Steve McQueen, dubbed the “King of Cool,” reigned over 1960s and 1970s Hollywood with iconic anti-hero roles in Bullitt and The Great Escape. His magnetic presence captivated audiences, but behind the scenes, his intense personality and hunger for dominance sparked fiery rivalries. Drawing from sources like Mark Eliot’s Steve McQueen: A Biography (2005) and Robert Vaughn’s A Fortunate Life (2008), this 800-word article uncovers the candid, often unflattering perspectives of co-stars James Garner, Yul Brynner, Paul Newman, and others, revealing a complex figure whose off-screen tensions matched his on-screen charisma.

James Garner: A Brutal Critique

James Garner, known for his affable demeanor, offered a scathing take on McQueen during The Great Escape (1963). Playing Hendley alongside McQueen’s Hilts, Garner likened McQueen to Marlon Brando but dismissed him as a “movie star, not an actor,” per Variety (1980). Labeling him a “poser” who crafted a macho persona, Garner argued McQueen’s predictable style was “the kiss of death” for true acting, which demands seamless character immersion. McQueen’s on-set tantrum over his role’s lack of heroism nearly derailed production, forcing script changes like adding motorcycle stunts, per Eliot’s biography. Garner, ever diplomatic, mediated to keep McQueen on board, forging a friendship despite frustrations, a testament to his minimal ego, per The Hollywood Reporter (1990).

Yul Brynner: A Battle for the Spotlight

The set of The Magnificent Seven (1960) became a battleground for McQueen and Yul Brynner, a towering star of The King and I. Brynner, irked by McQueen’s attention-grabbing antics, banned unscripted moves, per Vaughn’s memoir. McQueen, undeterred, improvised distractions—flipping coins, rattling shotgun shells—to steal focus, even kicking dirt mounds Brynner used to appear taller. Tensions peaked when Brynner, in a fit of rage, grabbed McQueen’s shoulder, a public clash McQueen later attributed to Brynner’s discomfort with his natural ease, saying, “I was in my element; he wasn’t,” per Eliot (2005). McQueen’s mere seven lines in the original script fueled his disruptive tactics, prompting director John Sturges to grant him camera control, further straining their dynamic.

Paul Newman: A Rivalry Beyond the Screen

McQueen’s feud with Paul Newman, another Hollywood titan, extended from film sets to racetracks. Both trained under Dick Barber at Barber Motorsports, but Newman’s disciplined approach clashed with McQueen’s instinctive flair, per Motor Trend (1975). McQueen’s belief in his racing superiority bred resentment, though they never raced head-to-head. Professionally, McQueen rejected Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) over top billing disputes, unwilling to cede to Newman’s bigger name, per The New York Times (1980). The role went to Robert Redford, altering cinematic history. Their sole collaboration, The Towering Inferno (1974), saw McQueen obsessively count lines, demanding 12 extra to match Newman’s, per A.E. Hotchner’s account in People (1980). Newman, frustrated, called McQueen a “chicken” for his petty grievances, highlighting their charged set dynamic.

Michael Fassbender: A Director’s Tension

McQueen’s namesake, director Steve McQueen, faced initial friction with actor Michael Fassbender during Hunger (2008). McQueen found Fassbender’s early cockiness off-putting, per The Guardian (2013). Yet, a second audition revealed Fassbender’s depth, launching a fruitful partnership. Fassbender’s nuanced performances in Hunger, Shame, and 12 Years a Slave earned critical acclaim, transforming McQueen’s skepticism into admiration for an actor unafraid to embrace vulnerability, per Variety (2014). Their collaboration underscores how initial tensions can yield cinematic brilliance.

A Pattern of Conflict

McQueen’s need to dominate extended beyond these rivalries. His insistence on heroic roles disrupted The Great Escape, with tantrums over “corny” scenes threatening production, per Eliot (2005). His disruptive behavior—tweaking roles, delaying shoots—tested colleagues’ patience, per Los Angeles Times (1980). Co-stars like Robert Vaughn noted McQueen’s intense competitiveness, driven to outshine everyone, per A Fortunate Life. While adored by fans, McQueen’s macho image often clashed with the collaborative spirit of filmmaking, making him a polarizing figure among peers.

Legacy and Controversy

McQueen’s passing in 1980 didn’t end his influence. His estate, managed by his heirs, fiercely protects his likeness, suing companies like Ferrari for unauthorized use, per Forbes (2012). Internal disputes among heirs over balancing legacy preservation with commercial ventures persist, per The Hollywood Reporter (2015). Documentaries and endorsed products keep McQueen’s cool image alive, but his estate’s vigilance ensures control over his narrative.

A Complex Icon

Steve McQueen’s charisma made him a legend, but his rivalries with Garner, Brynner, Newman, and others reveal a man whose drive for dominance strained relationships. From tantrums to calculated set antics, his behavior, as detailed in biographies and co-star accounts, paints a portrait of a complex figure. Yet, his undeniable talent and enduring appeal ensure his legacy thrives, a testament to the King of Cool’s indelible mark on Hollywood.