character

When Robert Duvall was floundering around in college, his father, a career Navy man who retired with the rank of rear admiral, told him to shape up — and start acting.

“I wasn’t pushed into it but suggested into it,” Duvall once told an interviewer. “They figured I did skits around the house. They figured I had a calling, or whatever, in that line.”

They figured correctly. With his weathered face and receding hairline, he did not stand out for his movie star looks but for the intensity and depth he brought to his craft. New York Times film critic Vincent Canby in 1980 called him “the best we have, the American Olivier.”

Duvall, a veteran of many leading roles but best known for his sharp portrayal of supporting characters such as “The Godfather’s” Irish American consigliere and the unhinged Army colonel who loved the smell of napalm in the morning, died at 95 on Sunday, his wife, Luciana Duvall, announced on Facebook.

“Bob passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by love and comfort,” she wrote.

Although he could play comic characters such as Maj. Frank Burns, the priggish Army doctor who was obsessed with nurse “Hot Lips” Houlihan in “MASH,” Duvall specialized in tightly wound tough guys.

In “The Great Santini,” he was a Marine fighter pilot who was as overbearing and explosive with his family as with the men under his command. In “The Apostle,” he was a preacher who killed his wife’s lover with a baseball bat. In “The Godfather” and “The Godfather Part II,” he was Tom Hagen, a buttoned-down attorney who was loyal to his mob bosses and lethal to those who got in their way. He was an expert, one critic said, in playing “self-controlled men who should not be pushed too far.”

Duvall was known for pouring himself into his characters. He could move with the grace of the tango aficionado he became or with the slow, pained gait of the cancer-ridden editor he played in “The Paper.” He was a keen student of dialect; doing movies in the South, he meandered down backroads, learning just the right way to frame a question in rural Mississippi or deliver a compliment in west Texas.

He loved playing country people and particularly loved westerns.

“That’s our genre,” he said in a 2011 interview with the News and Advance in Lynchburg, Va., near his home on a 362-acre horse farm. “The English have Shakespeare, the French Moliere, and the Russians Chekhov. The western is ours.”

When asked about his acting technique, Duvall would describe it as simply as his favorite character — Augustus McCrae, the wry trail boss on the TV miniseries “Lonesome Dove” — might have described riding a horse.

“It’s just talking and listening,” Duvall told The Times in 2006. “Nothing’s precious. Just let it sit there and find its own way.”

Nominated seven times for an Academy Award, Duvall won lead actor honors in 1983 for his role as Mac Sledge, a broken-down country singer in “Tender Mercies.” A guitar player since childhood, he did his own singing and wrote two of the songs.

Turning down his studio’s offer of a cast party at glitzy Studio 54, Duvall hosted a heartfelt hoedown in his New York City apartment. The crowd ate down-home food cooked by character actor Wilford Brimley, who had flown in from Tennessee. As the party ended at 3 a.m., an exuberant Duvall had everyone join hands for a chorus of “Amazing Grace.”

Willie Nelson — who sang duets with Duvall at the party — told Village Voice columnist Arthur Bell that “Tender Mercies” was dead-on accurate.

“These people Bobby portrayed in his movie, I grew up in those parts and know each of them personally,” he said. “And I’ll probably be that character he plays someday if I don’t take care of myself.”

Many of Duvall’s characters had hardscrabble backgrounds, but Duvall grew up in privilege. Born in San Diego on Jan. 5, 1931, he was raised in places around the U.S. where his naval officer father was posted.

When he was 10, the future star of so many westerns rode his first horse and got to know his first Texans on a family trip to see his mother’s relatives.

By his teen years in Annapolis, Md., Duvall had become an excellent mimic, absorbing dialects and mannerisms wherever he happened to be. He did hilarious impressions of people like his cousin Fagin Springer, a singing evangelist from Virginia, and the tough old cowhands on his uncle’s Montana ranch. Years later, on the set of “The Godfather,” he did impressions of Marlon Brando.

In his more than 85 movies, many of his characters were heavy drinkers, but not Duvall. He went to a Christian Science boarding school in St. Louis and to Principia College, a Christian Science college in Elsah, Ill., and never smoked or drank.

When the affable, athletic Duvall was nearly kicked out of college for poor grades, administrators summoned his parents for an emergency meeting. Everyone agreed he was miscast as a history major. The boy’s only talent, besides tennis, appeared to be acting.

Switching to drama — a decision supported by his parents, who wanted him to stay in school — he turned his academic career around.

In a college production of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” Duvall so deeply merged into the character of a ruthless businessman haunted by a bad decision that he found himself crying. “That clinched it,” wrote Judith Slawson in “Robert Duvall: Hollywood Maverick,” a 1985 biography. “Acting was for him.”

