the passionate moviegoer

Roger Ebert once referred to Doris Day as the movie industry's "most misunderstood commodity." The same observation could be made about Burt Reynolds. Few understood or appreciated what he brought to film.

Even in death, there's the realization that most people don't "get" him, if one is to go by the countless appreciations and obituaries that have been accumulating since his passing on yesterday (August 6th) at age 82.

From them, one would assume that Burt Reynolds' only credentials for stardom were his undeniable charm and affability or that his screen career was defined exclusively by a single movie, "Smokey and the Bandit."

Ever-misunderstood. Routinely underestimated.

"Smokey and the Bandit" (1977), in fact, was something of a happy, unexpected accident, made on the fly by Burt during a downtime - and as a favor to Hal Needham, his stuntman-friend who wanted to direct a movie. Little was expected from it, but Universal was so surprised by its accomplished, throw-away cartoon style that the studio booked it into Radio City Music Hall.

But "Smokey" is just one title, one of many. His sprawling filmography includes a whopping 186 acting credits, at least half of them television performances. And while there are the requisite number of negligible theatrical releases, his output is dotted with often challenging material, made in collaboration with an amazing array of major filmmakers.

And as for that "undeniable charm," yes, it was always there at the heart of his performances, along with a soulfulness. But, frankly, Burt was as complicated as he was affable. That said, here's what I perceive to be his career high points, including choices he made that might seem dubious - and "misses" that, for me, are every bit as interesting as his "hits."

1958-68: The TV Years, "Angel Baby" and "Fade-in"...

Much like Steve McQueen, James Garner and Clint Eastwood, Burt's early screen career was small, meaning that it was anchored to the small screen - television. His appearances on the tube from the late 1950s to early '60s were countless and sad ("Flipper" anyone? "Gentle Ben"?), including regular work on three series. There were a handful of parts in movie at the time, the most notable being his big-screen debut role in Paul Wendkos' "Angel Baby" (1961), a nifty "Elmer Gantry" wannabe with a good cast - Mercedes McCambridge, George Hamilton, Henry Jones, Joan Blondell and, in the title role, the fabulous Salome Jens. A guilty pleasure.

More TV followed and then came "Fade-In," an esoteric indie made by Paramount as a companion piece to a 1968 Terence Stamp vehicle titled "Blue," directed by Silvio Narizzano ("Georgy Girl"), for which Paramount had high hopes. The idea for "Fade-In," directed by Jud Taylor, was for it to be on the periphery of "Blue," centering on the relationships among that film's crew during its making. Burt was paired with another terrific actress here, Barbara Loden (who directed "Wanda" and died too young). "Fade-In" was something of an experiment but, when "Blue" bombed, it was shelved. IMDb lists "Fade-In" as a made-for-TV movie.

It isn't.

1972: "Deliverance," Cosmopolitan and Carson...

There was nothing much for the next four years - until 1972. Then, snap! Something happened. Within '72, Burt (1) played the lead in Richard A. Colla's comedy, "Fuzz"; (2) was part of the ensemble in John Boorman's prestige, Oscar-bait drama, "Deliverance"; (3) made a cameo appearance in Woody Allen's "Everything You Always anted to Know about Sex * But Were Afraid to Ask"; (4) posed partially nude for a centerfold in the April issue of Cosmopolitan, and (5) made the first of 61 appearances on "The Tonight Show" (which aired February 18th, 1972).

Suddenly, he had "It."

Despite the notoriety of the centerfold and the personal acclaim that came with "Deliverance," it was his witty, self-deprecating banter with Johnny Carson that made him a star. Audiences found him irresistible.

Men and women alike.

1974: "The Longest Yard"/a break-out role, a personal role...

The year 1973 brought the low-key pleasures of Joseph Sargent's "White Lightning" and Buzz Kulick's "Shamus," as well as the scandal plaguing Richard C. Sarafian's "The Man Who Loved Cat Dancing." (Co-star Sarah Miles' manager was found dead on location, which sparked speculation about her relationship with Burt.) But he was still more or less biding time until 1974, the year of Robert Aldrich's hugely watchable "The Longest Yard," in which Burt broke through completely as an imprisoned former quarterback coerced by the prison's evil warden (played by a cast-against-type Eddie Albert) to coach a group of inmates for a football game in which they take on the guards.

He brought a personal reading to the role.

