The Milwaukee-born stage actor who won two consecutive Academy Awards — the only performer ever to do so — whom Katharine Hepburn loved for twenty-six years and described as the most natural actor alive, and whom Laurence Olivier called the finest screen actor he had ever seen; the man who made acting look so effortless that the effort was the art's most complete concealment.
Portrait · Spencer TracyBorn Spencer Bonaventure Tracy on April 5, 1900, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin — the son of a truck salesman and a schoolteacher, a restless student who attended Ripon College with the intention of becoming a priest, changed course, transferred to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, and established himself in New York stage productions throughout the 1920s. He arrived in Hollywood in 1930, spent three difficult years at Fox, and was released from his contract — a decision Fox would later describe as its greatest error.
At MGM from 1935, director Victor Fleming's Captains Courageous (1937) — Tracy as the Portuguese fisherman Manuel who rescues a spoiled rich boy from drowning and teaches him what work and dignity mean — won him the first Academy Award for Best Actor. The following year, Norman Taurog's Boys Town (1938) — Tracy as Father Edward Flanagan, the priest who founded the Boys Town orphanage in Nebraska — won him the second. Two consecutive wins; the only time in the Academy's history; and the third consecutive year in which he had been nominated.
The partnership with Katharine Hepburn — nine films between 1942 and 1967, and a private relationship of twenty-six years that both acknowledged and that ended only with his death — is the most creatively productive and personally sustained collaboration in Hollywood history. He died on June 10, 1967, seventeen days after completing Guess Who's Coming to Dinner — Hepburn's final scene with him in that film, and his last — and she wept, she said, during every subsequent viewing of the footage.
He was Catholic, remained technically married to his wife Louise throughout his life (he would not divorce on religious grounds), a serious alcoholic for much of his career, and privately tormented. Hepburn understood these things and stayed. His ninth nomination, for Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, came posthumously.
Manuel's quality — the working man's joy in his work, the dignity that comes from competence and community rather than wealth — is played by Tracy with the ease that was already his signature: the natural quality that concealed the preparation, the warmth that was not performance but presence. Manuel's death — and Harvey's grief over it — is the film's emotional climax, played by Bartholomew against Tracy's stillness with the specific asymmetry of a child actor who has been given everything he needs by the adult beside him.
Haywood's quality — the jurist who must weigh the evidence with the impartiality the role demands while the evidence he is weighing involves the destruction of human beings — is played by Tracy with the specific quality that made Olivier use the word "finest": the interiority completely present on screen without a single externalising gesture. The final scene — Haywood visiting the convicted Ernst Janning in his cell — is the film's moral resolution: two men in a small room, one of whom has judged the other, discovering what the judgment does and does not settle.
Macreedy's quality — the veteran whose war experience has given him a specific relationship to injustice that the small-town conspiracy cannot contain — is played by Tracy with the physical specificity the role demanded: the one-armed man who fights with a judo technique he has developed to compensate, the veteran who is tired rather than heroic but whose tiredness is a form of determination. The film's compression — one day, one town, one mission — suits Tracy's economy: the character who does not say more than the situation requires, and says it with the exactness that makes every word necessary.
Sam's quality — the man secure enough in himself to be funny about his own displacement, confident enough to find a woman's ambition attractive rather than threatening — is played by Tracy with the specific ease of someone who has understood that the comedy is in the situation rather than in the mugging. The Tracy-Hepburn dynamic — established in this film and refined across the subsequent eight — is the screen's most complete argument that the best partnerships are between equals: Sam's lack of pretension meeting Tess's pretension, each puncturing the other's excess, each finding in the other's resistance the reason to stay.
Know your lines and don't bump into the furniture.
Spencer Tracy's legacy is the standard — the naturalness that Olivier recognised and Hepburn described, applied to nine consecutive Oscar nominations across thirty years, producing two consecutive wins that no one has matched since. The fisherman, the priest, the judge, the father, the veteran: five entirely different people, all played with the same quality — the interiority completely present, the technique completely concealed, the effort the art's most perfect concealment.
He died seventeen days after finishing his last scene with Katharine Hepburn, who had loved him for twenty-six years and who wept when she watched the footage. The advice — know your lines and don't bump into the furniture — is the joke. The nine nominations and two consecutive wins are the answer. Olivier's "finest film actor he had ever seen" is the assessment that has stood longest, because Olivier understood the difference between performing naturalness and possessing it, and recognised that Tracy possessed it completely.