Graduating in 1953, Duvall was drafted into the Army. He trained in radio repair at Camp Gordon in Georgia but spent his off-duty time with a community theater group in nearby Augusta. When he left the service in 1955, he studied at New York’s Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theatre, a training ground for such top talents as Gregory Peck, Steve McQueen and Jon Voight.

Sanford Meisner, the school’s legendarily demanding director, was impressed.

“There are only two actors in America,” he told playwright David Mamet years later. “One is Brando, who’s done his best work, and the other is Robert Duvall.”

In New York, Duvall worked night shifts at the post office, washed dishes and kept auditioning. He shared an apartment at Broadway and West 107th Street with a fledgling actor named Dustin Hoffman. The two also palled around with Gene Hackman and James Caan.

Over coffee at Cromwell’s Drugstore, the yet-to-be-discovered actors would discuss the mumbling, moving technique of another young actor.

“If we mentioned Brando once, we mentioned him 25 times,” Duvall told The Times in 2014.

After several years of off-Broadway productions, summer stock and roles in TV dramas such as “Naked City” and “The Twilight Zone,” Duvall landed his first Hollywood role in 1962.

As Boo Radley, a mysterious recluse in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Duvall was on-screen for less than five minutes at the film’s end and had no lines. But he played a pivotal character and the film launched a cinematic career that lasted more than five decades.

In the 1979 Vietnam War epic “Apocalypse Now,” he delivered one of the most famous lines in the history of film. As the swaggering Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore, he orders U.S. helicopters to destroy a coastal Viet Cong-held village so he and his men could surf there.

“You smell that? Do you smell that? Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that,” Kilgore says nonchalantly as the village before him erupts in flame. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

Kilgore’s chilling monologue topped the list of best movie speeches in a 2004 BBC poll. Duvall later said he had no idea people would remember it.

Duvall seldom played leading men, but Mac Sledge, in “Tender Mercies,” was a notable breakthrough.

“This is the only film where I’ve heard people say I’m sexy,” he told an interviewer. “It’s real romantic — rural romantic. I love that part almost more than anything.”

Duvall was married three times before meeting Luciana Pedraza, a young woman who was dared by her friends to approach him on a Buenos Aires street and invite him to a tango gathering. She played opposite him in “Assassination Tango,” a 2002 film in which he portrays a hit man dispatched to Argentina. They married in 2005 and for years practiced tango on a dance floor they installed in one of their barns.

In addition to his wife, Duvall is survived by his older brother William, an actor and music teacher. His young brother John died in 2000.

Duvall’s legacy includes a wide range of films, from “True Grit” to “True Confessions.” He played a retired Cuban barber in “Wrestling Ernest Hemingway”; a cynical TV executive in “Network”; a dirt-poor Mississippi farmer in “Tomorrow”; a quietly effective corporate attorney in “A Civil Action”; a middle-aged astronaut in “Deep Impact”; a grizzled cattleman in “Open Range”; a tobacco company bigwig in the satirical “Thank You for Smoking”; and in the miniseries “Ike,” he was Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower.

He also tackled some less commercial projects. In 1977, he directed a documentary about a Nebraska rodeo family, “We’re Not the Jet Set.” In 1983, he wrote and directed “Angelo, My Love,” a drama inspired by and starring Romani whom Duvall came to know in New York City.

He worked well into his later years. In the 2009 film “Get Low,” he was a backwoods hermit who staged his own funeral. Two years later, he was a rancher and ex-golf pro who takes a young golfer under his wing in the spiritual drama “Seven Days in Utopia.” And four years after that, he played an alcoholic and abusive justice in “The Judge,” earning a supporting actor Oscar nomination — the oldest actor at the time to do so.

In “A Night in Old Mexico” (2014), he played an ill-tempered rancher preparing for suicide after losing his land to foreclosure. His plans change when he meets an adult grandson he never knew he had and the two wander across the border into bars and bordellos and reflect on life.

“No one plays wise old coots more convincingly,” the New York Times said.

Duvall drew on his inner curmudgeon throughout his career.

As an actor who prided himself on an up-close, deep-down knowledge of his characters, he sometimes bristled at direction.

“If I have instincts I feel are right, I don’t want anyone to tamper with them,” he told After Dark magazine in 1973. “I don’t like tamperers and I don’t like hoverers.”

Horton Foote, who adapted “Mockingbird” for the movies and wrote “Tender Mercies,” became one of Duvall’s few lifelong friends in the industry.

When Duvall was checking out Southern churches as he researched “The Apostle,” which he wrote, directed and starred in, the two were frequently in touch on the phone.

“I could always tell he’d been with a different preacher,” Foote told The Times in 2006, “because he’d try out these different voices.”

Authenticity was so important to Duvall that he gave some key roles in “The Apostle” to local people with little or no acting experience.

Rick Dial, who played a small-town radio reporter in the film, was actually a local furniture salesman.

