Telling a Story

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The Grandson (Fred Savage): Grandpa, maybe you could come over and read it again to me tomorrow.

Grandpa (Peter Falk): As you wish.

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My mother loved "The Princess Bride," which premiered on this day in 1987.

That is what I most remember about the movie.

Mom saw it at a theater. I didn't see it with her. For years after that, she kept urging me to rent the video tape, but I never did. Finally, she gave me a copy of the video tape for Christmas — just a few months before she died in a flash flood.

At the time of her death, I still hadn't watched the tape. I still had it, but I hadn't watched it. So one night I decided I was going to do it for Mom.

I thought the movie was cute, and I could see why Mom liked it, why so many people liked it. Critics liked it, and it was a modest success at the box office, too.

I would have liked to talk with Mom about it. That was what we did almost every time we saw a movie together. Our discussions were brief sometimes, extensive other times, but they were almost always the best part of the movie watching experience for me.

I miss many things about my mother, but that exchange of thoughts and ideas may be what I miss the most. I have no doubt that our conversation about "The Princess Bride" would have been one of our best.

Reading Roger Ebert's review was almost as good. Not quite, but almost.

"'The Princess Bride' reveals itself as a sly parody of sword and sorcery movies, a film that somehow manages to exist on two levels at once," Ebert wrote. "While younger viewers will sit spellbound at the thrilling events on the screen, adults, I think, will be laughing a lot."

I wanted to know which parts Mom found funny — and why. I think I know the answer, but I never truly will.

Ebert elaborated on that point, and I couldn't disagree.

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"In its own peculiar way, 'The Princess Bride' resembles 'This Is Spinal Tap,' an earlier film by the same director, Rob Reiner," he wrote. "Both films are funny not only because they contain comedy, but because Reiner does justice to the underlying form of his story. 'Spinal Tap' looked and felt like a rock documentary — and then it was funny. 'The Princess Bride' looks and feels like 'Legend' or any of those other quasi–heroic epic fantasies — and then it goes for the laughs."

Without going into too much detail, the movie was the telling of a story by a grandfather (Peter Falk) to his bedridden grandson (Fred Savage) — and if Mom could be here, I have no doubt she would say that I shouldn't spoil too much for anyone who hasn't seen it.

I don't think it would spoil too much, though, if I told you that, in the context of the story, it was established that the phrase "As you wish" really means "I love you."

When I discovered that, I understood the meaning of the note Mom had attached to that Christmas gift. "I think you'll like this," Mom wrote. "As you wish."

I remember being puzzled by that at the time, and I asked Mom about it. But all she did was smile. She knew what it meant, and she knew I would understand only if I watched the movie.

You Say You Want a Revolution?

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"This is the story of all tyrants, General. They have but one real enemy, and this is the one they never recognize until too late."

Priest (Vladimir Sokoloff)

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There is one great truth in the world — and that is that human behavior is almost always predictable.

Because we are all imperfect — and we are imperfect in decidedly imperfect ways. We are all susceptible to language and actions that are crude and selfish and incendiary, the worst reflections of our true selves, just as we are all capable of noble self–sacrifice.

And we can all be carried away by forces we don't really understand — or sufficiently respect.

It's easy to get caught up in the emotion of the moment. When revolution is in the air, it can be intoxicating, especially for young people who frequently lack the perspective of history that tells us that revolution can be a good thing — or a bad thing. And for many people the relatively rapid acquisition of success is more than they can handle.

In the case of revolution — and the episode of the Twilight Zone that aired on this night in 1961, "The Mirror" — it is advisable to remember the old adage: Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The episode chronicled the immediate aftermath of a Central American revolution that was successful in toppling the old regime. Its leader was played by Peter Falk, whose character would have been instantly recognizable to audiences 55 years ago as being modeled after Cuba's Fidel Castro. He's been out of the public eye so much and for so long now that I suspect many modern observers would not make that connection.

But that was clearly the inspiration for Falk's character.

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At first, upon being swept into power by the revolution, he was all fired up to execute the tyrant he had replaced, advocating a slow death in retribution for all the times he had hurt the people in any way.

The tyrant was gracious, though. He told Falk that he was giving him a mirror that adorned the wall. The person who had given it to him, the tyrant said, told him he could see his assassins in the reflection.

And from that point on, Falk began to see reflections of his friends trying to stab or shoot or poison him. He killed them all — or had others do it for him.

