Rest in Peace Ray Harryhausen

Ray Harryhausen died today.  What kid my age didn't jump for joy when the local station played a Harryhausen movie?  Ours was Superhost's Mad Theater out of WUAB, Channel 43 Lorain and Cleveland.    Sometimes Fritz the Night Owl would have a horror double feature and it just might include something from Mr. Harryhausen's repertoire   But usually it was Mad Theater, a staple of the Saturday Morning ritual that started at noon after the cartoons were done, included two movies with a Three Stooges or Harold Lloyd short, and sometimes goofy cornball skits. 

Most of the time these movies were the B to F- type of 50s and 60s sci-fi schlock.  They were never the classic Universal Monster films, though they sometimes tapped into the later Hammer films to add quality.  But every now and then, an odd Movie of the Week or Superhost episode would bring out a Harryhausen, if we were really lucky, The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, or Jason and the Argonauts, with its peerless battle against the skeletons.  

Those were candy to our eyes.  And even after Lucas unleashed his vision of Star Wars on an unsuspecting public, we never lost our love or admiration for Harryhausen.  True, when Clash of the Titans came out we could see it was time to turn a page on movie production.  Still, several of the creatures there retain more depth than many in a CGI blockbuster today.  Does anyone really think the slick animated monsters of the modern remakes hold a candle to the physical menace of Harryhausen's Medusa, or the towering Talos?  I don't think so.

A lot of fond memories there.  Just thinking of it whisks me back to more innocent times, when heroes were good, monsters were bad, and there was simply no reason to loot the fabled and forbidden treasures of the gods, but you knew full well Hercules couldn't resist.  So for all the memories, the fun times, the inspiring tales and unforgettable images, I lift one up and say Rest in Peace, may the Perpetual Light Shine upon you, and last but not least, we thank you.  

Richard LeParmentier has died

Who you ask?  Richard LeParmentier.  For folks of my age, his name may not be household level, but there's not a guy who was aware in 1977 who doesn't remember him:

Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader.  Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebel's hidden fortress...

And of course, his little rant was cut short.  Back in those magical days from 1977-1978, when our little Midwestern town waited an entire year for the movie to make it to our small screen, Star Wars was about as all consuming as the Beatles must have been in 1964.  It was all I, or just about any other boy my age, was thinking about.

Every scene was gold.  Remember, no DVDs, streaming videos, Youtube knock-offs, or even VCRs.  Once it was gone, it was gone as far as we knew.  I worked an entire year doing chores,  gathering newspapers for recycling, anything I could to raise enough money for the dollar per showing it would cost me to see Star Wars every day it was in our theater.  And against usual practice, our theater held Star Wars for an extra week!  I only missed a couple of showings.  Even when they played it back to back I stayed, at one point sitting in the aisles because the seating was taken (a year later!).  Yeah, pretty lenient back then with fire codes. 

Ah, but what a moment in my life.  Every character, every ship, every bit of the movie was etched into my mind for all time.  And few standouts leaped out at us like the haplessly swaggering Admiral Mott, one of the few who, at least for the moment, didn't appear overly frightened of the menace in black.  What a scene.  It perfectly displayed, in a subtlety that Lucas would eventually lose, that tension between technology and industry, and good old supernatural, dare I say, religious devotion.  

Thanks for the memories Mr. LeParmentier.  I know you did other things, and no doubt had all the moments that make a person's life what it is.  But for this young fellow, way back in the hazy, crazy 70s, you stood out in a film of gigantic proportions, and left a little bit of yourself for me to remember the rest of my days.  God be with you, and rest in peace. 

Robert Ebert has passed

And Mark Shea and Steve Greydanus are gushing.  There is some truth to the fact that God prefers the son who listens even though he says no, to the son who says yes then ignores the father.  There is that tendency to point to the Rahabs or the Uriahs of the past and show they could be the true child of God, while those chosen by God did unspeakable things.