“Rick improvised a lot of his dialogue,” Duvall told Backstage magazine in 2001. “At the end of ‘The Apostle’ when they cart me off, his skin turned a certain color of grief. I don’t know who told him to do that. He just did it.”

For Duvall, known as an actor who “just did it” in film after film, that was the highest kind of praise.

Chawkins is a former Times staff writer.

In this episode of The Envelope video podcast, Teyana Taylor describes the “slingshot” of success that’s come with “One Battle After Another” and shares her insights as to why fictional revolutionary Perfidia Beverly Hills does what she does in the film.

Kelvin Washington: Hello, everyone, and welcome back to The Envelope. Kelvin Washington, Yvonne Villarreal, we have Mark Olsen as well. Hopefully you all have been great since the last time I saw you. Everybody been good?

Mark Olsen: Of course.

Washington: Well, I tell you what, there’s a list of folks who’ve been very good because they’ve been nominated for an Oscar. And obviously, you kind of get the usual suspects, if you will. And then you get some surprises out there. Some folks you go, “Whoa!” So I want to start with you. Either of you can jump in on this. Is there someone that maybe surprised you, a film or something that you were just excited about or maybe someone said, “Them again?” or “That film again?”

Olsen: I think it was very exciting that “Sinners” got the most nominations of any film ever with 16 nominations. It was nominated in every category that it was eligible for. To see a movie that has had commercial success and felt like a cultural moment now being recognized somewhere like the Academy Awards, it’s just exciting to see that all coming together and rolling along for that film, regardless of how it turns out at the show.

Villarreal: I was very excited to see Rose Byrne get acknowledged for “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You.” Because I was worried about that movie losing steam after all the raves it got at Sundance [in 2025] and it’s a smaller movie. I wasn’t sure, “Are people going to remember it?” But I just think she’s so great in that film.

I was sort of surprised that Chase Infiniti didn’t get nominated.

Olsen: Because of the nature of the movie, the whole lead/supporting business was tough, and also it being her first movie, it’s a little harder to get that nomination — especially in lead actress, faced with, say, Kate Hudson, someone who’s been in the business for a long time, is much beloved in the industry, has obviously family historical ties to Hollywood. It’s interesting to see even in the nominations this sort of alchemy of like, “a little of this, a little bit of that” as far as who the academy was choosing to recognize.

Washington: You know, I go back to something you said, Mark, when you go to “Sinners.” You mentioned the blockbuster feel of it, getting people’s butts to the theaters, spending money. And also kind of original. We’ve had vampire movies before, but, you know, you get the “Transformer 12’s” and “Expendable 32’s.” I think a lot of folks were excited to see something original that also had commercial success as well.

Another film that had a bunch of success is “One Battle After Another.” You had a chance to speak with a star from that film, who’s been a star in her own right musically, but now into the film world, with Teyana Taylor.

Olsen: That’s right. It’s so exciting. She’s nominated for best supporting actress. This is a long movie, it’s over two and a half hours long. She more or less exits the picture about 30 minutes in. So I think it says something about the strength of her performance that her character kind of hovers over the rest of that movie. You feel her in the movie, even though she’s actually not onscreen. So at the Oscar nominees luncheon recently, we had a chance to sit down with Teyana and she was just so vibrant, so full of energy, really has a great attitude about this moment for herself. I mean, she just recently won a Golden Globe, she hosted “Saturday Night Live.” So much is like happening for her, seemingly right now and she’s just got this real like, taking it all in, very open to it [attitude]. It was really an exciting conversation.

Washington: A culmination of all her hard work. Here is Mark’s conversation with Teyana Taylor.

Teyana Taylor.

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

Mark Olsen: You were just at the Super Bowl. About a week before that, you were a nominee at the Grammys. About a week before that you hosted “Saturday Night Live.” About a week before that you won a Golden Globe. And you’re here today as an Academy Award nominee. I’m sure I’m leaving some things out. I would say what’s the last year been like for you, but I feel like, what’s the last month or two been like for you? It feels like the rocket ship has really taken off.

Teyana Taylor: Yeah, it’s really taken off. I’m so blessed and I’m so honored and I’m filled with so much gratitude to just see so many prayers get answered all at once, where I’m also OK with one at a time. But it’s all happening, you know? And I’m just beyond blessed. And like we were talking about earlier, just how much fun I’m having with it. I’m really having a good time and I’m taking it all in because life is short and life is so fragile. So I just try and take time to enjoy life and enjoy my blessings and enjoy just being alive and well.

Olsen: Has there been a moment that felt the most surreal, like a “What is happening to me right now” moment?

