Upon learning of the passing of Richard Roundtree, I was stunned to find out that his iconic character John Shaft was his first film or TV credit of any kind. Roundtree was just 28 years old when he made his debut in Gordon Parks’ instant classic action/crime drama, Shaft, and rarely has an actor so confidently inhabited a character in full right out of the gate as Roundtree did with John Shaft.
Exhibiting a supreme cool along with a sense of danger and no small amount of sex appeal (“Who’s the private dick who’s a sex machine to all the chicks,” as Isaac Hayes’ famous theme song goes) from the first moment he steps into frame, Roundtree exuded an immediate authoritative presence. The first Shaft film was so successful that it spawned two sequels (Shaft’s Big Score! and Shaft in Africa) as well as a short-lived TV series.
Yet somehow, despite delivering so completely in a starring role in a very successful movie right from the jump of his career, Roundtree never found another role to match his calling card debut. I suppose on one hand, that’s not so surprising—topping Shaft would have been no mean feat. But what’s so disappointing is the fact that Roundtree never got another opportunity that was even close to John Shaft. While it’s not an enjoyable thought, it’s hard to believe that race didn’t play a role in Roundtree’s lack of post-Shaft success.
Much like Superfly, Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song, Coffy. and other successful movies from the so-called “blaxploitation” era of the ‘70s, those films did not prove to be a springboard for the stars who led these stories about inner city life (AKA movies about Black people) To put it simply and painfully, regardless of the capacity of the actors, they were just too Black for the mainstream.
That’s not to say that Roundtree, Melvin Van Peebles, Ron O’Neal, and Pam Grier couldn’t get work after the blaxploitation era came to a close, it’s just that they seldom got the opportunity to play leads in films that were up to their caliber (Pam Grier in Jackie Brown is a notable exception). Roundtree in particular seemed snakebit by the ghettoizing of his most famous role.
Whether one takes a quick run through of Roundtree’s resume, or a deeper dive, you’d be unlikely to find much in the way of quality titles. Even the films that Roundtree appeared in that you might recognize by name and reputation (such as David Fincher’s Se7en or Rian Johnson’s Brick), his roles were slight. In fact, if anything, Roundtree was often reduced to trading in on past glory. Specifically by appearing as connective tissue in two Shaft reboot attempts (John Singleton’s Shaft starring Samuel L. Jackson in 2000, and Tim Story’s painful 2019 effort starring Jessie T. Usher and Jackson again), that largely served as torch-passing attempts that fell flat.
It’s not hard to imagine that if Roundtree had been born fifteen to twenty years later, he could have had a career that looked at least like Wesley Snipes’ if not Denzel Washington’s. I have no trouble picturing Roundtree as the action hero in Passenger 57 or the private detective Easy Rawlins in Devil in a Blue Dress. Roles that I think would have fit him like that striking long leather jacket did when it hung off his broad shoulders in Shaft.
What I think Roundtree was the victim of was being first. It’s amazing (and frequently disheartening) how often the person who kicks open the door for others doesn’t get to walk through it themselves.
And damn what a shame it is that the success Roundtree provided for other actors of color was never within his grasp. Because that cat Roundtree was a bad motha (shut yo mouth!).
Richard Roundtree died on October 24, 2023. He was 81 years old.
