Jane Fonda Is Ready For This

The original celebrity activist on regret and radical empathy in the age of Trump.

- Marin Cogan

IT’S THE FIRST FULL day of the Traverse City Film Festival in Michigan, and outside the State Theatre, Jane Fonda’s 1970 mug shot is blown up to poster size. Even if you’ve seen it countless times, the photo will still stop you in your tracks: the undeniable movie-star glamour, the fist raised confidently in the air, the almost blasé look on her face, as though getting arrested (for alleged “drug possession”—actually vitamins) were completely normal.

On the curb, the real-life Jane Fonda gets out of her car and bounds over to embrace Michael Moore, who founded the festival and will be presenting her with a Lifetime Achievement Award later in the evening. She’s wearing a blazer with a one fair wage button on the lapel; yesterday, she served as emcee at a ceremony in Detroit honoring restaurateurs who promote livable wages for their workers. She’s been campaigning around the state for a ballot measure to raise the minimum wage for tipped workers, a movement she got involved with after meeting Saru Jayaraman, an attorney and organizer Fonda calls the Cesar Chavez of restaurant workers.

Fans behind a rope line hold their cell phones aloft, stepping on each other’s feet to snap pictures. As they look on, Fonda walks over to the mug shot—it’s the poster for Jane Fonda in Five Acts, a new documentary about her life from American Masters creator Susan Lacy. Standing beside the famous photo, she raises a fist in the air. The crowd shouts, “We love you, Grace!”—the character she plays opposite Lily Tomlin on the Netflix show Grace and Frankie—and “Jane for president!”