And yet.  When I have given my testimony, I mention that I became a Christian because of the Protestants I knew, but I became Catholic despite the Catholics I knew.  Of course I quickly follow up that since I've become Catholic I've met some of the most jaw droppingly awesome examples of holy living and Christ like devotion I ever thought possible.  But I had to become Catholic to meet them.  Most of the witnesses I knew before I entered the Church were the classic stereotypes: P-A-R-T-Y!  Why?  Because I'm Catholic that's why!

In college, we used to joke and say if you want to get lucky, don't date religious girls.  But Catholics were just as good.  I was friends with some kids who were Catholic, and at no time did their lack of devotion point me to anything to do with faith in Christ.  Usually, hanging with them, I felt vindicated for not believing.

I remember one evening we were at our karate instructor's house.  He was a younger fellow, world champ and all.  Several of the younger students would hang out, play cards, drink, and watch him show us the latest exotic Asian weapon he picked up at the last world championship.  This particular night several of us were there.  Finally our instructor and his wife went to bed, leaving three of us left who decided we'd had a bit much  for driving.  One of them was my childhood best friend.  He was Catholic, and his parents had a few things about the house pointing to the fact, though I don't remember them ever going to Mass.  He was usually quite available on Sundays, though perhaps they went other times.

So we crashed.  Before we were out, he mentioned he needed to get up and go the church the next morning.  At that time, I believe, he was in one of his little 'kicks'.  Every now and then he would suddenly say "I can't have pepperoni on the pizza!", or make some mention to current events and the end of days.  This may have been one of those times.  So we crashed.  Early the next morning I awoke, and noticed it was just past dawn.  I remembered what he said.  Even though I was quite the agnostic, I didn't begrudge others their own devotions, so I reached over and roused him.

Groggily he asked what I wanted.  I reminded him that it was Sunday morning, and he said he wanted to go to church.  He mumbled something or another, then finally said, "F-it," and rolled around and went back to sleep.  I can assure you that didn't say to me 'Dave, you must seek the truth behind this One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.'  Quite the opposite.  I had to chuckle that going to church seemed to mean more to me, a non-believer, than him a believer.

And he wasn't the only one.  I can assure folks that the stereotype of girls had some truth to it. Fact is, there seems almost to be a swath of the Catholic Church that doesn't really care at all.  Time and again I'm told this or that person was a Catholic, only to be shocked based on everything I knew about the fellow.

Yes, we all fall short.  Yes, we should be glad that God prefers our actions to our intentions. Sure, I'm thrilled for mercy and grace and all.  But I also want standards.  I want someone to call a spade a spade, say what is wrong is wrong.  Kick me in the ass if I've gotten off the straight and narrow.  And that means in more areas than what my view on the Iraq War or waterboarding or on what our response to Iran's nuclear program ought to be.

Ah, there's the rub.  For across the Catholic blogosphere, as we read gushing tales of pride and devotion of Mr. Ebert and his atheistic Catholicism, of a movie critic who firmly supported the sleazing down of movies and typically had little good to say about movies attempting a more traditional, wholesome narrative, we will also be reminded that if you fall to the left or right on any one of a thousand geopolitical or social philosophies or strategies, then that - That! - is where the true cries for vengeance from God arise.

Here's the thing.  If we are going to err on mercy, if we are going to say 'ah shucks, he was still a cool guy and I'm sure God's just loving on him right now and it's good for all those atheists who hate religion but are still sometimes good people', fine.  I'm actually OK with that.  I'm OK with trying to find where people are and why they are there.  Why did Ebert become such a champion of so much of the muck and cultural mire that those Catholic praising him abhor   The Andy Warhol syndrome I guess.

But if we extend it to those who live out a life apart from God, or even advocate hatred of everything sacred and holy, then we should do it across the board.  Even for those who disagree with us on things like Ayn Rand or whether we should waterboard prisoners.  After all, consistency.  Plus, there's something about defining holiness as the right opinion about events that may not even impact me, versus holiness as something I live out and believe from my own little life, with immediate consequences and impacts on those around me.

