It’s no exaggeration to deem James Earl Jones the most recognizable voice on the planet. The esteemed actor, who died Monday at 93, overcame a debilitating stutter in his youth, shaping his sonorous basso into an instrument that conveyed a stunning array of emotion. So notable was his timbre that plenty of obituaries led with roles he only appeared aurally; most notably, the voice of the villainous Darth Vader in the original Star Wars trilogy, the regal Mufasa in the Disney animated blockbuster The Lion King, and even the longtime identification behind CNN.
But to reduce his talents to vocal power is to miss out on Jones’s full artistic capabilities. His tall, broad frame was topped by a face with piercing eyes and a mouth that could curl into a sneer or a triumphant grin. It served him well in dozens of roles in film, television and theater, culminating in an acting career that netted him EGOT status (with the help of an honorary Academy Award), a National Medal of Arts and even a Broadway theater named in his honor. These 12 performances highlight the true depth and breadth of one of the country’s most refined actors.
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) Initially pursuing pre-med in college, Jones—a member of the University of Michigan’s ROTC program—decided to try studying drama before his number was called to enlist for the Korean War. While he never fought overseas, his time in the Army informed his first onscreen appearance, as a B-52 bombardier in Stanley Kubrick’s pitch-black Cold War comedy. While Jones serves as a straight man in his scenes, he does get a good laugh delivering “Hey, what about Major Kong?” before Slim Pickens’ cowboy-hatted rodeo clown rides a nuke to hell.
Sesame Street (1969): If a great actor can make reading the phone book an exercise in adventure, James Earl Jones one-upped them all by appearing on the second-ever episode of the groundbreaking children’s series and reciting the alphabet in his signature voice. Jones (who got the job thanks to a class with actor Will Lee, who played Mr. Hooper) didn’t expect the show to last for an unusual reason. “I told Matt Robinson [who played Gordon], ‘This Muppet business has got to go, kids will be terrified,’” he later told the Newark Star-Ledger.
The Great White Hope (1970): Howard Sackler’s gripping play—loosely based on the life of boxer Jack Johnson, the first black world heavyweight champion—was a tour de force in its day, winning a Pulitzer Prize for drama and establishing Jones as a bold new talent. He won a Tony Award for his performance in 1967 and garnered an Oscar nomination for reprising the role for film three years later.
Roots (1977) / Roots: The Next Generation (1979): With Star Wars—a role he refused credit for in his first two appearances—James Earl Jones was a key part of 1977’s biggest film. That same year, he was a cornerstone of television’s biggest event, too, playing author Alex Haley in the miniseries adaptation of his historical novel Roots. While Jones was not among the 14 actors nominated for Emmys in the series, his role as the real-life shepherd of the story was pivotal, and was one of the many factors that prompted more than half the country to tune in. Jones reprised his role in a sequel series two years later, notably appearing opposite Marlon Brando as a Neo-Nazi.
Conan The Barbarian (1982): As the voice of Darth Vader, Jones imbued the black-helmeted bad guy with a stunning gravity that transcended Star Wars’ campy pop-cinema roots. So talented was he as a physical actor that he did similarly opposite Arnold Schwarzenegger in his breakthrough starring role in the sword-and-sorcery cult classic Conan The Barbarian. As the villainous Thulsa Doom, Jones gave more than a few sci-fi geeks nightmares—and not just because of the wig.
Fences (1985): After Star Wars, Jones he followed his muse back to the stage, where he’d done everything from Shakespeare to Paul Robeson. In 1985, he originated the role of Troy Maxson, a blue-collar father in Pittsburgh, in August Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Fences at the Yale Repertory Theatre; two years later, he reprised the role on Broadway and added another Tony to his shelf. The power of the above scene can’t be undercut by co-star Courtney B. Vance’s later revelation that the severity of the scene elicited giggles out of the pair during rehearsals.
Matewan (1987): Writer/director John Sayles had Jones in mind when creating this dramatization of a real-life coal miners’ strike in the hills of West Virginia, but assumed he was out-of-budget for an indie production. But Jones said yes, and became one of the highlights of this underrated film, playing a Black worker who’ll shoulder racism but draws the line at anti-union rhetoric. Co-star Chris Cooper, who made his screen debut in the film, was later moved to tears recalling acting opposite Jones.
Coming to America (1988): More than a decade after he played King Lear onstage, and six years before he voiced a different kind of African ruler in The Lion King, Jones put his talents to use in a comedy as King Jaffe Joffer, the ruler of the fictional nation of Zamunda. When his son, the prince Akeem (Eddie Murphy), heads to Queens to try and find a wife who’ll love him for who he is instead of what he has, Jaffe and his entourage follow him to the United States. Hilarity ensues thanks in no small part to Jones’ presence as one of the great fishes out of water.
Field of Dreams (1989): “People will come, Ray.” As a reclusive author whose faith is restored by a visit to a magical baseball diamond in a cornfield, Jones became an essential supporting castmate to Kevin Costner’s lead in Field of Dreams. His monologue on the power of the sport—delivered with as much awe as the might you’d expect from such a scene—surely inspired as many to play catch with their dads as the ending of the film did.
Gabriel’s Fire (1991): One of Jones most striking, lesser-known roles came in this short-lived ABC series. He played a former Chicago cop who served 20 years in prison for killing a corrupt member of the force. After reluctantly re-entering the world, he becomes a private eye to continue his struggle for justice and equality. (Jones finds power in scenes as mundane as ordering his first meal as a free man.) Though he won an Emmy for the role, Gabriel’s Fire lasted only one season before being retooled into a slightly less gritty series called Pro & Cons, which ran for half as long as its predecessor.
Sneakers (1992): Jones set up a shingle in the early ‘90s as a supporting character in the series of thrillers based on Tom Clancy’s CIA operative Jack Ryan. But his best onscreen role of the ‘90s may have been one of his briefest, in the ensemble thriller Sneakers. Here—in two scenes, only one of which features his physical presence—he plays an NSA director who attempts to secure a code-cracking black box from the ensemble cast (Robert Redford, Dan Aykroyd, Sidney Poitier, River Phoenix and others), only to become incredibly, hilariously exasperated by their unusual demands.
Will & Grace (2003): By the time he turned 70, Jones was more than a living legend—he was also a killer hired gun who doubtlessly made good money as a commercial pitchman. (Forget reading the phone book; he read about it.) This era also brought out Jones’ silliest side: no stranger to humorous guest turns on The Simpsons or Frasier, his best might’ve been a slightly more hapless version of himself on Will & Grace, taking acting classes from Sean Hayes’ Jack McFarland and searching for the right enunciation of “Jimmy Choos.”
The Best Man (2012): Astoundingly, after Fences, Jones wasn’t seen on stage for nearly 20 years. He returned to Broadway in 2005 and kept going for more than a decade, starring in revivals of On Golden Pond, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Driving Miss Daisy and The Best Man, a Gore Vidal play about the race to a presidential nomination. (Jones played a former president whose endorsement is coveted by two rivals played by John Larroquette and Will & Grace star Eric McCormack.) It became his fourth Tony nomination and, perhaps, the last light look at American politics onstage before the strangeness of reality eclipsed any production.