Burt had often discussed his hell-raising youth and issues with his father, who was a sheriff and who was very strict. He never spoke ill of his father but it was clear that an incorrigible son hardly reflected well on a man who was positioned as a leading authority figure in his community. Approval from him was rare. All of this is paralleled in "The Longest Yard," in which Burt plays an irresponsible, reckless athlete at the mercy of an unforgiving totalitarian. I've no idea if the film was written specifically with him in mind but the fit is utterly perfect. There would be subsequent films that would pit Burt against the patriarchy and, of course, "Smokey and the Bandit" is a lighter variation on the same autobiographical father/authority issues.

1975: Burt's banner year...

Burt stretched himself considerably in '75, taking on no fewer than four films, all for A-list directors, starting off with John G. Avildsen's disarming "W.W. and the Dixie Dancekings," in which a mustache-free Burt, honing his "undeniable charm" to perfection, turns in what is arguably the definitive Burt Reynolds performance. Next came his game turn in my hands-down favorite, Peter Bogdanoich's musical "At Long Last Love," a movie enthusiastically endorsed by both Roger Ebert and Vincent Canby but routinely dismissed and derided by people who haven't bothered to actually see it. Burt put himself out there, singing and dancing - his singing altogether fine, delivered in the easy, laid-back style of Dean Martin.

He had two year-end holiday releases that year - Robert Aldrich's policier, "Hustle," which paired him in an effectively moody duet with Catherine Deneuve, and Stanley Donen's troubled period piece, "Lucky Lady," co-starring Gene Hackman and Liza Minnelli.

Essentially a light-hearted caper, "Lucky Lady" ended originally - and apparently jarringly (see clip below) - with the deaths of Hackman and Reynolds characters. When that didn't work with either the studio or test audiences, another ending was shot - with the three stars in old-age make-up (see photo at end of piece). Nope. Another - a happy ending - was shot and that's the one that was released. The film certainly has problems but it boasts three stars at their zenith, clearly having fun.

1976-79: The "Smokey" blessing and curse...

Despite the ambition behind his '75 films, none of them did very well financially. In 1976, Burt teamed up again with Bogdanovich for "Nickelodeon," did a cameo in Mel Brooks' "Silent Movie" and made a credible directorial debut with "Gator" (a sequel to "White Lightning"). A pleasing selection. And so "Smokey and the Bandit" came along at just the right time the following year. A surprise hit. Huge. And it helped that "Smokey" was followed by something more substantial - "Semi-Tough," Michael Ritchie's take on the Dan Jenkins book (with an adaptation by the estimable Walter Bernstein) and the first of two films Burt would make with Jill Clayburgh.

The next few years would be a hodgepodge of "Smokey" sequels and "Smokey" clones ("The Cannonball Run" and Stroker Ace"), shoulder-shrugging titles ("Rough Cut," "Paternity") and a trio of "Dan August" telefilms. The only notable highlights were Hal Needham's terrific comedy about movie stunt work, "Hooper" (1978); that second film with Clayburgh, Alan J. Pakula's "Starting Over" (1979), in which Burt believed he gave his best performance and expected an Oscar nomination, and another stab at directing with "The End" (1978), an amusing black comedy about suicide.

1981-83: A termporary rebound...

"Smokey and the Bandit," his biggest hit, would bedevil Burt throughout his career. He became irrevocably linked to it, in much the same way that "Psycho" relentlessly trailed Anthony Perkins for the rest of his life. If anything, Burt should have bounced back in a big way after his output in 1981 and 1982. In '81, he directed his strongest film, his critically-acclaimed adaptation of "Sharkey's Machine" and, in '82, he starred in two box-office hits, Colin Higgins' "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" (co-starring with Dolly Parton) and Norman Jewison's "Best Friends" (opposite Goldie Hawn).

He enjoyed another decidedly non-"Smokey" role in 1983 - "The Man Who Loved Women," Blake Edwards' remake of the 1977 François Truffaut film, "L'homme qui aimait les femmes," which teamed him with Julie Andrews and Kim Basinger. Burt ended the '80s with a fine performance in Scottish filmmaker Bill Forsyth's art-house work, "Breaking In" (1989).

There were painfully slim pickings for Burt Reynolds during the 1990s and into the new millennium, but he got to work with Alexander Payne on his gutsy abortion comedy, "Citizen Ruth" (1996), starring Laura Dern, with director Jay Roach and star Russell Crowe on the disarming "Mystery, Alaska" (1999), and in Mike Figgis' ensemble indie, "Hotel" (2001).

Then there's Paul Thomas Anderson's epic salute to porn, "Boogie Nights" (1997), in which Burt shared the screen with a slew of hot new talent and tore into his role as a director of pornographic films as if it was a slab of raw meat, bringing raw emotion, humor, warmth and even dignity to the part. It's the movie that brought him the Oscar nomination that he wanted so much - that he thought he would receive for his work in "Deliverance" and "Starting Over." He could have won. (He lost to Robin Williams for his saintly work in "Good Will Hunting.") But for some bizarre reason, he retreated and did something self-destructive. He denounced the film.

