Countless movie characters have captured my imagination over the years, fuelling equally numerous reveries in which I kicked arse, got the girl and saved the world. In my formative years, Harrison Ford's roguish Han Solo and intrepid Indiana Jones, Mel Gibson's post-apocalyptic survivor "Mad" Max Rockatansky and Kurt Russell's one-man-army Snake Plissken were, to me, the epitome of cool, the ultimate alpha males: ruggedly handsome, rebellious and tough as old boots. They did good deeds and dirty jobs, cracking wise, throwing punches and saving our skins as they did so. Of course, I never got to fly the Millennium Falcon, defeat Nazis and lawless, nomadic gangs or save the president, for that is the stuff of fantasy, great fun to imagine but not particularly applicable when you're growing up in a small village in the heart of the Cotswolds during the 1980s.
It was around this time, however, that I was introduced to a figure whose deportment and demeanour flew in the face of my usual predilection for brash, all-action big-screen idols. Atticus Finch, the southern lawyer, widower and father of two so beautifully brought to life by Gregory Peck in Robert Mulligan's adaptation of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, turned my expectations upside down and presented me with a bona fide role model, someone whose qualities and actions could actively be applied to my own life. Standing 6ft 3in tall, impeccably turned out in a three-piece suit and given to dispensing life-enhancing wisdom seemingly with every utterance, Finch captivated me with his measured, intelligent espousal of the importance of equality, democracy and justice for all.
Though the specifics were different and not nearly as devastating as the events portrayed in Mockingbird, my own experiences of witnessing and, at times, being subjected to small-town mentalities and ingrained prejudices saw Finch gain instant hero status in my eyes. Wise and unassuming, he goes about his fatherly and professional duties in the same calm, balanced manner.
Not for Finch the swinging of fists, chest-beating machismo and uncontrolled rage, even when being verbally abused or having someone spit in his face. He has no need of witty one-liners to win us over, has no call for action-hero dramatics with which to knock our socks off, and there are no sentimental, extravagant displays of emotion with which to tug at our own. Peer pressure and social mores don't faze him; respect, fairness and compassion are Finch's guiding principles.
Well educated, diligent and genial, Finch also has the courage of his convictions. Not only does he defend African American Tom Robinson, wrongly accused of raping a white woman – much to the chagrin of the majority of his fellow (white) townsfolk – he then sits outside the jailhouse to protect Robinson from a lynch mob. Asked why he agreed to take the case, Finch replies: "Because if I didn't, I couldn't hold my head up in town."
That line sums up the man and those around him, the townsfolk's collective moral cowardice and racial prejudices highlighted by Finch's stalwart refusal to buckle under the subsequent pressure. There are other townsfolk who feel the same way as Finch, but it is to him they turn to take a stand against intolerance and injustice. Finch knows he is doing the right thing, and it comes naturally to this most humble of men. If you're looking for a character with backbone, Finch has it in spades.
There's no doubting that I can relate more to the fictional characters whose imperfections, moral lapses, cringe-worthy pronouncements and bad judgment calls more closely resemble my own foibles and screw-ups, but Finch was and still is the one whom I aspire to emulate. I'll conveniently ignore the fact that I smoke like a trooper and swear like a navvy, two things Finch would find wholly uncivilised. As youthful vigour gave way to full blown maturity, the Solos and Plisskens of the movie world retained their place in my affections, but the idea of being like them disappeared into the ether. Finch, with his quiet assurance, humane outlook and fatherly tenderness, usurped them all. What a man.
