In Passing: 2004, Part II
Stephanie Star Smith
January 5, 2005
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Each year at the Academy Awards, Hollywood takes a few moments to honor those who have joined the Choir Invisible during the previous year. Each year sees a number of people barely recognized even by their industry peers, much less the viewing audience, along with a smaller percentage of more widely-renowned names (and the inevitable few “I didn’t know he/she died”). As the calendar year draws to a close, we here at BOP would like to acknowledge some of Hollywood's brightest luminaries who shuffled off their mortal coils in 2004 with a look back at the reasons why though they may be gone, they will certainly not be soon forgotten.
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Marlon Brando
Marlon Brando was always larger than life.
No, I don’t mean just his weight, although near the end of his life, he certainly did tip the scales at a frightening level. But when Brando burst on the Hollywood scene in 1951 in one of his signature roles, Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire, he tore off the straitjacket the industry had long had in place regarding leading men and acting. He wasn’t classically handsome; he was a trained Method actor and practiced same on the set; and he cared far less about fame and fortune than he did about his craft, making him immune to the usual methods the studio brass used to keep actors in line. He was a phenomenon, and he paved the way for actors as diverse as Dustin Hoffman, Warren Beatty and James Dean to follow him.
Like many great actors, Brando began on the stage. He created Kowalski on Broadway, and when Hollywood decided to turn the Pulitzer Prize-winning play into a movie, Brando seemed the natural choice. His portrayal of the volatile Kowalski started Brando on a run of outstanding roles in legendary films, including his Oscar-winning portrayal of the ex-boxer-turned-longshoreman fighting corruption in On the Waterfront. Reviewing Brando’s resumé is like reviewing a list of the most important films of the 20th century, and choosing a signature role out of the lot is like deciding whether you prefer platinum or diamonds. But if one role could be said to be the one for which Brando is most remembered, that role would almost certainly be Don Corleone in the first film of the Godfather trilogy. Brando’s portrayal of the aging capo di capo of the Corleone family has become a part of the cultural landscape, spawning imitations galore and leaving an indelible mark on movie history.
But Brando is remembered almost more for his off-screen antics then he is for his movie roles, and much of what happened in his private life would make for a fine Grand Guignol play. His refusal of his 1972 Best Actor Oscar for The Godfather, unlike George C Scott’s similar refusal the year before for Patton, became a spectacle in and of itself; the appearance of a beauteous young woman, apparently of Native American descent, and the call for a review of how the US government treats Native Americans devolved into a scandal where it was revealed the young woman was an actress playing a part, and not actually of Native American ancestry at all. There was the very public murder trial of Brando’s son, accused of killing his sister’s boyfriend, and the sad suicide of Brando’s daughter. And there were the countless stories of Brando’s bizarre behavior on those rare post-Godfather occasions when he appeared in a film. His refusal to learn his lines became legendary; when he portrayed Superman’s biological father in the first film in that franchise - a role for which he received more money than the film’s star - his lines were written on the diaper of the baby with whom he played most of his scenes. His turn as the title character in the umpteenth remake of The Island of Dr Moreau is most kindly described as eccentric, and he absolutely refused to be on-set during the filming of what turned out to be his last on-screen role, The Score, whenever director Frank Oz was around (although his continual reference to Oz as Miss Piggy, whilst not terribly respectful, was quite accurate). Even what will be his final film role, a voiceover in the upcoming animated film Big Bug Man, is off the beaten track; Brando voices Mrs Sour, the female owner of a candy factory.
In the end, however, Brando’s off-screen adventures matter little. His departure from this vale of tears on July 1st due to pulmonary thrombosis left behind a film legacy that is a study in the Method, and a slate of memorable characters that will continue to ensure his place as a true legend of the silver screen.!
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Christopher Reeve
Despite a number of roles on both stage and screen, it seemed Christopher Reeve was destined to be forever remembered for his turn as the Man of Steel in two great - and two not-so-great - Superman films. It was the role that first brought him to stardom in 1978, and although he often turned down roles in more lucrative films in order to take on acting challenges, it was the role most people thought of when they thought of Christopher Reeve.
But it was a much more challenging role that Reeve neither sought nor likely wanted that would ultimately become his lasting legacy, and showed his true measure as a man.
Always athletic and an avid horseman, Reeve was participating in a show-jumping competition in May of 1995. Reeve’s horse balked at a jump, sending the actor hurtling over the horse’s head. Reeve landed on the top of his own head, breaking his neck between the first and second cervical vertebrae and damaging his spinal cord. Known in medical circles as the hangman’s break for exactly the reasons one would deduce, a spinal-cord injury at that level is most often fatal; those few who survive are left paralyzed from the neck down. Christopher Reeve was in this latter category, unable to do anything, even breathe, on his own.
