8 of our favorite James Earl Jones performances

Take a moment, please, and clear Darth Vader out of your mind. A million imitations, AI recreations, tossed-off parodies and memories—clear them out. Empty the cache. And now, go back, and listen to what James Earl Jones is actually doing during the first three films of the Star Wars franchise: Crafting the great movie villain of the second half of the 20th century, piece by piece, from an indelible combination of dry humor, seething anger, and calm, confident menace. Vader, the icon, is the culmination of so many peoples’ craft: Artists, costume designers, the physical movements of David Prowse. But none of it works without Jones’ voice. The aristocratic arrogance, the zealotry, and most especially the dark amusement at the cruelty of the universe—none more so than his own: Everything that makes Vader matter is locked up in those deep, resonant deliveries, which let you catch the merest glimpses of the wry, broken man beneath the machine, while also fulfilling the perfect brief of being kids’ favorite movie boogeyman for decades on end. [William Hughes]

It’s no small thing to steal a scene right under the noses of Robert Redford, Sydney Poitier, Dan Aykroyd, and the rest of the fantastic cast of Sneakers, but that’s exactly what James Earl Jones does in less than five minutes of screentime. What a flex for a film that’s already practically flawless to save the reveal of the identity of NSA director Bernard Abbott for the very end, when Jones shows up in person to collect the film’s McGuffin, a dangerous code-breaking box. Watching him grow more and more exasperated as each member of the group lists off their demands is one of the film’s many joys. I still think about the way he pronounces “Tahiti” every time I hear the word, and I probably always will.  [Cindy White]

I’m pretty sure the line “Peace, love, dope—now, get the hell out of here!” has been in my head since I first saw Field Of Dreams as a little kid. It’s a good line, but it’s delivered so fiercely and hilariously by Jones here, with the actor’s gloriously booming voice on full display, that it’s still with me decades later. In Dreams, the actor plays reclusive author Terence Mann, a now-cynical symbol of the ’60s counterculture movement who decides to go to Iowa with Kevin Costner’s Ray Kinsella so that Shoeless Joe Jackson can play baseball again. Near the end of the film, Jones indeed nails the “People will come, Ray” speech, complete with that swelling Oscar-winning-moment-like score, but, honestly, it was the comedic chemistry he had with Costner that hooked me way back when and made me want to pop in the VHS again. [Tim Lowery]  

The New York Times’ Jamelle Bouie often observes that ’90s political thrillers show their “post-racial” hand by putting a Black man in a high-ranking position of power over the white protagonist. This character is able to bolster the white hero with their ability-driven gravitas, lending them additional justification in flouting the rules and/or their unwavering commitment to combating corruption. No performer better fulfilled this highly specific archetype than James Earl Jones. Jones lent his imposing voice, warm aura, and commanding presence to three Tom Clancy adaptations, playing Admiral James Greer in The Hunt For Red October, Patriot Games, and Clear And Present Danger. He not only provided a fun through-line for a few different Jacks Ryan (Alec Baldwin and Harrison Ford) while representing the authority of the U.S. of A., but also carved out an elegant, charming little character for himself through sheer ability. Who else could possibly be so winning as a CIA bigwig who called a submarine “a big son of a bitch?” These are the movies that sold the aftermath of the Cold War to America’s dads, and James Earl Jones was a big part of humanizing them (even if his role was relatively small). [Jacob Oller]

In The Sandlot, James Earl Jones’ reputation preceded him. A generation (and then some) who knew him as the terrifying voice of Darth Vader was primed to be scared of the faceless Mr. Mertle, and “The Beast” he lived with, next door. What a surprise, a clever misdirection, that both Mertle and The Beast are gentle giants, with Mertle sacrificing his precious baseball, signed by the entire 1927 Yankees, to get Smalls (Tom Guiry( and his friends out of a jam. The role makes use of the primary skills in Jones’ toolbox—the rich, authoritative voice, the striking, looming physical presence—but for benevolence. Mertle’s role in The Sandlot is as a deus ex machina, and Jones makes one hell of a god quietly hiding out in the bungalow next door. [Drew Gillis] 

Many of us associate James Earl Jones with royalty, but for ’90s kids one king is the mightiest of all: The Lion King‘s Mufasa. Even in an animated children’s movie, Jones’ persona was—and is—larger than life, which explains why he was the only cast member to reprise his role in the 2019 remake. Jones imbued the character with such dignity and distinction, so much fatherly love and wisdom to resonate with even the youngest audience member. The emotional impact of the movie depends on us forming an attachment to Mufasa, and not only does Jones get us there with ease, his are the most iconic lines of the movie. Is there a more memorable Lion King moment than “everything the light touches”? A more impactful one than his entreaty to Simba to “remember who you are”? Whatever they may be doing to Mufasa’s backstory in the upcoming prequel, it can’t touch the pitch-perfect, incredibly beloved Mufasa we already have. [Mary Kate Carr]

James Earl Jones’ characters seem to matter as soon as they appear onscreen. With his towering frame and impossibly deep, unmistakable baritone, he could play kings of any species and men that thrummed with life. He was so unique and singular but also so tangible and relatable. Jones has a crucial role in John Sayles’ Matewan, playing “Few Clothes” Johnson, a Black miner who made for West Virginia under the pretense of honest work. In the film’s pivotal scene, “Few Clothes” enters the bar for a closed-door union meeting, hoping to join, but becomes a focal point for the group’s prejudice. “Few Clothes” is used to racism, but he will not be called a “scab.” Jones uncorks a lifetime of frustration at the word, yet there’s hope. Setting Chris Cooper up for one of the best monologues of his career (and that’s saying something), Jones gives his scene partner’s words weight. In an instant, a character whose life story you know by the look on their face. [Matt Schimkowitz]

Majesty and gravitas are the two qualities most associated with James Earl Jones’ work, but earlier in his career, the actor was just as likely to show off his physicality and impish side. (I’d argue King Jaffe Joffer bridged these two epochs.) As Rupert “Roop” Marshall in John Berry’s Claudine, Jones played a garbage collector determined to have his bread and roses, romancing the title character (played by Diahann Carroll) while navigating New York’s byzantine social services programs. Jones uses every muscle in his body, whether he’s tossing trash cans like softballs, squaring his shoulders at the welfare office, or stretching out that Cheshire cat-like grin when he gets his way. At the time of its release, Claudine was a romantic dramedy like no other, centering as it did on a Black couple and blended family, acknowledging socioeconomic inequality without depriving its characters of hope. Jones proved he could have just as easily had a career as a romantic lead. [Danette Chavez]