It’s hard to think of many actors who became as legendary as R.
Lee Ermey did for just 40 minutes of screen time.
From the moment he first strolled through the milky gray barracks of “Full Metal Jacket” as Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, screaming into the faces of his recruits, popping off taunts like firecrackers, you knew in your bones — you just knew — that you could forget every movie drill sergeant you’d ever seen.
This is what those guys were really like.
Everything about Ermey seemed to be made of leather: his face, his neck, his vocal cords, his soul.
He wasn’t a Southerner (Ermey was born and raised in Kansas), but his voice had the sinewy contours of a mean drawl, and he turned the act of raising it into a thrilling feat of domination.
Every word he spoke would be more than just heard.
It would be
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