Untarnished Angels

As 2018 draws to a close, I want to recognize a few notable performers who passed away this year. Specifically, three stars who are emblematic of Hollywood in the 1950s.

For a short time, Dorothy Malone, Tab Hunter, and John Gavin were household names, and their films were indicative of the heightened melodrama of forbidden love, family strife, and class conflict typical of the big-budget, Cinemascope spectacles of the decade. These were soap operas of the first order, where the men were men and the women were women. And everyone was beautiful. 

Certainly, Malone, Hunter, and Gavin were beautiful. You could argue that none of them ever had much of a chance to prove their mettle as actors, but they certainly made a dent on the Hollywood of their era.

Malone, right around the time of "Written on the Wind."

Written on the Wind

When you think of of the women who dominated the movies in the 1950s, Dorothy Malone doesn’t immediately come to mind. Instead, we think of the likes of Lana Turner, Ava Gardner, and Susan Hayward, dames who, like Malone, got their start the decade before. But Malone worked hard like they did, and made her mark when it counted. She deserves her due. 

Malone spent the early 1940s in bit parts, often uncredited. But in 1946, she had a single sexy scene opposite Humphrey Bogart in “The Big Sleep.” In it, she demonstrated a wry slyness that underscored her best performances.

Despite the impact of that classic film noir, Malone lingered throughout the late 1940s in second leads. She wasn’t asked to do much throughout the early 1950s either, as she appeared (alternatively as a brunette or a blonde) in westerns and dramas. Her leading men included such stalwarts as Joel McCrea, Randolph Scott, Ronald Reagan, Robert Taylor, and Glenn Ford. Sometimes more than once.

In 1955, Malone joined a sprawling cast in the WWII movie “Battle Cry,” in which she portrayed a married woman who carries on an illicit affair with much-younger soldier Tab Hunter. (How could she resist? See below.)

Her breakthrough came in “Written on the Wind” in 1956 (blonde this time), opposite Rock Hudson and Robert Stack. She played the rich, sexy, spoiled daughter of a wealthy Texas oil family. The film, directed by Douglas Sirk, is emblematic of 1950s cinema, with plenty of Sirkian confrontations and recriminations, seething hatreds, heated exchanges, and unrequited love. The scene where she comes home from a night of debauchery and  dances wildly around her bedroom as her father keels over from a heart attack on the majestic staircase is one of my favorites. She won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her unbridled performance.

Sirk’s follow-up to “Written on the Wind” was “The Tarnished Angles,” in which he re-teamed Malone, Hudson, and Stack. Throughout the remainder of the 1950s, she worked with still more legendary actors, including James Cagney, Errol Flynn, and Henry Fonda.

With 1960’s “The Last Voyage,” opposite Stack, and 1961’s “The Last Sunset,” opposite Hudson, Malone’s starring film career basically came to a close. She moved into television, taking on the role of Constance Mackenzie in T.V.’s “Peyton Place” (a character that Lana Turner originated in the 1957 film version). Hugely popular, the series ran from 1961-1964. After that, it was sporadic low-budget movies and television work, all the way to her final film role in 1992’s “Basic Instinct,” starring Sharon Stone, a blonde for a new era. Malone died on January 19 at 93 after over 25 years in relative obscurity.

Smoldering came naturally to Tab Hunter.

That Kind of Man

When I was a kid and they aired movies on Saturday afternoon television, I remember seeing one called “War-Gods of the Deep,” set in a weird yet magical underwater city ruled by creepy Vincent Price. Years later I learned that the handsome male lead was Tab Hunter. 

Hunter was a Hollywood creation made for the 1950s. What he lacked in acting chops he made up for with impossible good looks. He seemed like the kind of young man that any mother would want her daughter to date. The truth, however, was that Tab would be more likely to date her son. (But that’s another part of his story.)

He got his start in 1950, and made a big splash two years later in “Island of Desire,” a cheesy adventure that was a huge hit, due in large part to him being shirtless throughout most of it. Hunter was one of the last actors to be placed under an exclusive contract at Warner Brothers Studios, along with James Dean and Natalie Wood. He was off and running, billed as the “Sigh Guy” who made the girls swoon. 

