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Denzel Washington has achieved Michael Jordan status among African American actors, but it should be noted that this is both a blessing and a bit of a curse. Denzel has more than earned the mantle and handle of being ‘The Man,’ and we all have our favorite, our signature moment that captures Denzel being “Denzel,” right?

Mine would probably be from one of his Tony Scott outings, say, as Creasy in Man on Fire, because that movie not only provides a full-on snapshot of Denzel at his smoldering best, it also harnesses all of the stylistic elements Scott had at his disposal and presents them as a cohesive whole. It is the burnished high-octane action flick that Oliver Stone, Peter Berg, and a host of lesser names have been aping for the last 15-20 years without quite getting it right, and its got a haunted performance by Denzel as a warrior who finds himself touched with purpose one last time and a willingness to pay the ultimate sacrifice.

There were no awards at stake for Denzel or the movie, but sometimes the greatest honor resides in the work itself – a job well-done – and no one standing on the outside can make that judgment (although we critics try all the time).

Yet, that’s possibly what plagues Denzel the most. He’s such a hardworking actor, laying himself bare in each frame that he’s forgotten the love he once had for the game. Jordan, back in the day, had that clause in his contract, which allowed him to pop up on playgrounds during the off-season for pick-up games. I had the chance to catch him in my hometown (Asheville, NC) running and hooping with an adoring crowd swelling by the minute. It was the kind of show that literally stopped traffic. We couldn’t believe our good fortune to see him, in the flesh, doing his thing. But that wasn’t why he was there. It was the game, any game that mattered to him. It was still fun and you could see it in his smiling eyes. There was more than a glint in them; there was joy and laughter.

I want to see that in Denzel. Now Man of Fire didn’t offer many opportunities to indulge in that big full-throated laugh that can burst out of him, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes during his exchanges with Dakota Fanning. She cracked the shell for him just like her character does for Creasy. We treasure those too-few smiles because we then appreciate the toll she has had on him, how she snuck inside his defenses and how her absence will drive him to extremes, in order to get her back. And when he does, when he has upended heaven and earth former, his tears, well, they are as precious as those earlier smiles.

There’s none of that spiritual weight in 2 Guns, but what emerges is a devil-may-care attitude, a love of the game, the sport of it all, that reminds me of Jordan way back when, on the playground. Denzel, as he spars with Wahlberg and gets sneaky with Bill Paxton, seems to be having fun. The tongue is out because he’s loose and making his moves without thinking. He’s just feeling it and maybe he’s a little surprised to be feeling it quite this way. 2 Guns probably wasn’t supposed to be that kind of role for him. It was just another job, one that he would do well because, he’s Denzel, but at some point on set, during the shoot, he saw Wahlberg winking and spitting lines like fireballs and the vibe just infected him, the jazz got under his skin.

Whatever, whatever it takes, I’m glad, for him and for us too. We need Denzel to have fun, to remind us that its not for the young ‘uns to bring sexy back. You need to have been grown and fully loaded in the first place to handle that kind of business and there’s nobody onscreen packing the heat that Denzel brings. Nobody, fool.