In the last decade of his life, as he aged rapidly, Burt Reynolds continued to work, often in films that went straight to video or On Demand. "The Last Movie Star," a not-bad 2017 film was released earlier this year and referred to in his obits as his last film. Actually, according to IMDb, he made six other films after "The Last Movie Star." I've no idea what will become of them but, if you feel a need for a Burt Reynolds fix, I suggest a number of titles that he made when he was in his prime - "Deliverance," "White Lightning," "Best Friends," "W.W. and the Dixie Dancekings," "The Longest Yard," "Semi-Tough," "Smokey and the Bandit" (of course) and, by all means, "At Long Last Love."

Plus ... "Boogie Nights."

Note in Passings: There may be more coming on Burt Reynolds, more personal reflections.

In the meantime, I want to thank reader Alex for reminding me (see comments below) about the cult Spaghetti Western that Burt made for filmmaker Sergio Corbucci in 1966, "Navajo Joe." Here's what Dave Kehr had to say about it (and other Westerns) in The New York Times on May 20th, 2008.

Also, Julianne Moore offers an affectionate reminiscence of Burt here.

Oh, and here's the picture of the three stars in their old-age make-up for one of the endings filmed for "Lucky Lady." Apologies for the fuzzy image.

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~images~

(from top)

~Burt Reynolds singing the title song (live) in Peter Bogdanovich's "At Long Last Love"
~photography: Twentieth Century-Fox 1975©

~A typical Burt Reynolds pose in "Smokey and the Bandit"
~photography: Universal 1977©

~With Salome Jens in "Angel Baby"
~photography: Allied Artists 1961©

~With Barbara Loden in "Fade-In"
~photography: Paramount 1968©

~Spritzing Johnny Carson with whipped cream on an episode of "The Tonight Show"
~photography: Carson Entertainment Corp./NBC 1974©

~With Eddie Albert in "The Longest Yard"
`photography: Paramount 1974©

~In "W.W. and the Dixie Dancekings" and "At Long Last Love"
~photography: Twentieth Century-Fox 1975©

~With Marty Feldman, Dom DeLuise and Mel Brooks in "Silent Movie"
~photography: Twentieth Century-Fox 1976©

~Poster Art for Warner Bros.' "Best Friend"

~Poster art for Universal's "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas"

~Burt at home with his dog Bertha, circa 1972

The scene: Muriel Blandings (Myrna Loy) going over color schemes with Mr. PeDelford (Emory Parnell), a contractor working on her house-in-progress, and Charlie (Don Brodie), a painter who will do the work...

Muriel: "I want it to be a soft green, not as blue-green as a robin's egg, but not as yellow-green as daffodil buds."

Mr. PeDelford (in agreement): "A-ha."

Muriel: "Now, the only sample I could get is a little too yellow, but don't let whoever does it go to the other extreme and get it too blue. It should just be a sort of grayish-yellow-green."

Mr. PeDelford (repeating himself): "A-ha."

Muriel: "Now, the dining room. I'd like yellow. Not just yellow; a very gay yellow. Something bright and sunshine-y. I tell you, Mr. PeDelford, if you'll send one of your men to the grocer for a pound of their best butter, and match that exactly, you can't go wrong!"

Mr. PeDelford (repeating again): "A-ha."

Muriel: "Now, this is the paper we're going to use in the hall. It's flowered, but I don't want the ceiling to match any of the colors of the flowers. There's some little dots in the background, and it's these dots I want you to match. Not the little greenish dot near the hollyhock leaf, but the little bluish dot between the rosebud and the delphinium blossom. Is that clear?"

Mr. PeDelford (almost robotic now): "A-ha."

Muriel: "Now the kitchen is to be white. Not a cold, antiseptic hospital white. A little warmer, but still, not to suggest any other color but white."

Mr. PeDelford (clearly growing weary): "A-ha."

Muriel: "Now for the powder room - in here - I want you to match this thread, and don't lose it. It's the only spool I have and I had an awful time finding it! As you can see, it's practically an apple red. Somewhere between a healthy winesap and an unripened Jonathan. (There's commotion in the background.) Oh, excuse me..."

Mr. PeDelford: "You got that, Charlie?"

Charlie: "Red, green, blue, yellow, white."

Mr. PeDelford: "Check!"

-written by Melvin Frank and Norman Panama, from the novel by Eric Hodgins.