In 1955, he joined the cast of the WWII movie “Battle Cry,” and made an impression in his scenes with Dorothy Malone, as mentioned above. The following year Hunter was paired with Natalie Wood not once, but twice. A year later, he officially became a bankable recording artist with the No. 1 hit song "Young Love.” (Warner Brothers created their record label specifically for him.)

He was having a hot streak, impressing as the bad guy in the western “Gunman’s Walk,” followed by the hit musical “Damn Yankees.” In 1959, he was romantically paired with Sophia Loren in “That Kind of Woman.” All this time, the studio was working overtime to hide any indications that Hunter was homosexual.

By the early ‘60s, Hunter’s career began to falter. While he co-starred with Debbie Reynolds and Fred Astaire in the delightful "The Pleasure of His Company," he lost the male lead in the film adaptation of “West Side Story” and starred in a failed namesake T.V. comedy. The ‘60s saw a series of undistinguished films, including a low-budget war movie, a surfing picture, and several Italian and British productions (including “War-Gods of the Deep”).

In the 1970s, Hunter was mostly employed by television, everything from Police Woman and Hawaii Five-O to Charlie’s Angels and The Love Boat. In 1981, cult camp director John Waters wittily cast him in “Polyester” as Todd Tomorrow, which parodied his dreamboat image. He made a few more low-budget movies up until 1992, when, like Dorothy Malone, he retired for good. 

His final act was publishing an autobiography, “Tab Hunter Confidential,” in 2006, which confirmed the rumors that had swirled around him from the very beginning of his career: Yep, Tab Hunter was gay. The book became a fascinating documentary in 2015. After what seems like a very happy and content life with his partner of over 30 years, Hunter died on July 8 at 86.

No one made a better Julius Caesar than John Gavin.

Most Promising Male

John Gavin was so much the archetypal Handsome Movie Star that within the first decade of his career, he was spoofing his good looks. But while his acting range was limited, he had the right looks, and the distinction of appearing in several bona fide classics. 

After a few parts in OK movies, Gavin was cast as Lana Turner’s boyfriend – and dubbed “Most Promising Male Newcomer” -- in the seminal 1959 Douglas Sirk-directed/Ross Hunter-produced weeper “Imitation of Life,” in which Sandra Dee played Turner’s teenage daughter. (Sirk had directed Gavin for the first time, in "A Time to Live and a Time to Die," the year before.)

In 1960, he was cast in three big-league films: As doomed Janet Leigh’s lover in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”; as Julius Caesar in Stanley Kubrick’s epic “Spartacus;” and as Doris Day’s suspected tormenter in the highly popular “Midnight Lace” (also produced by Ross Hunter, who produced a number of Dorothy Malone's films).

A year later, Sandra Dee had grown out of her teenage incarnation and was paired as Gavin's romantic counterpart in the comedies “Romanoff and Juliet” and “Tammy Tell Me True,” wholesome fare emblematic of Hollywood in the early 1960s.

Square-jawed and stoic, Gavin was identifiable with the high-gloss sheen of big-budget American cinema. But that style began to fade out by the end of the 1960s. He lost the role of James Bond twice in the 1970s, and spent the remainder of his acting career into the early ‘80s mostly in television.

Perhaps it was Gavin's tenure as president of the Screen Actors Guild in the early '70s that led President Ronald Reagan to appoint him ambassador to Mexico, a role that was not without controversy. Gavin considered running for office in 1991, but then retired from public life. After nearly 40 years away from the camera, Gavin passed away on February 9 at 86, the same age as Tab Hunter, both handsome holdovers of the fabulous fifties.

Malone, Hunter, and Gavin were not perfect actors, but they created performances molded at a time when going to the movies still meant seeing larger-than-life characters in larger-than-life situations. Beautiful in life, they did what we'll all do: age and then leave the earth. They had their time to live and their time to die; but their screen impressions will remain beautiful, and untarnished, forever.

