Photo-Illustration: Vulture; Photos by AMX, Netflix, Paramount Pictures and Warner Bros.

This piece was originally published December 10, 2021 and has been updated with recent roles, including Origin.

We first must acknowledge his face, as there is nothing quite like it. Or perhaps there is — you’re just more likely to see it covered in grease in an auto shop or dirt and dust behind the wheel of a bulldozer at a construction site. Faces like Jon Bernthal’s rarely make it to the silver screen: craggy, imperfect, and sporting a nose clearly broken more than once. He wears false bruises and scrapes better than most any actor because, unlike many of his peers, you believe he’s worn authentic ones just the same. There are, then, those dark, dark eyes. They can switch in an instant from the look of a confused puppy to a wolf on the prowl. To look at Bernthal’s face is to see the elemental — it bears a soul seemingly shared not by other mortals but rather the Grand Canyon.

In the years since his breakout performance in The Walking Dead, Bernthal has built a compelling career for himself, the sort that can only come from a performer with as singular a background as his (dude played professional baseball in Russia while studying at the Moscow Art Theatre). Initially Hollywood’s premiere “guy who does primal screams,” his filmography soon went on to provide a varied study of the way men perform masculinity. He also quickly established himself as that rare actor with leading-man chops who isn’t afraid to step in as the seventh-billed performer in an auteur’s passion project. Like any actor with his history in theatre, Bernthal knows that there are no small parts.

He’s become something of an awards-season staple. While he’s yet to be nominated for any of the big acting awards, he’s a mainstay in Best Picture nominees (again, you get the feeling being on as many of these sets as possible is far more important to him than one standout award). From The Wolf of Wall Street to Widows to Ford v Ferrari, Bernthal seems to leap at the chance to work with top-tier artists rather than pad his résumé with leading-man performances. It’s created a microphenomenon any cinephile has come to know, that moment half an hour into a movie where you go, “Wait, Jon Bernthal’s in this?!”

Not quite a leading man and not quite a character actor, Jon Bernthal is simply Jon Bernthal. Here we’re taking a step back and looking at one of the more compelling filmographies in Hollywood today and some of his standout performances.

After years as a working actor, Bernthal broke out during the first two seasons of AMC’s undead drama The Walking Dead. He played Shane, the partner turned rival to Andrew Lincoln’s Rick Grimes. Amid a stagnant second season, Shane remained an electric presence, with Bernthal fine-tuning what would become his signature persona — men full of complex, often deeply wounded emotions they aren’t equipped to feel in their entirety (also dudes who scream a whole lot) — over the course of the show’s run.

Bernthal’s role in Martin Scorsese’s hit 2013 comedy The Wolf of Wall Street is on the smaller side, but boy, it sure is memorable. Bernthal flexes his comedy muscles as Brad, (respectfully) a dumb Long Island guido who gets roped into Jordan Belfort’s (Leonardo DiCaprio) schemes. His shouting matches with Jonah Hill are hilarious — Bernthal plays a guy who’s always, like, two or three sentences behind in any conversation.

There’s a lot the Marvel-Netflix experiment did wrong, but among the things they did right is cast Bernthal as Frank Castle, the Punisher. The role feels like something Bernthal’s entire career preceding this moment had been preparing him for. Here is our modern maestro of the complexities of rage, a guy who makes you feel every single sob hiding behind his now-signature primal roar. Who better to play the signature vigilante of the Marvel universe?

Frank debuts in the second season of Daredevil, the high point of a mixed-at-best sophomore effort for the Marvel-Netflix run. The longevity of the character has always stemmed from the simultaneous simplicity of his vigilantism and the complexity with which that can be handled. Bernthal threads that needle, delivering the brute force one would expect from the character while imbuing him with a strange, wounded tenderness.

The character’s spinoff show made for something of a mixed bag itself, but it’s at its best when allowing Bernthal to tap into the nuance of Frank Castle rather than indulging an aimless subplot filmed in a warehouse on Long Island. From largely standalone season premieres that explore Frank’s existential longing for normalcy to the final two episodes of the first season, it’s an impressive showcase not only for Frank Castle but for Bernthal as a leading man. It’s admirable to see how often he eschews top billing for the chance to do more interesting work, but it’s hard to walk away from this show and not wish we saw him center frame a bit more often.

