A One-Two Punch

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Recent days have felt like a one–two punch to me — I guess boxing aficionados would call it a combination.

I heard yesterday that Adam West, the star of the 1960s Batman TV series, had died at the age of 88, unleashing memories of my childhood.

About 24 hours earlier, Glenne Headly, an actress whose work I have greatly respected as an adult, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 62.

They were both body blows for me — I guess the greater was the one from West's death although, given his age, I should have expected it. I didn't know he had been suffering from leukemia, which is not the death sentence it was when I watched West in my childhood, but when one is nearly 90, any disease has the potential to be fatal.

Batman's run ended in 1968 so I probably watched it in syndication. So did my best friends in those days. When we played together — and that was darn near every day — our games were almost always variations on Batman episodes we had seen recently. We made capes out of bath towels and played games in which we were the caped crusaders on a mission to save not only Gotham City but the whole world from some dark menace.

Sometimes we created villains to suit the circumstances of our games. Most of the time, though, we simply used characters we had seen on TV, like the Riddler, the Joker and the Penguin. (I never liked playing one of the villains much, but I did rather enjoy playing the Penguin with his distinctive quacking sound.)

Batman is a cherished memory from my childhood. There have been many Batmen in the movies, but West will always be Batman to me. West even played Batman in a movie once, but if you want to watch it you really have to look for it.

You don't have to look too far to find Headly's movies although most of her recent work has been on television.

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I don't remember the first time I saw her in anything, but she definitely made an impression on me in "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels." When I heard of her death, I also thought of "Mr. Holland's Opus," in which, as usual, she wasn't the star, but she left her mark.

I did not think of "Dick Tracy," but apparently many people did. I liked the movie. It just didn't come to my mind.

I did think of her television work, mostly Lonesome Dove in which she played an Arkansas sheriff's wife who was still attached to a bad–boy lover.

To my great regret, I didn't mention Headly's work when I observed the 25th anniversary of Lonesome Dove a few years ago. But, as always, she could be a scene stealer, no matter what she did. And, while her screen time in Lonesome Dove was probably brief, it was memorable.

The same could be said of her work several years later in the made–for–TV movie "And the Band Played On" in which she played one of the researchers in the early days of the AIDS epidemic. As usual, she was surrounded by many talented people; also as usual, she left an impression.

They both did.

Cinematic Sleight of Hand

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"I think it's time she met ... ze prince."

Michael Caine ("Dirty Rotten Scoundrels")

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Most of humanity, I suppose, falls into one of two categories — those who are naive and trusting and those who take advantage of the ones who are naive and trusting.

I believe there are degrees of both of these conditions. No one is either all bad or all good. Well, maybe a few are, but not many.

Most of the folks who are naive and trusting do manage to balance those tendencies with a healthy share of skepticism, but there are some who, like Charlie Brown, will always try to kick the football, knowing full well that Lucy will pull it away at the last minute.

And, while most of the people who take advantage of others don't do so routinely and often feel guilty when they do, there are the Lucys of the world who seize upon such opportunities virtually as a reflex action — and with no more remorse than one typically shows when swatting flies.

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels," which premiered 25 years ago today, was about the extremes.

There was the ongoing struggle for local supremacy between two con artists, the urbane con man Michael Caine and the arrogant and a bit rough–around–the–edges hustler played by Steve Martin. In the seemingly gullible category was Glenne Headly, ostensibly a prize winner on a once–in–a–lifetime international vacation — set against the backdrop of the French Riviera, which did lend it a kind of "To Catch a Thief" aura.

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But Cary Grant and Grace Kelly were never as funny.

For awhile, Caine was cast as a teacher, guiding Martin in the subtle ways of sophisticated con artistry. But he struck out on his own when he realized that Caine and the rest of his merry band were benefiting while he was doing all the work and receiving none of the profits from it.

That was a conclusion that wasn't hard to reach. His performances as, primarily, Ruprecht (the mentally challenged "Monkey Boy," as Martin sneeringly called the character) were intended to frighten off the wealthy marks that Caine targeted once their money had been taken; after that mission was accomplished, the money was divided between Caine and his associates. Martin received nothing — but knowledge.

There was a third unseen con artist known only as "the Jackal." The Jackal was said to have been preying on wealthy folks in the area. He was regarded, to put it mildly, as unwelcome competition.

Initially, Caine mistook Martin for the Jackal. That was why Caine tried to scare Martin away from his corner of the Riviera, and he was briefly successful.

But it eventually occurred to Caine that there simply wasn't enough room in his corner of the Riviera for both of them so the two of them devised a bet. The first to con Headly (believed to be a wealthy heiress) out of $50,000 could stay. The other had to leave permanently.

And the race was on.

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Near the end of the movie, the con artists discovered that Headly was really the Jackal — after she had conned the two of them — and, most likely, the rest of the audience. It was probably the best sleight of hand I've seen at the movies since "The Sting."

It was neatly done.

In Praise of Teachers

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As I wrote last week, there are whole portions of 1995 that I simply do not remember.

That's true. At the time, I was very focused on my father, who was recovering from his injuries (both physical and mental) from the flood that took my mother's life in May of that year.

But, by the end of December in 1995, my father was recovering and I was emerging from my own fog of grief, and I started doing normal, everyday things again, like going to the movies.

I didn't see "Mr. Holland's Opus," which made its debut on this day in 1995, until the next calendar year, but I had heard a lot about it and I had eagerly anticipated it — and it lived up to my expectations when I finally saw it.

(By the way, you can see it a week from tonight, at 7 Central on Turner Classic Movies.)

It was the biography of a music teacher, and it reminded me a lot of my mother, who was a teacher during her life. It also served as an inspiration for me a few months ago when I was writing about the memorial service for one of my closest friends, who was as musically gifted as anyone I have ever known or ever expect to know.

A fictional story, the movie told a tale most people could probably tell — of the teacher (or coach or church leader or some adult figure) who made a difference in their lives.

Michael Costello of AllMovie.com observed that it was a throwback to the days of "the tribute to a life of selfless dedication" theme. It was, he wrote, a genre in which the great John Ford excelled, but it seems to have fallen on hard times.

Costello had praise for the acting, especially that of the star, Richard Dreyfuss, but he had several complaints about the story, writing that the subplot was "underdeveloped" and "heavy handed."

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I suppose the criticism was warranted, but I guess most teachers would tell you that they get a charge from witnessing the moments when the light bulb comes on for their students, the way it did for young Gertrude Lang in this clip.

There was nothing false about the depiction of that experience in the movie. It is an exciting moment.

Perhaps I feel that way because my parents were teachers and so were my father's parents. I myself have been a teacher of journalism at times in my life — currently, in fact, on an adjunct basis at the local community college — and I have known that feeling.

The problem with being a teacher, though, is that you can't always be sure you're having that kind of impact on the people in your classroom. And, to be fair, most people would probably tell you that few, if any, of their teachers truly inspired them.

I know that most of mine did not.

But there were a few who did — a few Mr. Hollands along the way. They may have been the exceptions, but they more than made up for it with their devotion to their subject, whether it was music or art or science or math.

"Mr. Holland's Opus" was an homage to all of them.

And, in her own way, Glenne Headly, as Mr. Holland's supportive spouse, contributed much to Mr. Holland's approach to his students.