A wise old priest visited him to complain about the round–the–clock executions. Falk protested that he had enemies, and he would continue with the executions as long as he had enemies.

The priest observed that Falk's triumph was not so sweet after all. It had the taste of ashes, not the taste of wine.

Then he observed that it was the story of all tyrants. "They have but one real enemy, and this is the one they never recognize until too late."

The priest left the room; a couple of minutes later he heard the smashing of glass as Falk threw an object at the mirror, then there was the sound of a gunshot as Falk ended his own life.

The priest rushed in, saw Falk's body on the floor and muttered, "The last assassin. They never seem to learn."

A cautionary tale for would–be tyrants.

On the Long Road With the Great Leslie and Professor Fate

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Leslie (Tony Curtis): Are you a native of Burracho?

Lily Olay (Dorothy Provine): I ain't no native. I was born here!

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"The Great Race," which made its theatrical debut half a century ago on this day in 1965, was pure slapstick from start to finish. If there was any doubt, the opening credits included this tribute: "For Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy."

It was set shortly after the turn of the 20th century. It was about a New York–to–Paris (by way of the Bering Strait) road race, and it was directed by Blake Edwards at a time when he was getting rave reviews for his early "Pink Panther" pictures — if you are familiar with his directorial style, you could see similarities between "The Great Race" and Edwards' other comedies.

Edwards made many of those movies, of course, with the great Peter Sellers, who had nothing to do with "The Great Race." In "The Great Race," Edwards worked with another of his frequent collaborators, Jack Lemmon.

The project also reunited Lemmon with his "Some Like It Hot" co–star, Tony Curtis, this time as genuine rivals (rather than the implied rivals — for Marilyn Monroe's affections — that they were in "Some Like It Hot"). And, although she seemed to shift her loyalties throughout the movie, Natalie Wood, as a feminist journalist reporting on the race, played Curtis' love interest.

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Kind of an interesting twist, given that, only a few months earlier, Curtis and Wood had been adversarial co–stars in "Sex and the Single Girl."

In the context of 1965, "The Great Race" was a star–studded show with prominent people showing up even in small roles. Vivian Vance (probably best known as Ethel Mertz in the I Love Lucy sitcom), Keenan Wynn, Peter Falk, Larry Storch were there — along with others whose faces you probably would recognize even if you never knew their names.

"The Great Race" clearly identified the good guy and the bad guy. Curtis (The Great Leslie) was the good guy who always dressed in white; Lemmon (Professor Fate) was the bad guy, always dressed in black. And they periodically swapped the lead — for the screwiest of reasons.

In the end, the good guy seemed to be on the brink of victory — but he gave it all up to prove to Natalie Wood that he loved her.

When he stopped his vehicle inches from the finish line, Wood's character protested, "What are you doing?"

"Proving that I love you," Curtis replied.

"But you'll lose the race," Wood said.

"Can you think of a better way to prove it?" he asked before kissing her in a passionate embrace.

Sorta reminiscent of the Sylvester Stallone/"Rocky" experience, eh? When Rocky lost the fight and won the girl. Yo, Adrian.

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Max (Peter Falk): We gotta do something.

Professor Fate (Jack Lemmon): Oh, don't worry. Before this iceberg melts and we drown like rats, we're going to do plenty.

Max: Yeah? What?

Professor Fate: We're gonna starve!

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But Professor Fate wouldn't take a victory that way, though. After all, he had a reputation ...

"The Great Race" was terrific entertainment — complete with an honest–to–God pie fight near the end. Wood got pelted numerous times, but Curtis' character seemed unusually blessed, walking through a crossfire of pies without getting hit once, his all–white duds showing not even a trace of fallout from a pie — until almost the end of the fight.

Meanwhile, Lemmon's double, a dandified drunkard of a king, got hit with a brandy pie and encouraged the participants in the pie fight to hit him with more brandy pies, then got hit with a rum pie and scolded them with the admonition, "I never mix my pies!"

At the Oscars, "The Great Race" beat "Von Ryan's Express" for Best Sound Editing — and lost for Best Sound Mixing, Best Color Cinematography and Best Film Editing. Although he wasn't nominated for his work on "The Great Race," composer Henry Mancini went on to win four Oscars in his lifetime.

Peter Falk Dies

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It was ironic that I made the observation this week that yesterday was the 35th anniversary of the theatrical release of "Murder By Death."