Footnote:

When Tab Hunter published his autobiography, his book tour came to Pittsburgh. He was extremely gracious as he took questions from the audience. I sat rapturously listening to him recount the stories behind his films. I still regret not asking him what it was like to work with Fred Astaire, Gary Cooper, John Wayne and others. I think I was intimated by his charm and good looks, which were still very evident. I admired his attitude about being gay in Hollywood in the 1950s. “Coming out, what does that mean?" he once queried. "What I'm concerned about is people as human beings. Are you a decent human being? What are you contributing? That's important.”

People Who Need People

Hedy Lamar

I was in Pittsburgh visiting friends and family when a madman broke into a synagogue and shot to death 11 mostly elderly people. The incident dominated conversation for the remainder of the weekend; it added to the unsettled feeling I’ve felt since the current president was put in charge of a fractured nation.

But when I learned, two days later, that my former doctor, Jerry Rabinowitz, was among the dead, I was shaken to my core. Like many people living in this era, I have become almost desensitized to the constant hate-tinged tone of angry rhetoric that dominates our public discourse.

Edward G. Robinson

But when you actually know someone who is murdered because of who they are – because of their religion, their ethnicity, their gender, their sexual orientation, their very identity – it makes knowing that there are millions of bigoted people in this country that much harder to bear. These are people who hate other people. People who would be much happier if the objects of their loathing were wiped off the face of the earth.

I’m obviously fully aware that anti-Semitism has a firm stronghold in this country, and across the world. Since this is a blog about my love of movies and Hollywood history in general, I'm going to pay tribute to the Jews who made the movies a going business, who built the studios that made thousands of classic films, who wrote, directed, produced, designed and scored them. Without the drive and influence of these people, there would be no film business. 

Lauren Bacall

And, of course, the Jews who brought those stories to life. There are so many, alive and dead, who I adore. I love watching them over and over and over; not because they’re Jewish, of course; but because they have brought a unique quality and given so much to my life and others like me through their their great talent, forceful personalities, and terrific style. 

They made me laugh and cry or amazed me with their singing, dancing, comedic skill or dramatic virtuosity. They created characters and delivered dialogue that made me feel more human, glad to be alive. When I imagine what my life would be like without the contributions these people have made over the decades, I feel bereft. Without them, there would be no film history, no distinct styles from which current artists can draw inspiration.

Paul Muni

I thank the ‘30s and ‘40s tough guys like Paul Muni, John Garfield, and Edward G. Robinson; and the Golden Age sirens like Hedy Lamarr, Lauren Bacall, Paulette Goddard, Luise Rainer, Sylvia Sidney and Shelley Winters.

And what about the endless list of funnymen of the pre-TV era? From George Burns to Jack Benny, Phil Silvers to Danny Kaye, the Marx Brothers to the Three Stooges -- all the way to Jerry Lewis. These guys still make me laugh.

And then there's the later funnymen who informed what comedy was in the 1960s and '70s, when I was growing up: Walter Matthau, Mel Brooks, and Gene Wilder, to name a few. Matthau in "The Odd Couple" and "The Bad News Bears"; Brooks parodies like "Young Frankenstein" and "Blazing Saddles"; and can anyone imagine a better Willy Wonka than Gene Wilder?

I know he’s currently controversial, but my life would not be nearly as rich without the work of Woody Allen. From his broad comedies in the early '70s all the way through to his more serious films of the ‘90s and beyond, Allen’s screenwriting and direction has always made me feel smarter when the credits roll. He’s been consistently savvy at making wry observations about what it means to be human, interweaving big, existential themes with poignant comedy. He makes you laugh while recognizing your shared humanity. Without his work, there would be a big hole in my filmgoing life.

Goldie Hawn

And I can’t forget the Jewish ladies who brought laughter. I’m thinking of women like Judy Holliday in the 1950s, and her heirs apparent in the '70s and 80s, ladies like Goldie Hawn, Madeline Kahn, and Gilda Radner. And what about the singers-turned-actresses, Bette Midler and Barbra Streisand? They were bigger than life, and I’m proud to have lived through the years when their talents loomed large.

Streisand sang about people who need people; she said they’re the luckiest people in the world. I feel lucky that these people – these Jewish people – have graced this earth with a joy in creating timeless art and entertainment. Their work has made living here a better experience that no amount of hate can erase.

