5 Oscar Noms · 1 Win · $4.5B Box Office · The Voice of God
Born June 1, 1937 · Memphis, Tennessee
He didn't get his first major film role until he was 50 years old. By 55, he was the most trusted voice in America. He's played God twice, a president twice, and narrated the entire history of the universe. Not bad for a kid from Memphis who started on a children's TV show.
Six acts. Five decades of patience. The longest road to stardom in Hollywood history, and the most dignified walk along it.
A Black kid from Memphis who wanted to be a fighter pilot, then an actor, then spent twenty years waiting for someone to notice.
Morgan Freeman was born in Memphis and raised by his grandmother in Charleston, Mississippi. He won a statewide drama competition at 12 but joined the Air Force at 18, dreaming of becoming a fighter pilot. He hated it. After four years, he moved to Los Angeles, studied acting at Pasadena Playhouse, and spent the 1960s doing small theater in New York. No film roles. No television. A decade of anonymity in the most competitive city in the world.
America knew him as a character on a children's show. Nobody knew what he was capable of.
Freeman joined the cast of The Electric Company (1971-77), a PBS children's show, playing Easy Reader — a hip character who taught kids to love reading. It was steady work, but it typecast him. For nearly a decade, he was "the guy from the kids' show." He did Broadway (The Mighty Gents, 1978, earned him a Drama Desk Award), soap operas, and small TV roles. He was 49 years old with no film career to speak of. Most actors would have quit. Freeman kept showing up.
At 50, he finally got his shot. Three Oscar nominations in six years. The industry realized what the theater world had known for decades.
Street Smart (1987) earned Freeman his first Oscar nomination at age 50 — playing a violent pimp opposite Christopher Reeve. The performance was so electrifying that critics compared him to Brando. Driving Miss Daisy (1989) made him a star — his gentle, dignified Hoke Colburn earned $145M and his second Oscar nomination. Glory (1989) alongside Denzel Washington. Then The Shawshank Redemption (1994) — the film that would become the highest-rated movie on IMDb and the role that defined his entire career: Red, the man who narrates hope.
He played God. He narrated the cosmos. He won the Oscar. And somehow, he made it all look like it was always supposed to happen.
Seven (1995) with Brad Pitt established him as the intellectual center of any ensemble. Amistad (1997) for Spielberg. Deep Impact (1998) — the first Black president in a major Hollywood film. Nurse Betty. Along Came a Spider. Bruce Almighty (2003) where he literally played God — and the casting felt less like comedy than prophecy. Then Million Dollar Baby (2004) with Clint Eastwood finally won him the Oscar — Best Supporting Actor, at age 67. Seventeen years after his first nomination. The longest wait, the most patient man.
His voice became the default soundtrack of authority, wisdom, and trust. If Freeman narrated it, people believed it.
Batman Begins (2005) as Lucius Fox. March of the Penguins (2005) narration — $127M for a documentary about penguins, largely because people would pay to hear Morgan Freeman describe anything. The Dark Knight trilogy. Invictus (2009) as Nelson Mandela — his fifth Oscar nomination. Through the Wormhole (2010-2017) narrating the mysteries of the universe for the Science Channel. Lucy. Ted 2. Visa commercials. Commencement speeches. His voice became a cultural commodity — the sound of wisdom itself.
At 88, he's still working. Still narrating. Still the only actor in Hollywood who can lend credibility to literally anything.
Going in Style with Michael Caine and Alan Arkin. Angel Has Fallen. The Hitman's Bodyguard franchise with Ryan Reynolds. A Visa campaign so omnipresent that his voice became indistinguishable from the concept of trust. At 88 years old, Morgan Freeman continues to work steadily, choosing projects that range from prestige drama to action comedies — because he can, because the camera still loves him, and because nobody in Hollywood has the authority to tell the voice of God to retire.
Directors, co-stars, and the people who walked alongside the most patient career in cinema.
The case for. The case against. The man who became America's narrator.
First-person accounts, film analysis, fact-checks, and scene pitches from 234 contributors.
He narrated the universe. Help narrate his story.