And what of the complexion? Is the skin silky-smooth like milk poured from the bottle or nut-and-berry-brown, pure and lovely? Or is the skin ruddy and pock-marked, resembling a dart board? Faces more than any other physical feature offer a clean and clear window to the soul.
Jonathan Banks looks bigger and far more imposing than his 5’ 8 ½ ” height and sturdy frame would suggest. It’s written all over his face. The 71-year-old versatile, veteran character actor has long been very accomplished in stage work but is better known for his roles in film and later television, typecast as the sinister or villainous sort quietly intimidating — glowering actually — with a shiny bald pate, stubbled van dyke, hooded cold and dead eyes, a bulbous nose, protruding ears and a deep, gruff voice.
“If you had told me in the Seventies and Eighties that TV would be as edgy or edgier than most films, and more intelligently written than most films, I wouldn’t have believed it,” he has conceded with a croak. “There’s great stuff out there.” Especially when he’s part of it. His laudable thespian talents aside, Banks would agree that he leads with his smoosh, his mug, his face. It’s undeniable. “I have no trouble walking around,” he remarks. “But every once in a while, somebody will come, during the course of the day, and say, ‘Oh, I recognize you from such-and-such,’ and yeah, they’ll make a connection. I think for the most part, people don’t go, ‘Where do I know him from? Does he work at the bank?’”
Mike Ehrmantraut, Banks’ fan-favorite character, a crime-scene fixer and tough guy nonpareil on Breaking Bad and its spin-off prequel series Better Call Saul is the definition of an on-screen heavy. Toting aliases such as Pop and Billy Jackoff, Mike is a German-American corrupt former Philadelphia beat cop who works a melange of jobs: private investigator, head of security, industrial cleaner, local courthouse parking-lot-booth attendant, go-between and hitman.
After being forced out of the department and relocating to New Mexico to be near his daughter-in-law and granddaughter, he uses his connections in the criminal underworld to become the right-hand man of one Gustavo Fring, a Chilean-born Albuquerque restaurateur, business magnate, philanthropist and mob boss. Working seamlessly and undetected on both sides of the law and maintaining an extensive and updated knowledge of forensic evidence, surveillance equipment and police procedure, Mike’s value to the mob (and to others) is indisputable. Cool, calm and calculating — not to mention intelligent, cunning, caring, patient and formidable — Mike is the glue that holds the Albuquerque Mafia together. He becomes a core member of Fring’s drug empire and owing to his past as a cop and a Marine sniper in the Vietnam War he is a highly-skilled assassin. Well-trained in stealth tactics, he has made a specialty of tracking people down no matter where they may be.
But herein lies a key personality trait of Herr Ehrmantraut: unconflicted about the crimes he commits, he remains steadfastly disinterested in gratuitous cruelty. Shooting his way to the top is not what he’s about. He does just what he thinks necessary to keep himself and his people safe. No more; no less. And no ego-tripping. No drama. In fact the translation of his rather unique and old-fashioned German surname “Ehrmantraut,” reveals a telling side to the content of his character. The words “Ehr” and “man” can mean “man of honor,” and the suffix “traut” is rooted in the Middle High German truen “to believe,” “to trust,” “to hope.” Loyalty and fidelity are tightly woven into the fabric of his DNA.
Mike Ehrmantraut is a complex man indeed, torn and forever straddling both sides of the fence. On the difference between criminals and villains he pontificates, “I’ve known good criminals and bad cops. Bad priests. Honorable thieves. You can be on one side of the law or the other. But if you make a deal with somebody, you keep your word. You can go home today with your money and never do this again. But you took something that wasn’t yours. And you sold it for a profit. You’re now a criminal. Good one, bad one? That’s up to you.”
Married once and the father of a son Matt who became a cop and was ambushed and murdered by two of his fellow men in blue who distrusted him, Mike is determined to avenge his son’s murder and to take care of his daughter-in-law and granddaughter. He does both, relying on the ways of life with which he is familiar. He kills his son’s assailants and through Fring opens an offshore account with a balance of $2 million held in his granddaughter’s name. There is no activity in the account; Mike is incredibly loyal and true to his word. Unfortunately, one violent confrontation too many results in Mike’s ultimate demise without being able to leave his beloved granddaughter a single dime of the money he had earned as a professional criminal.
“I’ll tell you something funny. A couple of months ago, I was out with my wife, who is the love of my life. Some guy was being obnoxious to people. I thought, ‘That fucking prick!’ I started to get up. My wife is from Spain and still has an accent. She put her hand on me and said, ‘Yonathan, your shoulder is torn. Your knee doesn’t work. What do you think the outcome of this is going to be?’…Real toughness comes in a lot of shapes and sizes.”
“If I leave acting, I’ll just go. No goodbye. I have huge respect for guys who did that: Gene Hackman, Sean Connery. When William Powell stopped, he stopped. Moved to Palm Springs without fanfare. I like the strength of doing that. My work is my work. My ego is something else. And I would like to not have such a large ego that I need to advertise it.”
Banks modeled Ehrmantraut after the toughest person he knew — his mother. “My mom was a tough broad. She would have grinned and smiled when I said, ‘tough broad’ too, because she would have looked at herself in the same way. I should be half the woman [I assume he means ‘man.’] my mother ever was, and I don’t mean that in a coy way. My mother was my role model; I was very aware that any woman could be a lot smarter than I am and certainly could be my boss…”
Words to live by. Heartfelt feelings which belie the face.
