Two of the actor’s best performance are, unfortunately, not streaming. But what is perhaps his warmest performance is available on Max.
The actor Andre Braugher’s death on Monday signals the end of an era for television — the era in which his vibrant, engrossing performances helped carve out what top-shelf television could be. His presence on any show — in any scene — was a sign to perk up one’s ears, and the arc of his television career is the arc of modern television.
When network dramas were the best thing going, Braugher was the best on the best. When basic cable became home to creative, distinctive shows, there was Braugher, in antihero mode on “Thief” and later in grounded, more easygoing mode on “Men of a Certain Age.” Quirky single-camera network comedy, snappy streaming drama — where goes Braugher, so goes our attention.
“Homicide: Life on the Street” is among the greatest network dramas in television history — and it can’t exist without Braugher’s electric, Emmy-winning performance as Frank Pembleton, a passionate, exacting Baltimore detective. In a show filled with superb acting and rich stories, Braugher is still the standout. I will never understand why this show is not streaming; I feel I have been banging this drum since before drums were invented.
Also absent from streaming is the bleak and intense 2006 miniseries “Thief,” for which Braugher won his second Emmy. He starred as the head of a crime ring in post-Katrina New Orleans, and the show was half dark heists, half wrenching domestic drama, with Braugher as a grieving widower at odds with his teenage stepdaughter (Mae Whitman, also terrific). You will never see better weeping on television.
While “Homicide” is probably the brightest star in the Braugher galaxy, “Men of a Certain Age” is perhaps the warmest. Luckily, this one is streaming; both seasons are on Max. Braugher stars with Ray Romano and Scott Bakula as longtime friends, each struggling with feeling simultaneously stuck and adrift. Bakula was the bachelor free spirit; Romano was the anxious soon-to-be-divorced dad; and Braugher was the ground-down family man, Owen, who works at his father’s car dealership, which fills him with resentment he can’t quite confront.
Every time I revisit “Men,” I’m struck anew by its lyricism and perceptiveness, and even when I intend to look up one clip, I wind up watching seven episodes. Owen both gives and receives lectures, and Braugher shines equally as an authority on life and as the mad little boy being scolded. While he delivers a more strictly comedic performance on “Brooklyn Nine-Nine,” Braugher is hilarious here, too, and where “Nine-Nine” is cartoonish, “Men” is naturalistic. It’s a softer role in some ways — gentle, unfussy — but Braugher’s mastery of rhythm is in full force.
In “Homicide,” Pembleton survives a stroke but endures its lingering effects on his speech, mobility and cognition. In “Men,” Owen has poorly managed Type 1 diabetes. Though the characters are different in almost all ways, they’re both people who avoid fragility. Braugher’s performances were so total that you couldn’t imagine a fault line — there had to be some other force chipping away at his vitality. His death feels more shocking because of it. How could a performer so totally alive ever be anything but?
Source: Television - nytimes.com