At this point, no one would have blamed Christopher Reeve if he had retired from public view. After all, in a business that revolves around looks, that judges based on the exterior rather than the inner core, to go from being an active, virile man to a quadriplegic would seem to be unthinkable. And had Reeve chosen a life of seclusion, his name surfacing only occasionally in recognition of a birthday or some film milestone, few would have thought less of him, and his role as Superman would have remained his defining public moment.
But Reeve didn’t choose the most obvious, and easiest, path. Discovering first-hand what few of us were aware of at the time - that modern medicine, with all its seeming miracles, can offer little in the way of treatment for central nervous system injuries - Reeve decided to put his fame to some use. He knew the white-hot glare of the spotlight would be upon him anyway, so why not take that opportunity to raise awareness of the paucity of options for those who suffer severe spinal cord or brain injuries? And so once Reeve reached the point where he had begun to master the new realities of his life, he began appearing in public. And not just appearing, mind you; Reeve began the advocacy that would continue until the end of his days. He urged Hollywood to focus more of its unmatched influence on the needs of those who have disabilities, to help remove the stigma that still exists for the handicapped. He lobbied Congress for funds, worked tirelessly to raise awareness of the need for better treatments, more research, a way to deal with spinal cord injuries other than helping the person pick out a wheelchair.
At first, many other paraplegics and quadriplegics resented all the attention focused on Reeve; after all, why should he get such publicity simply because he was a movie star? But gradually, all began to realize that by allowing himself to be so high-profile, he was benefiting all who had suffered spinal cord injuries. He was, in effect, putting his time and money where his mouth was, making sure that, as the aphorism holds, the high tide raised all boats. In addition to raising funds, Reeve also used his own money, not just to benefit himself, but to fund research and explore new ways of assisting those with spinal cord injuries to lead a more normal life. Reeve even vowed one day to walk again, and we all believed him, as much because we knew he had the courage and will to do so as because we so very much wanted him to.
And always, always, he put himself in front of the public, never letting any of us forget that there but for the grace of God go you and I.
Reeve even returned to moviemaking, mostly behind the camera. He made one very memorable acting appearance, however, in a remake of Rear Window, once again using his disability rather than trying to ignore it, allowing his ventilator to be unplugged in order to more realistically portray the helplessness of his character.
Perhaps it was his cause that helped Christopher Reeve live far longer than his doctors expected, far longer than anyone with so severe an injury normally does, or perhaps it was his own iron will and courage that kept him going for nearly a decade after the horseback-riding accident that forever changed his life. When Reeve at last shuffled off this mortal coil on October 10th at the far-too-young age of 52, he had shown himself to be a true superhero, a Man of Steel in real life, who had the courage, the strength, and the good humor to take the most awful situation that any of us can imagine and turn it into an opportunity to help not only himself, but his fellow man. Reeve may not have walked again in his lifetime, but his efforts have paved the way for others to accomplish that dream, and one day to even end the spectre of lasting paralysis from spinal cord injuries.
And that is indeed the stuff of legend.
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Janet Leigh
It is perhaps ironic that the role for which Janet Leigh is best remembered is for a film in which she made the briefest appearance. For although Leigh appeared in many classic films, including Little Women, The Manchurian Candidate and Houdini, it is her role as the doomed Marion Crane in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho that assured her place in the public consciousness and in film history. Leigh’s Marion meets her fate not quite halfway through the film, but the shower scene is so visceral a shock that many women - including Leigh herself - swore off showers for life.
The woman born Jeanette Helen Morrison entered films almost by accident. When Leigh was 20, she was visiting her parents at the ski resort where they were employed, and her father kept a picture of his daughter at the front desk, which was his station. Norma Shearer noticed the photo whilst checking in, and asked if she could borrow it. This small incident led to a screen test at MGM, and resulted in Leigh fulfilling the naïve country girl role for the studio in a slew of films, starring opposite such legends as Errol Flynn, Gary Cooper and Orson Welles. Leigh proved to be quite a versatile actress, appearing in genres as diverse as musicals, dramas and Westerns, but it was for her first horror venture that she would receive an Academy Award nomination and a Golden Globe award for Best Supporting Actress. Leigh went on to star in a wide variety of films after her stint as Marion Crane, including a role opposite her daughter, Jamie Lee Curtis, in yet another horror film, this time John Carpenter’s 1980 walking-dead movie The Fog. Leigh would appear with her daughter once again in the Halloween sequel Halloween H20, a role that would mark one of her last screen appearances.
But when Janet Leigh went to join the Choir Invisible on October 4th after suffering an infection of the blood cells, it was as the water-logged heroine of a film about a man with mommy issues for which she was most remembered, and that, in addition to being mother of Jamie Lee Curtis, has assured her place in Hollywood history.