And as to those who would despise Jews on the basis of religion, I think of a quote from Kirk Douglas, a Jewish actor who is now 102 years old and should by this point know what he’s talking about: “You must care for others. That’s the correct religion, I think.”

My Mom Can't Help It

My mom has always been very indulgent of my interest in movies. As a kid, if I thought a scene or a line of dialogue was funny, I’d summon her into the room from wherever she was in the house to watch. If I thought a scene was well-played, I’d call in mom to validate my impressions. She usually agreed.

She was born in 1939, arguably the biggest year in movie history. That means she debuted the same year in which such timeless movie classics as “Gone with the Wind” and “The Wizard of Oz” hit the theaters.

Mom’s childhood years were spent in a working-class area of Youngstown, Ohio during the war and post-war years. She loved her friends, her parents, sisters Vi and Betty, big brother Tom, and an extended family of Italian relatives. Certainly she went along to the occasional film with her mother, sisters, or friends, but movies don’t seem to have been a significant part of those years.

Even without a face, Gort doesn't look pleased.

When I asked her about the movies she saw as a kid, she told me that one of her earliest film-going memories was 1951's "The Day the Earth Stood Still,” the ground-breaking science fiction movie that doubled as a warning against a rising atomic threat. She was 12 years old.

“The spaceship lands in Washington, DC and a man comes out with a big robot,” she remembers. The man calls himself Klaatu, and he’s come to warn the human race that, due to humans' proclivity for war, other races have deemed Earth a danger to the rest of the universe. Klaatu implores Earth to live in peace or face destruction. Being the war-mongers that humans tend to be, their reaction is to shoot and wound Klaatu, which causes Gort, the big robot, to go on a rampage.

“For days after I saw the movie, when I went to bed at night, I would get up and go to the window and look for space crafts in the sky. I never saw any, but I kept on looking for them.”

Ostensibly a vehicle for Jayne Mansfield,
this movie was really a rock 'n' roll showcase.

By the time she was in high school, Mom counted Marlon Brando and Elvis Presley as two of her favorite heartthrobs, plastering posters and pictures from magazines on her bedroom walls. (She was in good company with millions of other teenagers.)

One non-Brando/non-Elvis movie she remembers from that period was 1957's "The Girl Can't Help It." “I wanted to see it so bad!” she says. And why not? The movie featured performances by some of the biggest rock acts of the day, including Little Richard (who sang the title song), Fats Domino, Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent, the Platters, and others.

But my grandmother wouldn’t let her go. Maybe it was the potentially negative influence of rock ‘n’ roll? No matter. My Uncle Art and Aunt Vi (mom’s oldest sister) said, “Come on, we'll go," and they snuck Mom to the theater. 

"It was a poor class-D movie with Jayne Mansfield. I loved it!”

(Bonus: The film co-starred Julie London, an actress who was also one of Mom’s favorite singers. In fact, Mom sang London’s “Cry Me a River” during the annual Variety Show in 1958 – but that’s another story. See the footnote.)

Here's Mom during her college years, looking like a Beatnik. 
My Uncle Tom, Mom's brother, made the easel for her.

Mom’s tastes changed when she entered college. At Youngstown State University, she majored in art and developed a taste for the foreign films coming into vogue in the U.S.

“La Dolce Vita” is a prime example, a seminal Federico Fellini movie released in 1960, all about a journalist (Marcello Mastroianni) who ambles around Rome over the course of a week, interacting with a gallery of eccentrics, movie stars, artists and others. 

“I just remember that the actors were beautiful, and it was creative,” says Mom. 

Anita Ekberg dribbles water on Marcello 

Film fans remember “La Dolce Vita” for the scene in which Anita Ekberg, in a black evening gown, wades seductively into the Trevi Fountain – surely one of the movies' indelible screen moments. She calls out, “Marcello! Marcello!” until he can do nothing but wade in after her.

"It was Italian. And that was it at the time. Fellini was too cool. And I was an artist!"