Taylor: Honestly, all of it, because it reminds me of a slingshot, you know what I’m saying? It’s just like, here’s the way, here’s the way, here’s the way, here’s the way, here’s the work, here’s the prayers, here’s the tears, just here, here, here, here, here. And then whoosh — whatever the ball hit, it knocked down everything at once. And that’s what this feels like. It feels really good because literally everything is happening at the same time. So it’s not like only one moment or only two moments that’s making me feel this way. It’s everything. The small wins, the big wins, the medium wins. Every single win and every single blessing is a big deal to me. You know what I’m saying? Even my Ls. I’m not gonna win everything and I’m not gonna get everything, and some things are not even meant for me. But even those are blessings. It’s preparation for something that is in store for me and something that is meant for me, because all of this is already written. What’s for you is for you and will be for you, because that’s just what’s written. So I have that mindset.

Olsen: You’ve been doing this since you were a teenager, at first as a choreographer and a dancer, a singer, an actor, you’re going to direct your first feature soon. What keeps you moving through all of this, through these different disciplines and pursuits?

Taylor: My babies. My support system. My village. My community. I love to make my people proud. I love to make my peers proud, my family. I just love to make everybody proud and that’s what keeps me going. Even right now, I’m also in culinary school. So it’s just juggling that, but taking out the little moments to just be quiet and cook and feed my people. So it’s a push. It’s understanding it’s a marathon and that it’s not a sprint. It’s a part of the faith walk. And I think that’s what keeps me going, to wake up and feel so blessed, how could I ever complain? How could I ever be like, “Oh, this is too much”? It is everything I’ve ever asked for. I’m never going to complain about answered prayers. What pushes me is just the reassurance from my support system, the reassurance from Father God himself, the reassurance for my babies. They keep me going. That’s who I do it for. I want to create generational wealth. So them babies are my reason. They are my why.

Olsen: To start asking you about “One Battle After Another,” your character, Perfidia Beverly Hills, she’s inspired a lot of conversation and some controversy. For you, was there something about that character that you felt you hadn’t seen on screen before?

Taylor: Yes. Perfidia is complex and she is also misunderstood. This is a woman who has been in survival mode, who has been fetishized, who has been ignored, not seen. We’re seeing this woman deal with that, where in movies we’re used to seeing us women have to be in capes all day and you see this woman rip this cape away and it’s just unapologetically herself — even in her weakness. And even like you said, with the controversy of her sexuality, I think her sexuality is her armor. It is also her power. She’ll give somebody what they want to get what she wants. And literally in the movie, she’s made selfish decisions. But if you think about her spirit and mentally and emotionally as a woman, it felt good to see a woman actually be selfish and put her[self] first, which we never really get to do because we have to be super this, super this, super this. Super mom, super wife, super woman, super chef; everything is always with a super in front of it. And you see this woman not really caring about what people think. Nobody can quiet her. And in this space of, “OK, you’re too loud, quiet down; you stand too tall, have a seat,” Perfidia is all of the things that they can’t make her do. She’s like, “I’m gonna stand tall, I’m gonna use my voice, I’m gonna use whatever I need to use to get what I want.” And she makes decisions that we don’t agree with, but I think one thing we all can agree on is that she’s a badass. And I can always respect anybody that’s unapologetically themselves.

Another thing that I feel like the controversy is proof of is how much of a nonfactor postpartum depression is. Half of the mistakes we see Perfidia make is her dealing with postpartum depression. You see the moment where they say, “Perfida, she’s a runner. She comes from a long line of revolutionaries.” That in itself is a pressure on her to feel like she gotta keep that going. The revolution is instilled in her. It’s a part of her identity. So imagine getting pregnant and you’re feeling like, “Oh, my God, does this slow down the revolution? Am I gonna play house with a person that’s ignoring me?” Nobody is really taking the time to think about what’s happening in her mind. We can’t control how a person handles postpartum depression. We hear her, through the door, cry, and then we see Bob put his ear to the door — and instead of him walking in, he walked away. And then what was the result of that? Her walking away. Even if it had to be walking away from Baby Willa, it’s something that she felt like she needed to do, and that’s what postpartum make you do sometime. And every mother handles postpartrum depression differently. But I think that’s what I love about her character, because you get to see a harsh reality that I know is hard to take in. But when you watch it a few times you understand exactly what’s happening. … I think that’s what makes the letter at the end so important. Because you hear the pain, you hear the hurt, you hear the regret, you hear the accountability, “Do you have love? Are you happy? Will you try and change the world like we did? We failed, but maybe you will not.”

And that’s another thing. This is a story that Paul Thomas Anderson wanted to tell. It was Perfidia’s job to go and anchor this boat and stay there and create the path for Willa to take on these battles, because her past haunted Willa and Bob. That’s a part of Perfidia being supporting — supporting the next steps of what is for Willa. It’s for Willa to go on and to rise. So you see Perfidia in the beginning of the movie, you see her drive this boat, you see her get to the middle of the sea and you see her anchor herself. And from there, we have to continue the story. So I’m happy that the controversy around her can create dialogue like this, can create healthy dialogue or even uncomfortable dialogue. As long as it’s dialogue and we’re conversing and we are speaking and people are speaking from their point of views, I can absolutely respect that.