Ironic because one of the stars of that movie, Peter Falk, died yesterday.

Many of his co–stars in that movie — Peter Sellers, Alec Guinness, David Niven, Elsa Lanchester, Truman Capote, Nancy Walker, James Coco, Estelle Winwood — have been gone for years so it is hardly a new experience to lose a member of that cast.

Nor is it surprising to lose someone who is in his 80s.

Nevertheless, I am saddened — mostly at the loss of another piece of my youth.

I imagine a lot of people feel that way.

I wouldn't say that Columbo — without a doubt Falk's signature TV series and role — was my favorite show, but it was one of my father's favorites, and I often watched it with him.

And I'm sure that anyone who ever watched the show would instantly recognize his trademark phrase ... "Sorry to bother you, but just one more thing ..."

He's been out of the spotlight (I almost said "public eye," which, given the fact that one of his eyes was removed when he was small and replaced with a fake eye that gave him his distinctive squint, would have been something of a gaffe, I suppose) for several years. It was revealed four years ago that he suffered from Alzheimer's disease.

Rest in peace, Columbo.

Death By Laughter

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I have mentioned before that my parents were devoted fans of the murder mystery.

They were familiar with all of the great literary and film detectives, and they passed along a fondness for the genre to me — along with a collection of paperback novels by Agatha Christie, which are still in the book collection on my shelves today.

In fact, they were so familiar with the genre that they got every joke, every reference that Neil Simon wrote into his entertaining cinematic spoof of murder mysteries, "Murder By Death," which premiered 35 years ago tomorrow.

That was a definite plus for me. I remember seeing the movie with them and then having them explain the jokes I didn't get after the movie was over.

I wound up returning to the theater to see the movie again (a couple of times) after they told me the inside jokes I had missed — and the movie actually inspired me to read some books I hadn't read before.

As a result, when I watch that movie now, I am filled with admiration for Simon's wit.

There really isn't much more to say about the plot of the movie. I mean, if you're familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the famous sleuths who were parodied, you will see that many of the devices Simon used were written primarily to set up the gags. But many of those set–ups were, themselves, inspired by the detectives' actual tendencies.

I would never suggest that it didn't take a lot of knowledge to write a clever script. It certainly did. Simon's a clever writer whose works have frequently been successes on Broadway — and, in 1976, there may have been no screenwriter who was as hot as Simon.

Nevertheless, it was a simple story. The world's greatest living detectives were invited to spend the weekend at the country home of a mysterious benefactor, where they would be treated to "dinner and a murder." The benefactor was played by Truman Capote, and he offered $1 million to any detective who could solve the crime.

His objective was to stump them all and claim the title of world's greatest detective for himself.

The rest of the film was a delightful collection of gags based on the eccentric behavior of the detectives and the writing habits of the authors who created them.

All that certainly had appeal for my parents — but I think what clinched the deal for them was the cast. They always had a particular fondness for British actors (I think that may have been due, in part, to the fact that they spent some time in Scotland after they were married), and "Murder By Death" was loaded with their favorites — Peter Sellers, David Niven, Alec Guinness, Maggie Smith, Elsa Lanchester.

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They were great, as always.

But I think almost any actor would have been great with the lines Neil Simon gave them.

For some reason, I particularly liked the lines that were given to Peter Falk (who played a combination of Sam Spade and Richard Diamond in his unique Columbo style).

• When asked if the blind butler (Guinness) was dead (the audience could see a knife protruding from his back), Falk replied, "With a thing like that in his back, in the long run, he's better off."


• On another occasion, Falk made this observation about a locked door: "Locked ... from the inside. That can only mean one thing. And I don't know what it is."


• Another time, upon rejoining his colleagues after a trip to the restroom, Diamond was told that there was a bullet hole in the back of his jacket.
  
  "You should see the other guy," he replied.


• Then there was the time when he introduced his female companion as "my secretary and mistress."

Well, they all had great lines.

Oh, and who was crowned the world's greatest detective?

Well, no one, really. There was some question, you see, as to whether anyone had been killed or not.

"Was there a murder or wasn't there?" demanded Willie Wang, adopted son of Sidney Wang (a parody of Charlie Chan, played delightfully by Sellers) as they drove away from the country estate.

"Yes," Sidney replied. "Killed good weekend."

Perhaps — but the time in the theater was far from wasted. I didn't have to be a detective to deduce that.