Mom graduated from college in 1962, married Dad in '64 and moved to Reno, Nevada, and started a family as an Air Force wife in '65. Her tastes in design, fashion, and music during that turbulent decade were streamlined, clean, and cool – in keeping with the trends of the era.

The United States changed a lot in a short time: A president had been assassinated and we entered a misbegotten war that would shatter the country. Meanwhile, by mid-decade, the counterculture was percolating, and ready to erupt.

That's Anne Bancroft's leg.

When I asked Mom about her favorite films from that decade, she mentioned three from 1967, when Dad returned from Vietnam after a year's tour. The late '60s vibe was encapsulated by "The Graduate," a movie whose style and approach was unlike anything ever committed to film at that point, representing a tonal shift not only in movies, but in American culture. 

In it, Dustin Hoffman rejects everything his upper-middle-class parents expect of him, including the society they represent. Some critics consider it the movie that changed the way filmmakers thought about how to construct a film narrative.

Another favorite of Mom’s from 1967 was “To Sir, with Love.” It featured Sidney Poitier as a new teacher in a poor British school who has a profound impact on his students. “It’s one of my favorite movies," says Mom. "I’ve watched it many times and still love seeing it."

I bet Mom was excited by the scene where Poitier takes his students on their first museum trip. By '67, she had been teaching for only a few years, and was burnishing an abstract painting style. She knew how thrilling art and antiquity could be when learning about it for the first time.

The year 1967 was a great one for Poitier, who also starred in the classic examination of Southern race relations, “In the Heat of the Night,” as well as yet another of Mom’s favorites, "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner."

The latter centered on the then-radical idea of a white girl marrying a black man, making it a rather subversive topic disguised as popular entertainment. In it, otherwise liberal parents (Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn) have to confront their own reservations about race, and let go of their daughter and trust her to make the right decision for herself.

“I’m sure not everyone embraced the movie as I did,” says Mom. “I didn't even think about it. I just loved the characters. I love Sidney Poitier. He was special, and that is what made him so great.”

Katharine Hepburn's niece Katharine Houghton's
film debut – opposite Sidney Poitier.

It's worth noting that "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" debuted six months after interracial marriage was legalized, in the case of Loving v. Virginia. Yet, as Mom noted, at that time blacks and whites were still using separate bathrooms, at least in the South.

I guess that's the point of this post. Mom has lived through some turbulent times in this country, and the movies she remembers and loves from childhood and beyond reflect the changes that swept America during the decades after a world war that altered everything. It's all there, from the post-war allegory of "The Day the Earth Stood Still" and the rock 'n' roll teenage fantasy of "The Girl Can't Help It," to the arty foreign films of the early 1960s that exposed audiences to new ways of looking at the world, all the way to later mainstream movies that dared to push the envelope and break new ground in the 1970s, such as "The Godfather" series Mom rightly refers to as a masterpiece and among her all-time favorites.

Yet, she's as game to watch a new release like "The Danish Girl" as much as she is to re-watch a classic like "Some Like it Hot." Mom's open to watching anything.

And she's still watching the skies.

Footnote: Cry Me a River

By the time of the annual high school Variety Show in 1958, Mom’s friends figured she was destined for big things in the music industry. “I was definitely influenced by Julie London's torchy, moody singing,” says Mom. “Even the teachers thought I was going to do some kind of professional singing.” During her Junior and Senior years, Mom was even the lead singer for a local rock band, Bill Davids and the Rockets. But...

“When reality hit, I discovered that I better do something practical,” says Mom, who got her first job teaching art at East High School and at YSU in the Art Department, while teaching at East. “Still creative – but not like singing.”

Farewell to a Few Film Favorites: 2017

I typically write about the movies of Hollywood’s “Golden Age,” the 1930s and ‘40s. Most of the people who made those movies are gone now. As I get older, I’m noticing that the actors and actresses who slip away each year are increasingly those I grew up watching. For example, Roger Moore was James Bond when I was a child of the ‘70s. That is, he was my James Bond, so that was my first thought when I saw that he had died at age 90.

In this post, I want to recognize a few other performers who left us this year. They meant something special to me for one reason or another, whether it was through a single performance, their esteemed place in film history, or just an inspiring screen presence.