Olsen: Is that a conversation you expected to have? When you were making the film, were you and Paul, or you and your co-stars talking about the depiction of Black women in the movie? Or have you been surprised that’s been such a talking point now that the movie’s out in the world?

Taylor: Honestly, I’m not surprised of any of the talking. I think one thing that I said before the movie even dropped and we were doing our press junkets, I was always very boisterous about the fact that this movie, period, not just the character, would definitely shake the table, and it would definitely spark, whether it was great debates or — I love conversation and I like when we can converse. Get it off your chest, tell me how you feel. And I’m open to receive that. So I knew that it would shake the table. I also knew that it needed to be done. Postpartum depression is a big thing for me that I feel like it needs more light. It needs light around it. We need more solutions for it. And like I said, you see this person, this woman in survival mode. You see this woman be ignored. You see this woman be fetishized. And is that not the truth? Is that not what happens, especially in this place of a Black woman feeling the least protected? So I’m really happy that Paul put wings on that to be able to spread and fly with that. And like I said, I know it’s probably tough to take in, but that’s what we got to see because everybody is not wearing capes. Everybody is not handling things the way you may handle things, I may handle the things, the way that person or this person may handle things. So we all just got to give grace and take in the film. It’s a story that’s being told.

Olsen: To me, one of the biggest surprises about the movie is considering how cohesive and complete it feels, to learn how improvisatory and collaborative the process of making the movie was. Were you surprised by that? What was it like for you entering into the process of making this movie with Paul?

Taylor: I was shocked at how collaborative it was. And I loved every bit of it because one thing about it is, again, when you are telling a story that someone wrote — he’s been working on this project for 20 years. This is something that I consider to be his baby. And when you’re trusting me to take on a job like this, I don’t ever wanna walk into any set and feel like I’m doing what I want to do. I just want to be of good support. If you tell me, “Hey, let’s find this together,” I’m gonna find it together. If you say, “This is my vision of what that is and this is how I want it to be,” it’s my job to give you that vision of what you want it be, and then add my little sauce on top of it. But to be fully collaborative, I thought it was really dope. We found Perfidia’s layers and we color-coordinated those layers. And I’m really happy that he let me be a part of that.

Olsen: What do you feel you brought to Perfidia or you were able to add to the character?

Taylor: I was able to add a lot. Paul was very, very collaborative. And again, we found her layers, which was the most important, especially with such a complex character. And you know, I just came from “A Thousand and One.” So I came from being another complex character, but this one was complex to a whole other level, where we almost didn’t understand why we never see Perfidia cry. But you see these little moments, like little details, in her face that’s just like, it’s this strength, but the strength — because I also don’t really love the term “strong Black woman” — it’s this strength that you feel like she has to have because the strength is really survival mode. And again, like I said, you hear her crack down and you hear her vulnerable, and nobody stepped through that door. So when you see a strong Black woman, there is no grace, it’s, “Oh, she’s OK, she fine, she got it all figured out.” And then you hear her vulnerable and you still feel like even at her most vulnerable, she got this, she’s strong. And it’s just like, “Step through the door. Step in early. Step in the first time. Hear me the first time, see me [this] time, wipe the first tear away. Would she have walked out that door on Baby Willa and Bob, had he walked through that door when he heard her cry?

Olsen: I’ve heard you a number of times when you’re talking about Paul, you always call him Paul “Let Him Cook” Thomas Anderson. What does that mean?

Taylor: Let him cook! Listen, because he to me is a master chef. And honestly, I’m very, very big on leadership. I respect the person that is a leader. What makes it so dope is because, with being in culinary school, I originally signed up for culinary school, of course, to learn the art of culinary, but to just cook, I love to cook and I wanted to learn the art of that. With being enrolled in culinary school, it’s a lot of writing work and a lot of discussion forums and a lot of quizzes and stuff like that. So you’re not only learning to cook, but you’re learning how to run a business. You’re learning how to navigate your staff, front of house, back of house, in the kitchen. You have to understand it’s a whole system in how you handle people in general. In the kitchen they call it like a “servant leader,” where your leader is in the kitchen with you, they’re cooking with you. They’re your mentor, they are your guidance, but they’re cooking with you. They’re not just pointing, “Do this, do that, boom, boom, boom.” And it’s just, like, his gentle servant leadership is something that I respect so much and something that inspires me as an upcoming movie director on how to handle and navigate my staff.