For me, it's better to remember mercy, and know that Roger Ebert is in the arms of a loving, merciful and just God.  A God who really knows Mr. Ebert, good, bad, and ugly.  Likewise, that's where I will be someday.  And it will do me good to raise the standard, rather than lower it, lest I fall.  Or, lest I become convinced that true worship is having a right opinion about some far flung political crisis half a world away that doesn't impact me, while using God's mercy as an out to do and act and say anything I want whenever I want to.  Hold the standards high, remember that mercy is there, but also justice.  And remember that it's the person I see in the mirror, and what he does that matters most to my own pilgrimage.  And be consistent to how I approach everyone else outside the reach of my life's mirror.

The end of an era

The Andrew Sisters, c. 1947

Patty Andrews, of the legendary Andrews Sisters, has died.  Like so many things of that era, it had to happen.  They were icons of that home front mentality that propelled the US to victory against Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany.  Some wonder if the phrase 'the greatest generation' is appropriate.  I've argued myself that it's more complicated than a single generation's accomplishments.  But there was something about that period, when Americans came together for a greater good, and despite missteps  errors, and flat out wrong decisions, still, they came together.  Differences were set aside, and embraced a feeling of unified purpose the likes of which our country never felt before, or has never felt since.  Now, we sit and watch as day after day, those who made that era what is was pass before us.  The servicemen and women are leaving us on a daily basis, and most of the celebrities and names of that period have long since passed away.  I'm not sure who is left now, who would have entertained the troops, or rallied the home front   It may be that Patty was the last of the generation.  If so, what she takes with her will be more than just the loss of her being with us, it will be the loss of that time when America did the impossible.  She, and that era, will be missed.  Thanks for the memories.

Rest in Peace General Schwarzkopf

General Schwarzkopf died.  The Patton of my generation, he was the last famous war hero.  Leading up to the first Gulf War, when Sean Lennon was remaking daddy's Give Peace a Chance, and Hollywood liberals were dousing state buildings with blood, and Peter Jennings was fearing boat loads of body bags, General Schwarzkopf proved them wrong.  Already there was a powerful stream of Down With America in our country, and knowing that the first Gulf War was all about oil, it wasn't hard for the anti-war crowd to attempt another peace riot era just like the good old days.  In many ways, it's what those ex-hippie Boomers had been hoping for.  I remember a college professor, still reminiscing about the crazy, hazy days at Haight-Ashbury, bemoaning the lack of passion in my generation.  Where is the anger? he once asked.  Anger?  What anger?  It was the late 80s.  Reagan had made an end run at Geneva, it looked to all like the Cold War could end peacefully, the economy was rebounding, there appeared to be hope again.  And once the Berlin Wall collapsed, the hope seemed justified.

So it must have been with great relief to all those liberals who had chaffed their way through the 80s now saw a perfect chance to rebel, that they grabbed the flags and flowers, and once again made a stand against the Evil Empire.  Added to it was the assurance that America, in all its post-Vietnam war glory, was a has been nation.  We didn't stand a chance   As a college graduate honor bound to join if there was to be the inevitable draft, I watched with trepidation as news cast after news cast predicted the mauling and shredding of our forces at the hands of a superior Republican Guard.

And then in stepped General Schwarzkopf.  Wearing his trademark fatigues, he exuded confidence and determination.  For a moment, he took us back, back past Oliver Stone's Platoon, back past the drug sopped troops of Vietnam, back past Hawkeye and B.J. lamenting the Korean Conflict, back to a time when America was proud of itself, and proud of its leaders who could win.  And win he did.  It was almost embarrassing the annihilation of Hussein's fabled elite Guard.  The war ended. There was no draft.  And that last gasp of a county passing its prime was taken, and enjoyed.

