Finest hours: Danny Glover as the malevolent charmer in To Sleep with Anger

For many, Danny Glover’s signature screen role remains his Sgt Roger Murtaugh in the Lethal Weapon films. Glover’s turn as the “too old for this shit” partner of Mel Gibson’s loose canon Martin Riggs undoubtedly ensured his iconicity as an actor, and helped to create one of the most beloved buddy-cop bromances. The actor’s performance in the original film also won him his first of five NAACP Image Awards for Outstanding Actor.

Dig deeper into Glover’s filmography, though, and more idiosyncratic work emerges. Though he came to prominence as Sally Field’s helper Moze in Places in the Heart (1984) – a role that Pauline Kael deemed “all too endearing,” while praising the “humorous, eccentric force” the actor brought to it – Glover has never restricted himself merely to ‘Image Award’-friendly parts.

His gentle voice, 6’ 4” height and amenable demeanour could have seen him eternally treading water in reassuring roles. But Glover dodged such typecasting. After Places in the Heart, he appeared as one of the corrupt cops attempting to silence little Lukas Haas in Witness, and then as the abusive husband in The Color Purple (both 1985).

That subversive streak was still evident much later in his career, when he proved himself one of the few African American actors up for the provocations of Manderlay (2005), Lars von Trier’s biting take on US racial history. Glover accepted the role of Wilhelm after first-choice Harry Belafonte was persuaded that the part might be out of keeping with his civil rights legacy.

Like Belafonte, Glover too has a significant history of off-screen activism and humanitarianism, as well as an undersung string of producing credits to his name. These include the film that features his most original and insidious ‘bad guy’ performance: Charles Burnett’s To Sleep with Anger (1990).

Following Killer of Sheep (1977) and My Brother’s Wedding (1983), Burnett’s 1990 film was his first made with a professional cast. Passionate about independent and world cinema, Glover was instrumental in its production, leveraging his box office clout to help secure a budget of a couple of million dollars.

A further enticement, surely, was the plum role that the piece offered him as an actor: that of Harry Mention, a southern gent who arrives unannounced at the Los Angeles home of his old friends Gideon (Paul Butler) and Suzie (Mary Alice) and proceeds to upend their relatively settled lives.

In its subtle exploration of the complex legacies of the southern past for Black migrants to the American west – the mix of nostalgic sentiment and pain – To Sleep with Anger was a personal project for Burnett. The filmmaker grew up in LA but had been born in Mississippi and has described his California childhood as, culturally, “so Southern”. Glover, who has Georgia roots, also admitted that the material resonated with him personally. 

Together, the collaborators channelled aspects of their heritage into the creation of Harry. He’s a character rich in ambiguity – just as the film’s title might indicate either an accommodation of difficult emotions, or something combustible that’s repressed, dormant, ready to explode.

Harry’s unexpected arrival is initially greeted with glee by Suzie and Gideon. The ageing friends’ connection is based on their Southern past and shared values. “Harry, one can sure tell you’re from back home,” glows Suzie. “Nowadays most folks don’t know what good manners are.”

Yet Harry’s presence soon proves problematic, and his “good manners” highly questionable. He sleeps for many hours after his appearance, as if recovering from mischief-making and gearing up for more. Family conflicts, centred particularly around the contrasting attitudes of Gideon and Suzie’s two sons, are simmering, and Harry soon plays on those tensions, Glover’s performance expertly oscillating between hearty, garrulous charm and hints of malevolence.

Locating its tensions in the middle-class domestic sphere, To Sleep with Anger is rightly viewed as a counter to the violent stories of urban strife dominating early ’90s African American cinema.The film also plays out as a variant on the ‘home invasion’ thrillers popular in the period, with a nod further back to European arthouse classics about the impact of disruptive outsiders, such as Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Theorem (1968).

For all that, Burnett’s film is very specifically rooted in its African American context. Named to evoke the ‘Hairy Man’ of folktale – a shape-shifting, tricksterish amalgam of African spirit, Native American ‘wild man’ and European demon – Harry is a figure derived from Black folkloric tradition.

Glover, though, creates an all-too-human, flesh-and-blood presence out of a character who might, on the page, seem merely symbolic or allegorical. Whether casually clipping his toenails in the living room as Gideon ails in front of him, unsettling a respectable matron by reminding her of her wild past, or hosting a gaggle of “resurrected” friends, the actor communicates Harry’s glee in slyly stirring things up.

The brilliance of Glover’s acting here is in its physical details: the ingratiating smiles, the rubbing of others’ arms and shoulders, the Iip-smacking relish with which he refers to “corn liquor”. Glover finds some vulnerable notes, too, such as Harry’s superstitious recoil when a broom touches his foot. It’s the kind of prismatic performance in which the viewer discovers more each time.

Harry’s demise feels deliberately banal: a contrast to the spectacular retributive deaths typical of the ‘home invasion’ thriller. For the film’s final 15 minutes, the self-effacing Glover is unseen under a blanket on the floor, as the collection of the corpse is delayed.

The ending is hopeful: a vision of neighbourliness restored, a child’s faltering trumpet-playing miraculously turned melodious. Life goes bustling on, but the character who was the catalyst for the family’s changes remains simultaneously absent and present. And Glover’s indelible performance – vivid and enigmatic all at once – leaves the viewer still pondering the unsolvable mystery of the trouble with Harry.