Harry Dean Stanton

“Every actor is a character actor.”

Harry Dean Stanton had one of those familiar movie faces, even if you didn’t know his name. With that hangdog derelict look, he added color and character to almost any movie.

Most modern viewers know him through cultish ‘80s movies, like “Repo Man" or “Paris, Texas.” But his career reaches way back to 1954. For over two decades, he labored anonymously in both movies and T.V. He even went by Dean Stanton or H.D. Stanton. But often, he wasn’t credited at all.

I think I first noticed him as one of the unfortunate space crew in 1979’s “Alien,” but it’s his role as Molly Ringwald’s sweet-natured, ne’er-do-well father in 1986’s “Pretty in Pink” that stands out the most for me. His character may be down on his luck, but he brings a tenderness to every scene, as he sweetly encourages Ringwald’s off-beat Andie to follow her dreams.

That Stanton could make an otherwise corny teen movie so memorable says something about his unique presence. He died on September 15 at 91.

Sam Shepard

“I didn't go out of my way to get into this movie stuff. I think of myself as a writer.”

I’ll admit I’m not really familiar with Sam Shepard’s plays. I remember when “Fool for Love” became a movie in 1985, because it was an early role for Kim Basinger, and I wondered who that gorgeous blonde was.

When Shepard died on July 27 at 73, I thought back on when I first noticed him. It was in one of 1983’s biggest movies, “The Right Stuff,” in which he played the pioneering jet pilot Chuck Yeager, someone my dad respected. Shepard continued to star in increasingly notable films as the ‘80s wore on.

From “Country” and “Crimes of the Heart” (both with his off-screen partner Jessica Lange), to “Baby Boom” and “Steel Magnolias,” Shepard always played variations on the laconic, amiable country guy who was smarter than he looked.

Into the ‘90s and beyond, he ventured into other character types. I remember him distinctly in 1994’s underrated “Safe Passage” as Susan Sarandon’s distracted husband, who suffers from episodes of hysterical blindness. He was just one reason why I fell in love with that charming movie.

But in those films in the ‘80s? Sam Shepard was sexy without being flashy. With that taciturn expression, he never really had to say much to say a lot.

French Triumvirate

“My face has changed with the years and has enough history in it to give audiences something to work with.”

Jeanne Moreau

The quote above comes from Jeanne Moreau, who, along with two other titans of classic French cinema -- Danielle Darrieux and Michele Morgan -- passed away in the last year. For audiences all over the world, they represented French film at its finest.

All three of them lived very long lives; their faces indeed changed with the years. They worked with those changes, creating indelible performances that helped evolve an art form. I want to talk about each of them.

Danielle Darrieux

Let’s start with Dannielle Darrieux, who began her film career in 1931. She made every manner of movie in her home country, so America beckoned. In 1938, she made her stateside debut in “The Rage of Paris,” a fluffy romantic comedy opposite Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. But she was disappointed in how Hollywood tried to turn her into a cute, cookie-cutter confection.

She went back to France just in time for WWII, and continued to make films throughout the German Occupation. She came back to Hollywood only twice: Once in 1951 to play the mother of Jane Powell in a silly musical, then again in 1956 as Queen Olympias to Richard Burton’s “Alexander the Great.” (So legendary was she by this time, that she was billed as “The French Star Danielle Darrieux”).

Alexander was not so great, and it was her final American movie. Back in France, she did her best work in the 1950s, notably in “La Ronde” and “The Earrings of Madame de...” They are two of the most important films of French cinema during that period. But her acting (and singing) career never waned, and excellent character roles dotted her filmography for another six decades. She was a French institution when she died on October 17, 2017 at 100.

Michele Morgan

Michele Morgan got her start in French cinema in 1936, and quickly became a box office draw in several films opposite heartthrob Jean Gabin. In the 1930s and ‘40s, American studios were always on the lookout for an enigmatic European beauty in the Garbo mold, and Morgan had the requisite allure. Her first American film was in 1942's “Joan of Paris,” as a French girl who resists the Nazis.