So thank you General Schwarzkopf.  He was not a simple poster child for this or that political agenda.  He stood outside of it.  He was a simple soldier doing his duty.  And for that, and the better part of our country's past that he represented, I will always be thankful.  Rest in Peace, and may your rest find you at your spirit's end.

Rest in Peace Andy Williams

One of my all time favorite Christmas Albums was by Williams

The great pop singer Andy Williams has died.  One of those rare folks who seemed to have led a good life despite the celebrity.  He was of the Rat Pack era but without the drinking, smoking, cussing and broads.  He was a family man.  During his Christmas Specials, my parents - not Catholic - waited for him to do his rendition of Ave Maria.  Personally, I always liked his take on The First Noel and O Holy Night.  I also enjoyed other songs of his, and was always partial to his version of Speak Softly (theme to The Godfather).  He will be missed.

In some ways, he already was.  His brand of entertainment, where we could enjoy a family special without the sex, drugs and bathroom humor, went the way of the butter churn ages ago.  Yet when you watch those specials, and realize that yes, it was just Hollywood after all, you still realize that there was something about 'the family special' that made producers aim toward that audience.  Somewhere in America, family was still that important.  Today, watch the specials.  You'll see what's important now.  Goodbye Mr. Williams, you and your era, for all its flaws, will be missed for all its best qualities.  Qualities that you seemed to possess in plenty.

God bless Andy Griffith

Andy Griffith as he'll always be remembered

Andy Griffith has died.  A little over a year after my own Dad, and that saddens me even more.  Andy Griffith was one of those rare individuals who you got the impression was all that he seemed to be.  While many remember him as the skinflint lawyer Matlock, most will forever remember him as the kind, wise, and respect- demanding sheriff Andy Taylor.  Even today, young people I work with and know were saddened to hear of his passing.  In an age of reality TV and the muck and murk of modern tabloid celebrity, it stands as a testimony that he would be missed by so many across so many age groups.  My boys have long enjoyed reruns of The Andy Griffith Show.  A man whose heart never strayed far from his roots, his faith, or his values; actor, comedian, Gospel singer - he will be missed.  Rest in the arms of God Mr. Griffith, and thank you God for giving him to us, if just for a little while. 

RIP Detective Dan Otto

In a small town like Delaware, Ohio, something like this really hits home.  We had the chance to meet him during a tour of the Sheriff's facilities when my boy was in Cub Scouts.  He was also part of a murder investigation that hit close to home for me due to being linked with it back when I was pastoring a local church.  I was saddened to see this.  God's peace be with his family and loved ones, and let the perpetual Light shine upon him.  Amen.

Goodbye Richard Dawson

Richard Dawson, 1932-2012

Richard Dawson died today.  When I was a kid, while others kids watched Sesame Street or Romper Room, I watched Hogan's Heroes.  I ate it up, and that led to my Dad concluding that I wanted all things WWII.  It didn't hurt that my family had several who had served in that war.  From there, my Dad bought me, in third grade, a World War II coffee table book. After that, I fell in love with history and never looked back.

Child of the 70s and 80s that I was, Mr. Dawson's second incarnation as TV game show host helped me rediscover that bizarre charm that worked so well in that decade that taste forgot.  At the same time that The Dukes of Hazzard and Donnie and Marie held prime time slots, and Mork and Mindy and Dallas would make their debuts, Family Feud was a routine stop.  I remember sitting in the little family room made from an old bedroom, TV tray before me, watching Dawson laugh at the absurd answers given under pressure of the clock, such as naming a watermelon as a fruit found in a fruit bowel.

My favorite moment?  I can still remember the category: commands you give to a dog.  One of the contestants stumbled, then said, "Out!"  Dawson laughed, along with the audience.  As he turned around in his usual slick way to point to the board, he chuckled and repeated the line from Macbeth: "Out! Out! damned spot!"  Laughing as he did it.  A game show host with a British accent dropping an impromptu Shakespearean reference off the cuff in response to a middle class American's stumble - that was class.  Thanks for the laughs Mr. Dawson, and may the perpetual light shine upon you.

