Kris Kristofferson: The Real One

Before I get to Kris Kristofferson as an actor, I feel compelled to talk about what an extraordinary songwriter he was. Not gifted with the smoothest of singing voices, Kristofferson (a Rhodes scholar and Captain in the Army), moved to Nashville in the ‘60s to try his luck in country music. Despite his gifted wordplay and descriptively straightforward arrangements, Kristofferson’s greatest successes came through others recording his songs. Particularly Janis Joplin’s posthumous number one hit “Me and Bobby McGee,” as well as other standards that crossed over country, folk, and rock like “Help Me Make it Through the Night,” “Sunday Morning, Comin’ Down,” and “For the Good Times” are just a handful of examples. 

Kristofferson’s solo recordings (and his two albums of duets with Rita Coolidge) sold respectably for a time, but it wouldn’t be until he, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Waylon Jennings formed the country supergroup The Highwaymen that Kristofferson would experience his first million-selling album. The four men brought the term “Outlaw Country” to life. A phrase that referred to a degree of authenticity as well as a level of “I don’t give a damn” in the music. It made no small amount of sense that Kristofferson would band with these three other country giants, known for taking risks in both sound and subject matter. 

Of the four, even more than Cash or Nelson, Kristofferson was the squarest of pegs in Nashville. He was defiantly liberal and not a man who “played the game.” But his talents as a wordsmith and composer were so great that he could not be completely expelled even if he was always seen as an outsider. 

Being a man of many talents, it wasn’t long before Kristofferson’s natural, surly charisma would find its way to Hollywood. He was first seen in Dennis Hopper’s catastrophic failure The Last Movie in 1971 and then again later that same year in Cisco Pike, a gnarly crime drama that saw the singer/songwriter go toe-to-toe with the great Gene Hackman and hold his own.

Kristofferson then went on a fabulous four-film run that included Paul Mazursky’s Blume in Love, Sam Peckinpah’s Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid (with Kristofferson playing Billy), Peckinpah’s follow-up Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, and Martin Scorsese’s Oscar-winning drama Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. Suddenly, the man who struggled to keep a foothold in his primary occupation (musician) was a movie star. 

From 1976 to 1980, the waters got choppier for Kristofferson as an actor. The Sailor Who Fell From Grace with the Sea bombed both critically and commercially, he and Barbra Streisand’s take on A Star is Born was a massive hit but received middling reviews, a third date with Peckinpah in the trucker comedy Convoy was met with significant derision from critics (although it does maintain some cult appeal). And then there was Michael Cimino’s much-anticipated 1980 follow-up to The Deer Hunter, Heaven’s Gate.

In the history of cinema, few films have been greeted with such critical derision and audience indifference. With a running time of more than three and a half hours, the western epic starring Kristofferson as a Wyoming sheriff attempting to protect immigrant settlers from wealthy cattle owners, Heaven’s Gate was such a bomb that it is often “credited” for ending the auteur era of the ‘70s. 

After spending what was at the time a gobsmacking $40 million on Heaven’s Gate, United Artists chopped Cimino’s cut down to just over two hours (making the film incomprehensible) and barely released it. Thankfully, time does heal wounds (at least to a degree), and critics have revised Cimino’s original cut, and the film is now seen as a near-masterpiece by many. I would remove the “near.” Heaven’s Gate is an extraordinary film that feels as vast and significant as the landscape it depicts and the story (based loosely on The Johnson County War) that it tells. 

Still, Kristofferson’s star dipped after the commercial failure of Heaven’s Gate. He found a partner in Alan Rudolph (a protege of Robert Altman) and made the delightful Songwriter with his pal Willie Nelson in 1984 and then he and Rudolph reteamed to make the fabulous Trouble in Mind the next year. Sadly, few saw the stylish film noir starring Kristofferson as an ex-con attempting to set his life straight in the fictional “Rain City.” Trouble in Mind, co-starring Keith Carradine, Genevieve Bujold, and Lori Singer is a real gem of a film and I strongly encourage anyone reading this to seek it out. 

After Trouble in Mind, Kristofferson’s career floated a bit until landing a plum role in the John Sayles masterpiece Lone Star in 1996. Kristofferson was perfectly cast as a wicked small-town Texas sheriff whose death sets off a series of events. Kristofferson may not have been the lead, but he was exemplary. Lone Star may just be Sayles’ best film and is all the better for Kristofferson’s appearance. 

The critical success of Lone Star may have supplied some wind to Kristofferson’s back. He became more in demand as an actor, and scored notable roles in Marvel’s Blade Trilogy, as a lead in the respected James Ivory film A Soldier’s Daughter Never Cries, and significant supporting roles in the Mel Gibson action film Payback, John Sayles’ Limbo, Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes, Silver City (with Sayles again), as the narrator in Todd Haynes’ classic Bob Dylanesque film I’m Not There, the hit comedy He’s Just Not Into You, the popular family film Dolphin Tale (and its sequel), and finally (maybe perfectly) a small part in Ethan Hawke’s Blaze from 2017 about an outlaw country singer named Blaze Foley. It’s a fine film, and Hawke casting Kristofferson in it was a sweet nod to a real “outlaw.”

That is how I will remember Kris Kristofferson most. As “the real one.” His life in music and on film was ragged, wayward, full of ups and downs, but ultimately and always true. 

There is no better example of his tough-as-nails, I won’t back down demeanor than when he performed at Bob Dylan’s 30th Anniversary Concert in 1992. It’s not Kristofferson’s performance that was so significant that day, but what he did next that mattered most. After his set, he returned to the stage to introduce Sinead O’Connor who was to perform Dylan’s “I Believe in You.” The concert happened just thirteen days after O’Connor performed Bob Marley’s “War” on Saturday Night Live. As the song concluded, O’Connor snapped at the microphone and out into the viewing public to “Fight the real enemy!” and then she ripped to peices a photo of Pope John Paul in protest of the Catholic Church’s cover-up of sexual abuse committed by priests and nuns. 

Kristofferson introduced her with these words:

 “I’m real proud to introduce this next artist whose name became synonymous with courage and integrity,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sinéad O’Connor.”

O’Connor and her band attempted to perform the Dylan song but were drowned out by a stadium full of boos. As she stood there still as a frame, looking as fragile as the thinnest pane of glass, Kristofferson returned to the stage. He put his arm around O’Connor and said, “Don’t let the bastards get you down.” Ever the rebel, O’Connor ditched the Dylan song and launched into Marley’s War one more time, ferociously. As she finished the song, she ran off stage and embraced Kristofferson, who was there waiting for her. 

Kris Kristofferson was the god damn real one. No one should ever forget that. 

Kris Kristofferson died on September 28, 2024. He was 88 years old.