He arrives exactly on schedule, not a minute early, not a minute late, and comes dressed in character: Armani cashmere shirt, translucent Alain Mikli eyeglasses and, of course, a Kangol cap. There are no formalities, no handshakes, no, “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Samuel L. Jackson.” He simply strolls into the restaurant in midtown Manhattan — a short walk from the $13 million condo he shares with his wife of 38 years, LaTanya Richardson, who’s currently starring as Calpurnia in Aaron Sorkin’s Broadway adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird — slips into a corner booth and buries his face behind a menu.
“Go ahead,” he says. “I’m listening.”
This is how the world’s most successful actor begins an interview.
That superlative is not a total exaggeration; it’s been scientifically proven. Jackson, who just celebrated his 70th birthday, is “the most influential actor of all time,” according to a study published in December in Applied Network Science that used an algorithm to measure various actors’ impact on pop culture (Clint Eastwood and Tom Cruise came in second and third). In September, Box Office Mojo did its own calculation, naming Jackson Hollywood’s most bankable star. His 120-plus movies — from tentpoles (Jurassic Park and the Star Wars prequels) to art house hits like Pulp Fiction to campy horror neo-classics like Snakes on a Plane— have earned a grand total of $5.76 billion at the U.S. box office (well ahead of Harrison Ford’s $4.96 billion and Tom Hanks’ $4.6 billion), and a staggering $13.3 billion worldwide.
Of course, a big chunk of those billions comes from the Marvel Cinematic Universe (nine of the highest-grossing films of the past decade), in which Jackson plays Avengers boss Nick Fury, a role he took up almost as a lark in 2008 and is about to reprise yet again in Captain Marvel, opening March 8. But just a few months before that, on Jan. 19, he’ll also be starring in another superhero sequel, Glass, M. Night Shyamalan’s follow-up to 2000’s Unbreakable, in which Jackson again plays Elijah Price, also known as Mr. Glass, a brittle-boned, wheelchair-bound genius on the hunt for mutants among us (think Magneto in a Frederick Douglass wig). Even if you don’t count his ubiquitous Capital One commercials — for which he earns eight figures a year — you don’t need an algorithm to compute just how big a first quarter this may be for Jackson, who has averaged about five movies a year for the past three decades.
“That’s his superpower,” says Shyamalan. “He genuinely loves to entertain people. It’s something he finds great pride in.” Of course, being the most famous badass on the silver screen, deliverer of some of cinema’s most beloved obscenity-laden bon mots, has its downside. The shouts of “Hey, call me a motherfucker!” from fans on the street aren’t always a welcome distraction. But Jackson has learned to be cool with it (he couldn’t resist commending freshman Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s recent use of his favorite epithet, tweeting that he wanted to “wholeheartedly endorse your use of & clarity of purpose when declaring your Motherfucking goal” of impeaching President Trump). He’s learned to be cool with everything. “You know how many actors go through their careers and people can’t repeat one fucking line they ever had?” he says after putting down the menu. “I’m a walking T-shirt. It’s better than not being known for anything.”