While it’s an excellent film, and she's terrific in it, it didn’t light box office fire. Warner Brothers tried again, casting her opposite Humphrey Bogart in “Passage to Marseille,” which was the studio’s attempt at rekindling the success of “Casablanca” from the year before -- to no avail. It was a dud.

After a few more American movies, Morgan went back to France, where she maintained a long career in French and international productions right up to a TV movie in 1999. She said fini, entered retirement, and died on December 20, 2016 at the ripe old age of 96.

Back to Jeanne Moreau. A later generation from Darrieux and Morgan, by the late 1950s, Moreau emerged as the female face of the French New Wave. She worked with the craftsmen who shaped that filmic movement, directors like Louis Malle, Francois Truffaut, Roger Vadim, Michelangelo Antonioni, Luis Buñuel and others. Her blasé attitude, with an undercurrent of melancholy, made Moreau an art-house favorite in the states.

While her performance in the 1962 New Wave classic “Jules et Jim” was a huge international success, I’ll remember seeing her on the big screen at the American Film Institute in a retrospective of Truffaut’s homage to Hitchcock, 1968’s “The Bride Wore Black.” As a woman whose husband was accidentally killed on her wedding day, she methodically exacts revenge on the men responsible. My friend Dave Singleton and I agreed: Her characterization is cold and pragmatic, but she maintains an air of almost indecipherable humor throughout -- in the classic Hitchcock vein.

Film styles come and go, and eventually the New Wave became an old wave. But Moreau’s career evolved beyond film fashion. She never abandoned her realistic intensity, bringing a world-weary sadness to all her work. She made her last film in 2015 and died on July 31 at age 89.

Mary Tyler Moore

“I’ve had the fame and the joy of getting laughter - those are gifts.”

Two superheroes from television passed away this year: Batman’s Adam West and The Green Lantern’s Van Williams. But there’s another superhero I want to focus on: Mary Tyler Moore.

Ok, maybe she’s not a superhero in the classic sense. But in the 1970s, she became a symbol for women – and men – representing freedom and possibility. She showed that you could make it after all.

After toiling in television for the better part of a decade, she was cast as Dick Van Dyke’s wife on his eponymous TV show in 1961. Hers was a fresh female face for a new decade. As Laura Petrie, she was no ‘50s housewife in the Lucy mold; she was streamlined for a new decade, effusive and smart, chic in her capris and sleeveless tops. And she was a great foil for Van Dyke’s pratfalls.

When the series ended in 1966, MTM tried her hand at feature films, making four between 1967 and 1969, including “Change of Habit,” as a nun opposite Elvis Presley. (It's probably better left forgotten.)

But what really catapulted MTM to immortality was her own TV show, which debuted in 1970. As Mary Richards, Moore captured the zeitgeist of the Seventies as a single career woman who was branching out on her own for the first time – with trepidation and optimism.

She became the leading female TV star for the 1970s, showing what a single professional woman could do, at a time when the women’s liberation movement was taking hold. She was inspiring, not just to women, but men too. (Okay, definitely gay men.)

Yet, there was more to her. In 1980’s “Ordinary People,” she turned the brightly optimistic, self-effacing character of Mary Richards on its head, playing a cold and loveless upper-class suburban wife and mother who can only show her best self to strangers. She was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her steely performance.

After that, her film and TV career never really measured up to what she had accomplished earlier, but that’s ok; The Mary Tyler Moore Show has remained highly popular even four decades after it went off the air. As Moore herself put it: “Reruns are wonderful because it usually indicates that they had something going for them to begin with and that's why you're still looking at them. And in both my shows, they were so well written and so good they hold up.”

Moore passed away on January 25 at age 80. To me, she’ll always be the fresh-faced, bright-eyed Mary Richards, turning the world on with a smile.

Footnote: Another one of the indelible characters from The Dick Van Dyke Show also passed on this year. Rose Marie played Sally Rogers, one the affable writers at the TV studio where Van Dyke's Rob Petrie worked. She always had a wisecrack, but Rose Marie was a showbiz pro going way back to her childhood. After a career that spanned over 90 years -- maybe the longest in entertainment history -- Rose Marie died a few days before Christmas, at age 94.