In the long history of cinema, there have been few actors like Bud Cort. While Cort’s resume may be modest in terms of success, his cult following is notable. For a brief period of time in the early ‘70s, he had a remarkable two-year stretch. One that he wasn’t able to sustain, but that cemented a legacy with an entire generation.
Cort first started acting on screen in the late ‘60s. He had a handful of one-offs on television between 1967 and 1969 that got his feet wet, even if they weren’t overly memorable. Cort’s luck changed significantly in 1970. “Discovered” by Robert Altman, Cort was cast in the legendary director’s breakthrough film, M*A*S*H, in a small role. The film was a massive hit with both critics and audiences, effectively putting Cort on the map. Later that same year, Altman cast Cort as the lead in Brewster McCloud, an eccentric film (even by Altman’s standards) about a young man living in a fallout shelter in the Houston Astrodome who dreams of flying.
As commercially successful as M*A*S*H was, Brewster McCloud was the polar opposite. Reviews were middling, and the box office take was not far above zero. Over time, Brewster McCloud has been reassessed as something of a minor classic in Altman’s oeuvre, and Cort’s uniquely peculiar performance is a significant reason why.
Speaking of “uniquely peculiar,” in 1971, Cort works take on the role that would define his career: that of Harold in Hal Ashby’s Harold and Maude. Cort’s Harold is a death-obsessed loner who drives a hearse, attends the funerals of strangers, and stages fake suicides. At one of those funerals for someone Harold does not know, he meets Maude, a 79-year-old woman (played by the great Ruth Gordon), and the two strike up an unlikely friendship. Maude may be far nearer to the end due to age and personal intent, but she has a zest for life that counters Harold’s fixation on death. The two spend a year together and become romantically involved, a fact that was controversial both within the film and among many viewers. Harold and Maude is a strange and absurd experience, one that is deftly managed by the iconoclastic ‘70s filmmaker, Hal Ashby. Polarizing critics and lightly seen upon release, the film nevertheless earned Golden Globe nominations for Cort and Gordon. It has since become one of the most beloved films of the ‘70s, and a touchstone of its era.
On the precipice of unlikely stardom, Cort’s life and career took a painful downturn after Harold and Maude. Cort fought with Paramount Pictures over the film’s final cut and earned the perilous reputation of being “difficult.” He then experienced a brutal car accident that fractured his skull, nearly severed his lower lip, and required extensive plastic surgery and recovery time. For four years, Cort would not appear on screen. Instead, he laid low for a time in Groucho Marx’s guest house (some stuff, you can’t make up), and receded from Hollywood until the middle of the decade. Fearing typecasting as the oddball, Cort turned down several films. Most painfully, Cort rejected the role of Billy Bibbit in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Brad Dourif would go on to take the part and earn an Oscar nomination for his efforts.
As remarkable as the decade began for Cort, the remainder of the ‘70s were a wash. Cort would never again catch the zeitgeist, but he did continue working. He had supporting roles in Love Letters (1983) with Jamie Lee Curtis, Maria’s Lovers (1984) across from Nastassja Kinski, and in Keith Gordon’s directorial debut, The Chocolate War (1988). Three films that deserved more attention than they received.
In 1995, Cort was cast in Michael Mann’s classic cops-and-robbers epic HEAT with Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. Cort had just two scenes in the film as “Solenko,” the manager of a greasy spoon that hires ex-cons. One of those parolees is named “Breedan” (played by Dennis Haysbert). Breedan is trying to straighten up and fly right with the help of his girl, Lily (Kim Staunton). He walks into the restaurant with hope and enthusiasm, proclaiming himself to be an “excellent grill man” to the manager. Barely looking up, Solenko replies, “Good for you” in a manner that means nothing good at all. He then tells Breedan that he will also be mopping floors, cleaning toilets, and kicking back a percentage of his line-cook pay to him. “Rules of the game,” he says. If Breedan chooses not to play by those rules, he can expect to be reported as absent or high and end up back in jail.
Again, Cort has only two scenes in the film. Both are brief, and in the second, Breedan chooses to return to a life of crime, but not before bulling his way past Solenko and depositing him onto the kitchen floor with malice. I can still remember the theater crowd cheering as Solenko was dispatched. Collectively, we all understood that Breedan was making a terrible choice, but in tossing the venal Solenko aside, there was joy in the moment, seeing a rat get discarded with such ease. Solenko deserved it.
On a deeper level, Solenko represents this country’s failure to turn incarceration into rehabilitation. The system is rigged. Prisons are places where inmates are brutalized and are more likely to come out of captivity worse than they went in. Then, if an inmate survives prison, navigating life on the outside within the law is no easy feat either. Employers like the restaurant that Breedan is hired into are supposed to be bridges to a better life, but when the manager of that bridge is a loathsome creature who you would swear lives under it, how does a newly freed person stand a chance?
In a brief amount of screen time, Bud Cort, both casually and despicably, presents as evidence of our failed system. He’s a grifter and a cheat who serves no purpose other than unto himself. The part of Solenko may be small, but as Bud Cort plays him, his value to the film, and as a window to our systemic failures, is vast. Sure, I suppose a number of actors could have played the uncredited part of Solenko and played him well. I can’t imagine anyone playing him better.
After HEAT, which Cort claimed paid him more than Harold and Maude ever did, the actor appeared in a handful of notable projects over the remainder of his career. Cort had roles in Dogma, Coyote Ugly, Pollock, The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, and, in 2006, a memorable guest spot on Arrested Development, playing himself.
The last time Cort graced a screen was nearly a decade ago in a short film called Affections. Cort’s resume is not stuffed with the kinds of meaty roles he was clearly capable of filling, but the best of what’s there is memorable and choice. For most, he will always be Howard. For some, he might be Brewster. For me, he is Solenko.
All are worthy.
Bud Cort died on February 11, 2026. He was 77 years old.
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