So it’s like the best of both worlds because I have PTA and then I have culinary school who’s teaching me how to be the best leader. Even in how we handle people, it’s bigger than just the people that work for us or with us. It’s also the people that come into this restaurant. It’s your customers. It’s just the hospitality of it all and the hospitality that he gives, it’s really amazing to see. I’m also a big sports girl. So even in regards to him being our quarterback, you know, he’s not on the side, pointing at what to do. He’s on the field with you. But he has an even bigger job because now he’s trusting that he’s going to throw this ball to you and you’re going to receive that ball. So we’re his receivers, we’re his wide receivers to take it to the touchdown. It’s all about being present. And that’s what I learned in culinary, it’s what I learned in sports, it’s just everything about being a leader as I prepare to lead my village and lead my community. That’s just so important to me. So I always respect people that are in the field with you. I become a warrior for you. You see Paul, you’re running in the battlefield, you look to your left, he’s with you. He’s not on a horse, he’s not on his high horse. He’s in the field with you. Let’s go, we got this! And it just makes you want to you want to go so hard for him. And that’s how I look at it. So I am a student. I am a teammate. I am a soldier. I am a warrior. That’s what I am with people that are great leaders.

Olsen: When you won the Golden Globe, your speech was so moving and you specifically spoke to your “brown sisters and little brown girls” and said that their light does not need permission to shine. Can you talk more about that? What was it that made you want to say that in that moment, specifically talking about this movie?

Taylor: I thought it was a very important moment on a very important stage. I wanted to use my voice and I wanted to use my platform. And in that moment, I had the voice and the platform to say just that. It’s nothing less than that. There’s nothing beyond that. Exactly what I said. We deserve space. What that night showed was that here’s the space. And I appreciated that. I was filled with so much gratitude. That moment hit hard for me because I was that little girl that sat on the floor on a TV watching the other queens onstage accept their awards. Like, “You can do it too, you can do it too.” And I knew that one day when it was my turn, I would tell my little queens, “You can do it too — all the little queens that look like me, you can do it too, you deserve space.” To know that also my daughters were watching as well, it’s everything to me. It’s everything for me to know that they embrace that as well. It’s so important. I’ve gotten so many women come up to me like, “Wow, that speech was just everything.” And that’s what it’s all about. That’s what is all about: to inspire, uplift and remind us that there is space.

Olsen: Before I let you go, you just bring it on red carpets time and time again. And the one thing I like is that you wear these really bold outfits, and it never looks like the clothes are wearing you. Do you have tips for people? What do you do for confident personal style?

Taylor: Honestly, follow your heart. Follow your heart. If you see it and you like it, put it together. You might put it together and be like, “That didn’t work the way I [intended].” Practice. Play in clothes. I love to play in clothes — but also will walk in the store and redress a whole mannequin. I’ll also be like, “I like that tie, I think it should be a little bit tighter.” I dream about certain outfits. I dream of certain moments where I’m like, “Oooh. I already know what I feel like I want my Oscar dress to look like. I already know what I want my Golden Globes dress to look like.” It’s always a vision. Or sometimes you might have a base. You might see something and be like, “I like this, but I feel it could use this.” Add it. If you feel like something can use something, add it. Because before you know it, now you done created your own thing. So don’t hesitate. When I was younger, I used to hesitate and be like, “This looked pretty cool, but now I’m not gonna do it.” And then later on, I see somebody try it, and I’m like, “Oh, I should have just…” Always follow your gut and always follow you heart.

SACRAMENTO — Gavin Newsom writes in his upcoming memoir about San Francisco’s highborn Getty family fitting him in Brioni suits “appropriate to meet a king” when he was 20 years old. Then he flew aboard their private “Jetty” to Spain for a royal princess’s debutante-style party.

Back home, real life wasn’t as grand.

In an annual performance for their single mom, Newsom and his sister would pretend to find problems with the fancy clothes his dad’s friends, the heirs of ruthless oil baron J. Paul Getty, sent for Christmas. Poor fit. Wrong color. Not my style. The ritual gave her an excuse to return the gifts and use the store credit on presents for her children she placed under the tree.

California’s 41st governor, a possible suitor for the White House, opens up about the duality of his upbringing in his new book. Newsom details the everyday struggle living with his mom after his parents divorced and occasional interludes into his father’s life charmed by the Gettys’ affluence, including that day when the Gettys outfitted him in designer clothes at a luxury department store.

“I walked out understanding that this was the split personality of my life,” Newsom writes in “Young Man in a Hurry.”

For years, Newsom asserted that his “one-dimensional” public image as a slick, privileged politician on a path to power paved with Getty oil money fails to tell the whole story.

“I’m not trying to be something I’m not,” Newsom said in a recent interview. “I’m not trying to talk about, you know, ‘I was born in a town called Hope with no running water.’ That’s not what this book is about. But it’s a very different portrayal than the one I think 9 out of 10 people believe.”