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Rodney Dangerfield
For a guy who got no respect, Rodney Dangerfield certainly engendered a lot of praise and goodwill.
The hang-dog comedian born Jacob Cohen built a career out of being the lovable schlub of a loser, getting nothing but grief from his wife, his family, his friends, even his doctor, the inimitable Vinny Boom Batz (always said with the right jab). And indeed, Dangerfield’s initial try at stand-up, under his birth name, failed miserably; so miserably, in fact, that he gave up show business altogether, got married and raised a family. But divorce led him to try his hand at comedy again, and in 1961, under his new moniker, Dangerfield appeared on Ed Sullivan’s The Toast of the Town, and managed the near-impossible: he made Sullivan laugh. Very, very few people ever made Ed Sullivan laugh, and this accomplishment alone assured Dangerfield of a career in stand-up. Tours of comedy clubs across the country followed, but it was his appearances on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show that brought him to a wider audience and forever cemented his public image of the put-upon everyman, tugging at his tie whilst relating his woeful tales of abuse by all in his life.
In the ‘80s, Dangerfield moved on to the silver screen, appearing in the seminal Caddyshack; this began a series of film successes in which Dangerfield played the average guy who made good, a formula he would stick with for the majority of his film career. Though he didn’t make a lot of movies, most of the ones he made were hits, and his presence often helped raise the laugh output of an otherwise mediocre film. Dangerfield was also known for helping young comics just starting out; the Manhattan club that bears his name, built so he would have a performing venue near his children, has long been known as a haven for new talent. He also produced a series of HBO specials that allowed young comics to receive more exposure than they would in clubs, and along with Carson’s Tonight Show, is credited with assisting the careers of such diverse talents as Roseanne Barr, Jerry Seinfeld and Tim Allen. Dangerfield even branched out into music; his comedy rap song, Rappin’ Rodney, hit number 89 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart in 1983.
Dangerfield remained active in show business until suffering a mild heart attack on his 80th birthday in 2001. After that health scare, he cut back on his TV and club appearances and took on only the occasional small role in films. When it was determined in early 2004 that Dangerfield needed heart bypass surgery, pre-op tests revealed a brain aneurysm which needed to be surgically repaired before the heart surgery could be performed. Dangerfield survived the brain surgery, but not the bypass; he slipped into a coma and crossed the River Styx on October 5th. But Dangerfield leaves behind not only a vast number of film and TV appearances and comedy albums that assure his place in history, but also the everlasting image of the quintessential loser who somehow makes good, and a legion of fans who gave him all the respect for which anyone could wish in a dozen lifetimes.
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Jerry Orbach
It probably still surprises many people to learn that Jerry Orbach started as a song-and-dance man. Even given his turn in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast as the singing candlestick, Lumiere, most moviegoers likely saw that as a fluke, a one-time thing for a man they knew as Baby’s dad in Dirty Dancing. Yet Orbach, often considered the quintessential New Yorker, started out in musical theatre, creating roles in The Fantastiks, Chicago and 42nd Street, and winning Tonys for the aforementioned Chicago and for a turn in Guys and Dolls. He also appeared in a number of movie musicals in addition to Beauty and the Beast.
But the role in which Orbach will live on - more so than Beauty and the Beast, more so than Dirty Dancing - is that of world-weary Detective Lennie Briscoe in the original Law and Order. Ironically, Orbach had twice before been up to play opposite Chris Noth’s Detective Mike Logan; he had read for both the role of Max Greevey, Logan’s first partner and a part that went to George Dzundza, and Greevey’s replacement Phil Cerreta, which was ultimately played by Paul Sorvino. But Orbach seemed destined for the progenitor of so many spin-offs; after playing a defense attorney in the second season, the proverbial third time was the charm, and he was cast to play Briscoe. Although one would have thought that by this time, cops would be avoiding assignment as Logan’s partner like they would an IRS audit, no doubt considering it the fast track to retirement by gunshot, it was Orbach’s Briscoe who outlasted Noth’s Logan to become the longest-running character on the series.
Orbach decided earlier this year to step down from the role that had made him a household name, but was already slated to return in yet another Law and Order spin-off which would star his Briscoe character. But in early December, it was announced that Orbach had prostate cancer; he was said to be receiving treatment and doing well, and fully expected to continue on his new series. Sadly, on December 28th, the prostate cancer claimed his life, and the man whom the New York Landmark Conservancy designated a Living Landmark left the city which he so personified forevermore. But as Lennie Briscoe, Jerry Orbach will continue to live on, bringing his wry wit and dour visage into living rooms for generations to come.
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