For now Dick Clark, so long

You will be missed.  I never knew a world that didn't have Dick Clark somewhere on a television screen. He was part of the generation that, for good or ill, set in motion the world in which we live; that generation that defined the priorities of the next five or more generations.  I'm just old enough to remember the waning days of Guy Lombardo, who would soon be replaced - much to my parents' chagrin - with young, charismtic and perptually smiling Dick Clark.  By the late 70s, he was the face of each New Year. 
Later, in addition to countless television hosting duties, he ushured in new entertainment experiments, such as a television show based on bloopers and sometimes practical jokes whose authenticity were, shall we say, suspect at best.  Of course, nothing ever matched American Bandstand, the icon of an era and the show that overwhelmed any other in its ability to bring the sex, drugs, and rock and roll culture into America's living rooms, at least before the dawning of MTV.

Nonetheless, Dick Clark himself seemed strangely above it all. I don't know anyone who in any way blamed him for any part of the cultural decay wrought by that generation of narcissists and hedonists.  Whether it was his charm, his eternal youthfulness, or just the fact that he came across as a likable fellow, he lived and breathed in the eye of the cultural hurricane, yet emerged unscathed with dry clothes and perfect hair. 

When the world first beheld him after his stroke, it was difficult to see.  For me, his declining health mirrored my own Dad's descent into the abyss of Alzheimer's.  As each New Year's passed, it became clear that his time with us was growing short.  Still, when you finally hear the news, it's tough.  A person who was as much a part of the societal landscape as the golden arches or the Twin Towers has left us.  I hope his family finds solace in the best parts of all he did, and pride in his ability to bring humanity to a cultural revolution that all too often stripped the more noble and pure aspects away from human nature.  May God grant them peace during this time of suffering.  And eternal peace grant unto him O Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon him.

Dick Clark.  November 30, 1929 – April 18, 2012

RIP Thomas Kinkaid

We've been on vacation, and now turn our attentions to picking up the rest of the Passion Week, that is Easter.  Normally we don't travel on spring break because we prefer to remain nearby to take part in the various celebrations and reflections leading up to Easter.  But getting my wife to see her Dad, who has gone trough some pretty tough health problems this last year, was high on our list of priorities.  We also managed to add some visits along the way to make up for the last few years in which we were unable to take any trips at all. More on that later.

But as we get ready for Easter Vigil tonight, I was saddened to see that popular painter Thomas Kinkaid has died.  I know, I know.  His paintings were a lightening rod for criticism from the 'Art Establishment.'  Truth be told, I was always 'meh' when it came to his works, but I appreciated the happiness they brought to people.  For those who criticized his works for being some faux happy illusion, well I just say in this life a little happiness goes a long way.  Nothing he did was against the Faith, and if he brought some happiness in the meantime, more power to him.  Better that than the crowd of cranks who enjoy sitting in the bleachers of life, making their primary contribution to humanity by doing nothing other than pointing out how nobody does nothing better than they do. 

Anyway, peace and prayers to his family and loved ones.  Thanks for the happiness he brought to so many. May God's grace and love embrace them during this time, and may the perpetual light shine upon him.

God bless them

In a tragic story among so many, an entire family was wiped out by the tornadoes that ripped across the Midwest.  Many have died, of course.  And in each case, a family mourns the loss.  To those individuals left behind, it is no less tragic or devastating to lose their loved ones.  To all of those who have lost so much, may the peace of God, which surpasses all human understanding, cover their hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. 

But the story of baby Angel Babcock was so inspiring in the midst of such horror, that to see she passed away is double the pain.  Lord Jesus, cover the hearts and minds of her family, those who have lost so much.  And receive into your arms little Angel Babcock, and unite her with her own family who were taken too soon. 