As he explores a 2028 presidential run and basks in the limelight as one of President Trump’s most vociferous critics, the book offers the Democratic politician a chance to write his own narrative and address the skeletons in his closet before opponents begin to exploit his past.

A book tour, which is set to begin Feb. 21 in Nashville, also gives Newsom a reason to travel the country, meet voters and promote his life story without officially entering the race. He’s expected to make additional stops in Georgia, South Carolina, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles.

The governor describes the book as a “memoir of discovery” that sent him interviewing family members and friends and digging through troves of old documents about his lineage that his mother never spoke about and his father smoothed over. Learning about his family history, the good and the bad, Newsom said, helped him understand and accept himself. Mark Arax, an author and former Los Angeles Times journalist, was his ghostwriter.

“I’ve changed the opinion of myself,” Newsom said when asked if he believed the book would revise his glossy public image. “It kind of rocked so many parts of my life, and kind of cracked things open. And I started to understand where my anxieties come from and why I’m overcompensating in certain areas.”

Newsom writes that his interest in politics brought him and his father, William, closer. His mother, Tessa, on the other hand, didn’t share his father’s enthusiasm.

She warned him to get out while he still could, worried her only son would eschew his true self.

“My mother did not want that world for me: the shrewd marriage of tall husbands and tall wives that kept each year’s Cotillion Debutante Ball stocked with children of the same; the gritted teeth behind the social smiles; the spectator sport of who was in and who was out based on so-and-so’s dinner party guest list,” Newsom wrote.

At the heart of her concern was her belief that Newsom’s “obsessive drive” into business and politics was in response to his upbringing and an effort to solve “the riddle” of his identity from his learning disorder, dyslexia, and the two different worlds he inhabited.

“As I grew up trying to grasp which of these worlds, if either, suited me best, she had worried about the persona I was constructing to cover up what she considered a crack at my core,” Newsom writes. “If my remaking was skim plaster, she feared, it would crumble. It would not hold me into adulthood.”

Newsom’s mother was 19 years old when she married his father, then 32. He learned through writing the book that his mother hailed from a “family of brilliant and daring misfits who had carved new paths in botany and medicine and left-wing politics,” he writes.

There was also secret pain and struggles with mental health. His maternal grandfather, a World War II POW, turned to the bottle after returning home. One night he told his three young daughters to line up in front of the fireplace so he could shoot them, but stopped when his wife walked in the door and took the gun from his hand. He committed suicide years later.

Newsom’s father’s family was full of more traditional Democrats and Irish Catholic storytellers who worked in banking, homebuilding, law enforcement and law. Newsom describes his paternal grandfather as one of the “thinkers behind the throne” for former California Gov. Edmund “Pat” Brown, but his family never held public office despite his dad’s bids for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and the California Legislature.

The failed campaigns left his father in financial and emotional turmoil that crippled his marriage when Newsom was a small boy. A divorce set the stage for an unusual contrasting existence for the would-be governor, offering him brief exposures to the wealth and power of the Gettys through his dad.

Newsom said he moved casually between the rich and poor neighborhoods of San Francisco as a boy.

“It was a wonder how effortlessly I glided because the two realms of my life, the characters of my mother’s world and the characters of my father’s world, did not fit together in the least,” Newsom writes.

Mayor Gavin Newsom and his dad, Judge William Newsom, have lunch at the Balboa Cafe in San Francisco.

(Christina Koci Hernandez / San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)

Though William Alfred Newsom III went on to become an appellate court justice, Newsom’s father was best known for his role delivering ransom money to the kidnappers of J. Paul Getty’s grandson. He served as an adviser to the family without pay and a paid administrator of the $4 billion family trust.

The governor wrote in the book that the ties between the two families go back three generations. His father was close friends with Getty’s sons John Paul Jr. and Gordon since childhood when they became like his sixth and seventh siblings at Newsom’s grandparents’ house.

Gordon Getty in particular considered Newsom’s father his “best-best friend.” Newsom’s dad helped connect the eccentric music composer “to the outside world,” the governor wrote.

“My father had this way of creating a safe space for Gordon to open up,” Newsom writes. “He became Gordon’s whisperer, his interpreter and translator, a bridge to their friends, a bridge to Gordon’s own children.”

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and his sister, Hilary Newsom, in a promotional portrait for the Search for the Cause campaign, which raises funds for cancer research, on Nov. 21, 2025.

(Caroline Schiff/Getty Images)

His father’s friendship with Gordon Getty exposed Newsom and his younger sister, Hillary, to a world far beyond their family’s own means. Gordon’s wife, Ann, and Newsom’s father organized elaborate adventures for the Gettys’ four sons and the Newsom children.

