Gene Hackman, one of Hollywood’s most revered actors, left behind a towering legacy when he passed away at the age of 95. With a career spanning over six decades and more than 85 films, he became known for his rugged authenticity, versatility, and ability to bring even the most complex characters to life.
From playing hard-nosed cops to introspective outsiders, Hackman’s performances earned him two Academy Awards, four Golden Globes, and a place in film history. But despite his many iconic roles, the legendary actor once revealed in an interview that one particular film stood above the rest as his personal favorite.
Given his incredible body of work – including The French Connection (1971), Unforgiven (1992), Mississippi Burning (1988), and The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) – many might assume his favorite was one of his Oscar-winning performances. However, when asked in a 1988 interview with Film Content which film he looked back on most fondly, Hackman gave an unexpected answer: Scarecrow (1973).
The road movie, which he starred in alongside Al Pacino, was never a box office hit, yet for Hackman, it remained the most rewarding experience of his career. “[Scarecrow] is the only film I’ve ever made in absolute continuity, and that allowed me to take all kinds of chances and really build my character”, he said.
Directed by Jerry Schatzberg, Scarecrow follows Max Millan (Hackman), a short-tempered ex-con, and Francis “Lion” Delbuchi (Pacino), a naive former sailor, as they wander across America with dreams of starting a car wash business. It’s a story of friendship, hardship, and lost dreams, filled with raw performances and a melancholic, bittersweet tone that resonated with critics but failed to attract a wide audience.
What made the film special for Hackman was its rare approach to filming. Unlike most movies, which are shot out of order for efficiency, Scarecrow was filmed in absolute continuity, meaning every scene was shot in the order it appears in the story.
It allowed Hackman and Pacino to evolve naturally into their roles, creating an authenticity that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. As if that approach wasn’t enough, to fully embody their characters, they spent time living as drifters on the streets of San Francisco, wearing their costumes and interacting with real homeless individuals.
While Scarecrow struggled at the box office, it found appreciation among cinephiles and critics, winning the Grand Prix at the 1973 Cannes Film Festival. It remains an underrated classic, often overshadowed by Hackman’s more commercially successful films.
Another performance he considered a personal triumph was his turn as the reclusive surveillance expert Harry Caul in The Conversation (1974). The film, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, explored themes of privacy and paranoia at a time when the Watergate scandal was unfolding, making it eerily relevant. In a later interview with The New York Times, Hackman reflected on the role: “That was the pinnacle of my acting career in terms of character development. Caul was somewhat constipated. The character didn’t burst out. There was no satisfying cathartic moment in the film.”
Though he was a powerhouse in serious dramas, Hackman wasn’t afraid to embrace more mainstream films. He played the ultimate villain as Lex Luthor in Superman (1978), bringing a mix of menace and humor to the role. He also thrived in action-packed thrillers like Enemy of the State (1998) and comedies such as The Royal Tenenbaums (2001).
Yet, despite his many triumphs, Hackman admitted to taking on projects mostly for financial reasons. In a candid 2000 interview, he confessed, “I was just barely hanging in, taking pretty much anything that was offered to me and trying to make it work.” He mentioned films like The Poseidon Adventure (1972) and Lucky Lady (1975) as examples of movies he wasn’t particularly proud of.
By the early 2000s, Hackman decided to step away from Hollywood. His final film, Welcome to Mooseport (2004), was a lighthearted political comedy, a stark contrast to the intense dramas that defined much of his career. After retiring, he retreated to a quieter life in Santa Fe, New Mexico, focusing on writing novels and enjoying time away from the public eye.
Tragically, Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, were both found deceased in their Santa Fe home on February 26, 2025. Authorities ruled out foul play, and while investigations into the cause of death are ongoing, reports suggest that Hackman’s pacemaker stopped functioning on February 17.