Dad, 1924-2006

When I started this blog back in 2004, I made the decision to refrain from using the site to discuss personal matters. Who I was was of little importance (hence the creation of the Filmbrain persona) -- it was first and foremost a film blog, and I had little desire to reveal any details of my life outside of film interests. Yet I'm going to break with tradition and share a few memories of my father -- a man for whom film was a lifelong passion, and who passed away on Saturday, 18 February, aged 82. Film was already present in my father's life at birth -- his mother was a minor stage and screen actress (back when the studios were still in New Jersey) who I've been told possessed the kind of beauty that drove men insane. When he was still a young boy, she tragically took her own life after being caught up in a tabloid sex scandal. As a child my dad loved going to the pictures (as he called them), and he never forgot his first film experience -- Cecil B. DeMille's Dynamite. Though he was probably too young to fully comprehend DeMille's romantic farce, he was forever hooked on film. Several years after the death of his mother, my father found himself with a new stepmother -- a woman who didn't much care for children, and who made his life very difficult. As soon as he was old enough, he joined the army, as an escape from his unpleasant home life. My father never once talked about his time in WWII, other than to say he was in the South Pacific. (A die-hard pacifist who deplored violence, I can only begin to imagine what he experienced there.) After returning from the war and finishing college, he moved into Manhattan, where he moved into a swinging bachelor pad on West 52nd St., close to the jazz clubs he often frequented. (Dad's stories of 52nd Street in the be-bop era were endlessly fascinating.) He began his film career as a clerk at Columbia Pictures, which is where he also met my mother. He eventually moved over to Universal Pictures, where he remained until his retirement in the early 90s. Many of my strongest childhood memories of my father involve film. Birthdays were always special, as each year dad would bring home a 16mm print of a Universal classic. I'll never forget my 9th birthday party -- a group of about twenty kids huddled together on the floor, dumbstruck, as we were horrified and mesmerized by The Incredible Shrinking Man. Weekends were often spent in one of New York's (then) many revival cinemas -- and it was there that I received my first formal film education. We worked our way though musicals, film noir, screwball comedies, etc. He taught me the differences between the moguls, and how to spot a Warner Brothers picture from an MGM (or any other studio.) I learned the strengths and weaknesses of all the major leading actors and actresses, and why Fred Astaire was cooler than all the rest. I saw awful prints of Bergman, Rossellini, Godard, and Kurosawa at the Theater 80 St. Marks, avant-garde shorts at MOMA, and silent comedies at the Bleecker Street cinema. Dad moved to Hollywood after he and my mother split up, where he became more involved with the production side of the business. Though he loved life on the lot, his heart was always in New York. He moved back right after retirement, all set to spend his golden years in the city he loved so. But after only one year, he suffered a stroke that left him sound in mind, but not in body. Though his physical limitations frustrated him, he still managed to keep as active a lifestyle as he could, which included trips to the cinema, but not nearly as often as he would have liked. He became more politically active, especially since Bush came to power, and did his part to voice his protest against the regime and the war in Iraq. Against better judgment, he took part in the massive protest that was staged in the summer of 2004 during the Republican National Convention. Conversations with my father, especially in the last two years, were almost always about film. He was proud of the blog, and would often seek out the films I wrote about. (He also did fairly well on the screen cap quizzes.) We disagreed about many contemporary Hollywood films, but he'd often have a compelling argument in their defense. When my father was first admitted into the hospital a few weeks ago, I never imagined the end was so near. In fact, our last full conversation was about the Oscars -- he asked me if I thought Brokeback Mountain would sweep the awards. I told him I thought it would. When I asked him what he thought of the film, his response was, "William Wyler would have done it better". That was my father. I'm going to take a little time off -- will be back in a week or so.

Comments

[girish]

Filmbrain, I'm so sorry to hear.
My heartfelt condolences are with you.

[Spec]

A very touching piece of writing. My deepest condolences.

[Peter Nellhaus]

My condolences to you.

[flickhead]

My sincere condolences.

[Oedipax]

My condolences, Filmbrain.

[adam]

My heartfelt condolences, Filmbrain. Take care of yourself. Take all the time you need away from here. We'll all be waiting for you when you return.

[sean]

My condolences as well. This was a beautiful post, and thank you for sharing your memories of your father with us. He sounds like he was a pretty great guy.

[Darren]

What a beautiful bit of writing that is, and what a remarkable life your father had.

[laurie]

you are in my thoughts. thank you for all that you share, filmbrain.

[David Hudson]

A beautiful, beautiful remembrance, Filmbrain.

[phyrephox]

I'm so sorry to hear about this, FB. I hope you and your family are doing alright in this tough time. That was a lovely article, I never knew where from you got such a passion for film, but not it is abundantly clear. My condolences.

[Bill]

Thanks for sharing your memories of your father. What a beautiful way to celebrate his life and his love for film.

And he's right ... Wyler would have done BROKEBACK better!

All the best to you and your family.

[Michael]

I'm very sorry to hear about your father. You have my deepest condolences, Filmbrain. That was a very touching tribute you wrote to your dad. All the best to you.

[Michael]

What an amazingly touching post. My condolences.

[cynthia]

i'm so sorry, filmbrain. my deepest sympathies. i see now why you're such a filmbrain. :)

[Kza]

I'm sorry to hear of your loss -- your father sounded like a helluva guy. My best to you and your family.

[Alison]

Condolences indeed, 'brain.

[HarryTuttle]

You're so lucky your father was a great man. With all my sincere condolences.

[girlwithamoviecamera]

awfully sorry to hear about your dad, especially because his passing away came so unexpectedly; i just want to express my most heartfelt condolences. this must be a really difficult period for you, so, as somebody else has already said, take all the time that you need: you have quite a loyal following here (something your dad must have been really proud of), so we'll always be here waiting :) and, not to sound awfully saccharine/out of place, but do keep in mind the ending of kurosawa's ikiru - as in, the great importance of those left behind, honoring the lives of loved ones. your great role (which you have already demonstrated with your touching post) will be to preserve and carry on the memory of your dad and the fabulous things he did in his life. take care.

[Paul Doherty]

Filmbrain: Thank you for that. It is always interesting to find out where people come from. I visit this blog daily, your Father did a great job with you.