Wind River is one of the great “Surprise! Jon Bernthal” movies. The Jeremy Renner–Elizabeth Olsen vehicle is the directorial debut of screenwriter Tayler Sheridan. Prior to this, Sheridan had written Denis Villeneuve’s Sicario, in which Bernthal has a small role as a cop. He brought Bernthal back for a short but crucial sequence in the film, which revolves around the murder of a young Indigenous girl. Not present in any of the film’s marketing materials, his appearance is clearly meant to play as a reveal of sorts. Framing an actor’s appearance in such a vital and sensitive sequence could play as cheap, but with Bernthal, it simply feels like we’re meant to know that the story is in good hands.

2017’s Sweet Virginia is one of the more underseen installments in Bernthal’s filmography, and that’s a damn shame. It’s a lean, rural noir that sees Bernthal’s Sam, a broken former bull rider, get tangled up in the machinations of a hit man, played by Charlie Abbott, who happens to be on assignment in his small town. The film very much centers Bernthal as the lead but in a role that carries none of his signature coiled-spring energy. Sam is, rather, a guy who comes off like someone who used to be a Jon Bernthal character until life caught up with him. He shares great, tense energy with Abbott’s Elwood, a man as sociopathic as Hannibal Lecter but without an ounce of the charm. All in all, it makes for one of Bernthal’s more unique leading-man turns and isn’t to be missed.

Bernthal’s role in James Mangold’s peak dad movie, Ford v Ferrari, will surprise you. In a movie full of race-car drivers and auto mechanics, he plays Lee Iacocca, the VP of the Ford Motor Company. He exudes warmth and charm in a film largely focused on the cold war of trying to create something great within the confines of American capitalism. Sure, it’s hard to not feel like he should be in the pits changing tires with the crew at times, but that’s a testament to his undersung range.

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Bernthal was made for The Sopranos and finally got to make good on that promise in The Many Saints of Newark. A prequel to the acclaimed series, Bernthal steps in as Johnny Soprano, the father of Tony. He shines, fitting into David Chase’s vision of 1960s Jersey like a well-worn gold chain.

Will Smith runs the show as the titular father of Venus and Serena Williams in King Richard. Still, Bernthal stands out — and not just because of his impeccable hair and mustache — as Rick Macci, the girls’ first coach. At this point, it feels wrong to say Bernthal plays against type given the range he’s displayed over the last decade. Still, it’s hard to not be surprised by his performance as Macci. His Macci is more golden retriever than pit bull, an enthusiastic sports nerd who cares for his pupils and geeks out on greatness when he sees it. He also gets off a series of impeccable fits throughout the film. Prepare yourself. Every fashion bro you know is going to be posting stills of Bernthal’s Macci for the next few years with the caption, “Vibe.”

Bernthal teaming with The Wire showrunner David Simon on a true-life miniseries about corrupt Baltimore cop Wayne Jenkins sounded electric when it was first announced. Guess what? It is. More than that, it may stand as the single best performance of Bernthal’s career thus far. His take on Jenkins is the crowning achievement of a filmography focused on the complexities of masculinity and the performance of it. It’s a cumulative piece of acting that builds on a decade-plus of work. If Bernthal is a performer to be studied, this is perhaps the central text.

Two seasons in and you could make a case for The Bear having the deepest casting roster on television. From split-second Joel McHale cameos to booking a bona fide Academy Award winner for a key role in season two, the show’s breakout main cast is supported by a well of familiar faces who elevate the already-tremendous work being done by the series leads. None stand out like Bernthal, though. When we first meet Bernthal as Mikey in season one, his appearance is staged as a reveal. Until that point we’ve only understood the character as a memory, one that drives much of the show’s internal drama. Putting a familiar face and boisterous energy to the name makes the audience feel the character’s absence in a way they can’t when he’s just a name and a handful of stories.

The show doubles down on the decision in season two, spotlighting Mikey in “Fishes,” an episode likely to trigger war flashbacks for anyone who’s endured a difficult holiday season with their family. If season one aims to show us why the staff of the Original Beef would miss Mikey, season two gives us the version of him that left the restaurant in the state of disarray in which Carmy inherits it. It’s a complex portrayal of a complex character. The show may never let us fully get our heads around him, but the more we learn about him the better we understand the characters we’ve come to love.

Ava DuVernay’s Origin is a deeply ambitious work of adaptation, taking Isabel Wilkerson’s nonfiction book Caste: The Origin of Our Discontents and reframing it for film as the story of the book’s writing. The film follows a virtuosic Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor as Wilkinson, who navigated immense personal turmoil throughout the authoring of the book. Bernthal co-stars in the film as Brett Hamilton, Wilkinson’s eventual husband. It’s the sort of work we’ve come to expect from Bernthal: selfless, supportive, and deeply empathetic. Everything he does as Brett is in service of Ellis-Taylor’s performance and their chemistry is a warm spot in a film that tackles heavy subject matter left and right.

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