Denzel Washington’s journey to stardom is inspiring, but it almost took a very different—and deeply troubling—turn early on. Before he became the celebrated actor we know today, Washington was offered a leading role in a film so shockingly racist that it’s hard to believe it was ever considered for production. This is a story about the tough choices Black actors faced in Hollywood during the 1980s—and how Washington’s refusal to accept a degrading role helped shape his remarkable career.
Washington’s passion for acting sparked during a break from Fordham University, where he worked as a theater director at a summer camp in Connecticut’s YMCA. This experience ignited his love for the craft, prompting him to return to school and pursue acting seriously. Early on, he showcased his talent in stage productions of classics by Eugene O’Neill and Shakespeare, quickly gaining recognition. His first screen appearance came in 1977 with the TV movie "Wilma: The Wilma Rudolph Story." Over the next few years, Washington moved fluidly between television, theater, and film, including a notable role in the 1979 production of "Coriolanus" and a less successful film called "Carbon Copy" in 1981. Many consider his real breakthrough to be his role as Dr. Philip Chandler on the popular medical drama "St. Elsewhere," which he played from 1982 to 1988 across 118 episodes.
Despite these successes, Washington had yet to headline a major film by the mid-1980s. He had supporting roles in critically acclaimed projects like the 1984 Oscar-nominated "A Soldier’s Story" and Sidney Lumet’s 1986 film "Power," but a starring role remained elusive. That changed in 1987 when he portrayed Steve Biko, the South African anti-apartheid activist, in Richard Attenborough’s "Cry Freedom," a performance that earned him an Academy Award nomination.
But here’s where it gets controversial: before landing "Cry Freedom," Washington was offered the lead in a film with a title so offensive it’s shocking it was ever proposed—"The N**** They Couldn't Kill." This so-called satire was steeped in racist stereotypes, portraying a Black man as a monstrous figure who survives lynching attempts and electrocution, all while perpetuating harmful tropes. Washington openly condemned the project in a 2010 New York Times interview, calling out its blatant racism and the grotesque imagery it employed.
He described the character as someone who supposedly raped a white woman and then became a "cult hero" after surviving brutal attempts on his life, including hanging and electrocution. Washington found it impossible to see any humor or value in such a script. When he tried to explain his objections to the casting directors, they dismissed his concerns, claiming the film was meant to be funny. Washington, drawing on his sharp wit and moral clarity, responded with a powerful analogy: would it be funny to watch Jewish people being executed in concentration camps? His blunt and explicit language left no room for misunderstanding—he made it clear that such racist depictions were unacceptable.
This moment of defiance was pivotal. Washington’s refusal to participate in a project that demeaned Black people was a bold stand in an industry that often offered limited and problematic roles to actors of color. He even reached out to Sidney Poitier, a trailblazer for Black actors, to share his frustration and seek guidance. Poitier didn’t tell Washington what to do but offered invaluable advice: the first few films an actor chooses can define how they are perceived in Hollywood. Washington took this wisdom to heart, declined the offensive role, and soon after landed "Cry Freedom," which propelled his career forward.
Imagine if Washington had accepted that degrading role—his career trajectory might have been drastically different. Fortunately, the offensive film never materialized, fading away in the mid-1980s. Instead, Washington went on to star in Edward Zwick’s "Glory" in 1989, winning an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor. This success was followed by a fruitful collaboration with Spike Lee, beginning with "Mo’ Better Blues" in 1990 and culminating in iconic performances like "Malcolm X" in 1992. Their partnership continued with projects such as the 2025 Akira Kurosawa remake "Highest 2 Lowest," further cementing Washington’s legacy. Over the years, he has amassed ten Academy Award nominations and two wins, a testament to his talent and careful career choices.
Washington’s story raises important questions about the roles available to Black actors in Hollywood, both then and now. How much progress has truly been made since the 1980s? Are actors still forced to choose between compromising roles and career advancement? And what responsibility do filmmakers have to avoid perpetuating harmful stereotypes? Washington’s early career decision was not just about personal integrity—it was a stand against systemic racism in the entertainment industry. Do you think more actors today should take similar stands, even if it means risking opportunities? Share your thoughts below—this is a conversation worth having.