Newsom describes fishing on the Rogue River and riding in a helicopter while studying polar bears on the shores of the Hudson Bay in Canada. He recalled donning tuxedos and carrying toy guns pretending to be James Bond on a European yacht vacation and soaring over the Serengeti in a hot air balloon during an East African safari.

Throughout his travels, Newsom often blended in with the Gettys’ brown-haired sons. He wrote that the actor Jack Nicholson once mistakenly called him one of the “Getty boys” at a party in a 16th-century palazzo in Venice where guests arrived via gondola. Newsom didn’t correct him.

“Had I shared this encounter with my mother, she likely would have asked me if deception was something I practiced whenever I hobnobbed with the Gettys,” Newsom said in the book. “Fact is, I was always aware of the line that separated us from the Gettys. Not because they went out of their way to make us aware of it but because we, as good Newsoms, paid constant mind to the distinction.”

Newsom wrote that his mother seemed to begrudge the excursions when her children returned home. She raised them in a much more ordinary existence. Newsom describes his father’s presence as “episodic.”

“For a day or two, she’d give us the silent treatment, and then we’d all fall back into the form of a life trying to make ends meet,” he wrote. “After enough vacations came and went, a cone of silence took hold.”

Newsom’s mother worked as an assistant retail buyer, a bookkeeper, a waitress at a Mexican restaurant, a development director for a nonprofit and a real estate agent — holding as many as three jobs at once — to provide for her children. His mother’s sister and brother-in-law helped care for them when they could, but he likened himself to a latchkey kid because of the amount of time he and his sister spent alone.

They moved five times in 10 years in search of a “better house in a better neighborhood” with good schools, taking the family from San Francisco to the Marin County suburbs. Though his mother owned a home, she often rented out rooms to bring in extra money.

Tired of his mother complaining about finances and his father not coming through, Newsom wrote that he took on a paper route.

In the book, Newsom describes his struggles with dyslexia and how the learning disorder undercut his self-esteem when he was an emotionally vulnerable child.

Eager to make himself something more than an awkward kid with sweaty palms and a bowl haircut who couldn’t read, Newsom mimicked Remington Steele, the suave character on the popular 1980s detective show. He chugged down glassfuls of raw eggs like Sylvester Stallone in “Rocky” and ran across town and back like a prizefighter in training.

He found confidence in high school sports, but his struggle to find himself continued into young adulthood. Newsom wrote that he watched tapes of motivational guru Tony Robbins and heeded his advice to remake yourself in the image of someone you admire. For Newsom, that became Robbins himself.

“Find a person who embodies all of the outward traits of personality, bearing, charisma, language, and power lacking in yourself,” Newsom described the philosophy in the book. “Study that person. Copy that person. The borrowed traits may fit awkwardly at first, but don’t fret. You’ll be surprised by how fast the pose becomes you, and you the pose.”

His father scoffed at the self-help gurus and nurtured his interest in business.

More than a half-dozen friends and family members, including Gordon Getty, invested equal shares to help him launch a wine shop in San Francisco. Newsom named the business, which expanded to include restaurants, hotels and wineries, “PlumpJack,” the nickname of Shakespeare’s fictional character Sir John Falstaff and the title of Gordon Getty’s opera.

“Gordon’s really inspired me to be bolder and more audacious. He’s inspired me to be more authentic,” Newsom said. “The risks I take in business … just trying to march to the beat of a different drummer and to be a little bolder. That’s my politics. But I also think he played a huge role in that, in terms of shaping me in that respect as well.”

Newsom described Gordon and Ann Getty as like family. The Gettys also became the biggest investors in his wineries and among his largest political donors.

In an interview, Newsom said there are many days when he feels his mother “absolutely” was right to worry about the facade of politics and the mold her son stuffed himself into.

Gavin Newsom heads for his home neighborhood on Nov. 3, 2003, to cast hisvote for San Francisco mayor.

(Mike Kepka / San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)

He described the day the recall against him qualified for the ballot amid the COVID-19 pandemic as humbling and humiliating, though it later failed by a wide margin. Still today, he said, there’s a voice in his head constantly questioning why he’s in politics, what he’s exposing his wife and children to and doing with his life.

By choosing a career as an elected official despite his mother’s warnings, Newsom ultimately picked his father’s world and accomplished his father’s dream of taking office. But he said the book taught him that so much of his own more gutsy positions, such as his early support for gay marriage, and his hustle were from his mother.

Newsom said he’s accepted that he can’t control which version of himself people choose to see. Writing the book felt cathartic, he said, and left him more comfortable taking off his mask.

“It allowed me to understand better my motivations, my purpose, my meaning, my mission… who my mom and dad were and who I am as a consequence of them and what truly motivates me,” Newsom said. “There’s a freedom. There’s a real freedom. And it’s nice. It’s just so much nicer than the plaster of the past.”