It was slash-and-burn civil-rights activism, and it terrified parents, enraged racists, and unsettled the White House. America the melting pot was a crucible in crisis.
But at the movies, even in the South, the crucible was cool. He had the self-containment of a cat, the swoop of a hawk, the calm of a saint. His poise was a form of precision, and his precision, intelligence that ran deep.
His name was Sidney Poitier. In that roiling year, with disobedience civil and uncivil at critical mass, Poitier was at the height of a singular career.
Each film was indelible, and each brought themes unique to Poitier, who was then 40, to artistic culmination and resolution. To Sir, with Love came first, directed by the triple-threat talent James Clavellβscreenwriter, director, and the author of epic novels such as Shogun. In the Heat of the Night followed, directed by the up-and-comer Norman Jewison.
A murder mystery set in a sweat-stained South of sin and insinuation, it won the Oscar for best picture. This problem comedy, which Columbia Pictures tried twice to back out ofβfirst when it found out that the subject was inter-racial marriage, and again when it learned that no insurance company would underwrite Tracy, who had serious heart trouble in lieu of insurance, Kramer and Hepburn put their fees in escrow βnot only played in the South but made more money for Columbia than anything it had previously produced.
