R.I.P. T.J. Byrd

 The murder of Thomas Jefferson Byrd is a tragedy beyond the simple loss of a talented actor, but we all have our own tiny frames of reference for any celebrity we don’t know on a personal level, so I must limit my observations to the two performances of Byrd’s with which I am most familiar. And it’s telling that the combination of these mere two performances are enough to convey just how deeply talented Thomas Jefferson Byrd was as an actor.

Like everyone else (except those lucky enough to catch his early stage work) my first exposure to Byrd was his performance as Errol Barnes in Spike Lee’s Clockers.

Clockers works on many levels, one of them as a study of two contrasting forms of evil. The first and most central form of evil is the kind that masquerades as a force of good. This form of evil is embodied by local drug lord Rodney Little (Delroy Lindo), who treats his employees as if he’s one part employer, one part friend, and three parts surrogate father. He gets to know the street dealers who work for him, and for much of the film, he seems to be doing this out of a sincere love for them and misguided but earnest care for their well being. That’s precisely why his later eruption of both emotional and physical violence is so shocking to both the audience and the protagonist. We’re getting a hard look at Rodney’s true self, a true self so well masked that we can’t be blamed for not suspecting it.

Rodney’s enforcer is Errol Barnes, who is ostensibly an odd choice. Errol isn’t particularly muscular or skilled in the art of weaponry. He’s got a gun, but so do half the people on this street, or so Lee makes it seem.  If anything, Errol initially comes across as almost pathetic, his own body obviously half wrecked by the very drugs his crew peddles. So why in the world would a shrewd business man like Rodney pick Errol, of all people, to be his enforcer?

Because it works. What Errol lacks in musculature, he makes up for in attitude. A man built like a bouncer may seem intimidating at first, but what good are muscles, really, when you and all your enemies have guns? Errol is the type of guy who will actually, happily use his gun. He’s just eagerly waiting for the green light from Rodney, and he is all too eager to convey he might not even wait that long, if he feels the need for blood.

Byrd communicates this ruthlessness, this sliminess, this cold-hearted “”I don’t give a flying fuck” attitude not just with his words, but with his every inflection of those words that drip out of his mouth like sewage. Byrd depicts Errol as a man for whom kind words are few, far between, and unerringly disingenuous. He oozes danger and evil with every look he casts, every syllable he utters.

It is far too easy and oversimplified to argue that Lee just found someone who naturally emits waves of malevolent energy, and for proof that isn't the case at all, compare Errol to Evan Thomas, Sr., Byrd’s remarkably different character from Get on the Bus.

Nearly every character of this movie gets his own subplot, and Evan’s is that his son is a criminal who has been granted temporary parole furlough so that he can attend the Million Man March — on the condition that Junior remains handcuffed to his father the whole time, to prevent Junior’s escape. The uncomfortable, unintentional, symbolic irony of a young black man attending the march in chains is not intended by the filmmakers to be subtle, and it is openly discussed by the characters of the film.

There’s a lot going on here, and the dynamic of a stereotypical father and rebellious son relationship is presented with all its usual tropes, but pushed beyond that stereotype by the extreme situation. Senior may be disappointed by his son’s choices that had led to a life of crime, but he’s equally disappointed in his own failure to serve as a better role model.

How much blame does Evan Senior truly deserve? For our purposes in this discussion, it doesn’t matter, the point is that he feels equal parts pride and shame, that he communicates it all to the audience, not always just with his words, but with his very being. Whereas Errol was the embodiment of evil, Byrd presents Evan as the embodiment of fatherhood. The fact that Evan’s own experience of fatherhood is presented as something very specific takes nothing away from his status as Father with a capital F.

Key to this aspect of Byrd’s performance is that underneath the disappointment, pride, shame, and even underneath the harsh words Evan has for his son, there is a constant, mostly unspoken, affection for Evan Junior. This is eventually made explicit in the dialogue, but for the most part, director Spike Lee depends entirely on Byrd’s performance to convey this aspect of the character. Just listen to the way Evan Senior says the words “my son.” The love there is palpable even when Senior is using them in the context of an angry lecture. There’s a lot of anger and disappointment and perplexity, but every time Evan Senior says the phrase “my son,” you hear beyond the words. 

It takes a fine and skilled actor to hear the unspoken truth behind the spoken words. Thomas Jefferson Byrd will be missed.