Goodbye Ralph McQuarrie, and thank you

I saw that Ralph McQuarrie has died.  Now, to be honest, the name itself means nothing to me.  But what he did left an impact on me that will never be forgotten.  As I've already mentioned, in the summer of 1977, nothing captured my imagination more than that galactic space opera straight from the mind of George Lucas. 

But it wasn't just Lucas.  Sometimes, given the deplorable quality of his recent endeavors, one can't help but wonder how much of it was Lucas at all.  Some probably. But there were many others who gave shape and form to the visions and ideals spinning about in the mind of the techno-sage.  One of them was Mr. McQuarrie, whose artistic vision put flesh and bone, cape and helm, on many of the characters who would define a generation. 

So on this day, I will post some of the artwork that brought life to that galaxy far, far away.  I remember seeing in magazines and other publications a few of these, and they bring back memories to be sure.  So thanks for those memories Mr. McQuarrie, may you rest in peace, and may the perpetual light shine upon you.

Andrew Breitbart RIP

Andrew Breitbart, conservative commentator, has died suddenly.  I was never a fan of Breitbart's style, nor did I always agree with his positions.  But 43 is far too young to be taken.  God's peace be upon him and his family, may the Lord give them strength to deal with this sudden loss.  And may God save us all from the growing darkness that clouds the hearts of those who, because of differences of opinion, are even now celebrating and wishing more death on those with whom they disagree.

RIP Davey Jones

I just saw that Davey Jones, of the musical ensemble The Monkees, died today. They were a bit before my time, having a show that lasted only two seasons right at the time of my birth. I remember seeing reruns on Saturdays (I think) when I was little.

They made their biggest impression on me in 1986, when they came back with their first reunion tour sans Mike Nesmith. Their album Then and Now, The Best of the Monkees, the round the clock play that MTV gave to their TV episodes, the release of Daydream Believer in video that was played as often as any other video at that time (back when MTV played videos), all hold for me some fond memories. I've actually posted one of those, when they did a Christmas medley (on MTV no less!), that included a surprise appearance by Mr. Nesmith.

I'm sorry to hear this, and prayers for his family. I was not a huge fan, but in truth, when the dust settled, I considered their music more listenable and enjoyable than much that was seen as cool and hip in its day. RIP Mr. Jones, and thanks for the memories.  One more time, from the memories of that period of my life with which you will forever be inextricably linked:

Rest in Peace Richard Winters

Richard Winters, c. 1944, as he'll be remembered by so many

Richard Winters, who was famously chronicled in the HBO miniseries Band of Brothers, as well as the book by Stephen Ambrose upon which the series was based, has died.  He was 92 years old. He stepped out of the public some years ago, citing his age and desire to enjoy some of that peace he promised himself all those years ago.  I would say he earned it. 

This is a sad day, and ironic time, for him to pass.  As we as a country tip toe around dealing with the chronic issues of our age that lead to the problems of our day, Richard Winters represented that Greatest Generation in many ways.  His quiet, self controlled dignity and courage, while living a life of gentle humility, seemed to be what we all imagined was best about that generation.  Of course it, like any, had its bad apples.  Yet when you look back, as much as we have salved our egos by convincing ourselves that whatever is bad today has always been that bad (and the absence of proof is just because folks weren't honest about such things back then), we can't help but feel there was something in that era, some foundational characteristic, that has been absent for some time.  A 'maturity' about them, something that suggested your average teenager then was about as mature as a fifty year old today.

I don't know.  I just know he was loved by his men, who held him in almost god-like veneration.  He didn't let things get to his head.  He lived the ultimate life that we ascribe to that era, and he along with those who served at that time did everything our country today no longer seems capable of doing.  Perhaps we'll pull out in time, who knows?  Maybe it will be from admitting that those generations had something that wouldn't be bad if we were to reclaim for ourselves. 

On a personal note, a few years back, one of his great grandsons had a Veterans Day performance that our local intermediate school puts on each year.  He was in attendance when the veterans were asked, as they always are, to stand up and be recognized.  My oldest boy informed me of this after it was over.  I could have screamed for missing it (my oldest boy was a year younger than the grade who put on the program).  Just missed him.  If only to have said thanks.  Oh well.

Nonetheless, God bless you Major Winters, may the perpetual light shine upon you, and may you rest in the peace of our Lord.

Grant McCune has died

Grant McCune puts some finishing touches on R2-D2, 1977

A name that is probably not known in most households, Mr. McCune is one of those responsible for reshaping how we look at movies.  He, and a team of professionals, helped bring George Lucas' visions for a space fantasy film called Star Wars to life in 1977.  Like most kids at that time, I was absolutely in awe.  From the minute that first Star Destroyer sailed out of the top of the screen toward the fleeing rebel ship, I instinctively knew that movies would never be the same again.  And Grant McCune, though he would not have meant a thing to me then, helped make it happen.  So for all the enjoyment from that film alone, much less the many others, thanks for the memories.  And Rest in Peace.

Irvin Kershner has died

Like Nielsen's death, Kershner's passing more or less brings up memories of times gone by.  As several of my posts suggest, I'm a person prone to bouts of nostalgia reflux.  I couldn't tell much about Kershner, except he directed the only Star Wars movie that I never saw in theatres.  Owing to family issues of the day, and a general growing away from the youthful frenzy of the halycon days of Star Wars mania, I just never got around to it.  The most I did was look through a comic that someone bought me, and decided I would see it the first chance I got.  That chance came years later with the advent of a snappy new invention called the home video recording system.  Since that time, The Empire Strikes Back has become my favorite of the series.  And rightly so.  George Lucas, a genius of storytelling and imagination, and no shake as a techno-geek, was nevertheless on the shaky side of directing.  His early attempts, American Graffiti and of course Star Wars, did well almost despite his directorial demands, rather than because of them.  This tendency is best revealed in that pile of cinematic excrement commonly known as 'the Prequels'.  Thankfully, for the much anticipated sequel to the - then - biggest blockbuster of all time, Lucas stepped aside and let Kershner take over. And the film was all the better for it.  Because the movie brings up memories of a time when the promise of a never ending Star Wars series was still ripe, and makes me remember a period just before the explosion of hormones that would take my mind to less space oriented topics, I have to say thank you Mr. Kershner.  You left me with a quality piece of art that I can enjoy time and again while thinking of pleasant times.

RIP Leslie Nielsen

For my generation he was the affable buffoon from the Naked Gun series and Airplane.  He actually had his serious side in the early days, but gradually moved over toward comedy as his life, and career progressed.  For my part, I first remember seeing him on a television showing of The Poseidon Adventure, as the hapless Captain Smith wannabe.  So it came as a shock to me, who first saw him in such a serious and stand-up role, to see him become the fodder for adolescent comedy everywhere in the 80s.  RIP Mr. Nielson, you made people laugh.  And in a world of so much sorrow, that was a wonderful gift.

Rest in Peace Maury Chaykin

He was one of those faces you see in movies that appears to be everywhere, even when, upon reflection, you realize you only saw him in a couple films. That's because when he was on the screen, the camera seemed to love him. Mr. Chaykin was one of those actors upon whom the film industry relies, always dependable, always there, and always recognizable without stealing too much from the stars. From his breakout roles in movies such as Wargames, to a strange yet pivotal part in Dances With Wolves, Mr. Chaykin was a captivating presence. Though television fans may recognize him as Nero Wolfe, millions of adults my age will forever associate him with the immortal line: Mr. Potato head. Mr. Potato head! Back doors are not secrets! (with Germany subtitles no less):


Thanks for the memories, and rest in peace.