Burt Reynolds, 1936-2018
[guest post by JVW]
Burt Reynolds, who practically invented the good ‘ol boy movie in the 1970s, died from a heart attack at age 82, as confirmed earlier today by his publicist. No other details are available at this time.
I won’t make a point of recapping his career here, as the obituary in Variety does a far more thorough job than I possibly could. Along with Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and Clint Eastwood, Reynolds was probably the biggest box-office star of the 1970s, with one of those four being the highest-drawing male star for eight of the decade’s years (John Wayne and Sylvester Stallone account for the other two years). Apart from Eastwood, who was a top ten box office draw every single year of the decade, no other actor appeared in the top ten as often as Reynolds who made the list every year from 1973 through the end of the decade.
Though Reynolds was certainly excellent in his “Acting!” roles, he seemed to really enjoy portraying roughneck characters devoted to good times, even if that meant running somewhat afoul of the law. He didn’t play the grizzly sergeant exhorting his men to take the strategic hill from the enemy, nor did he play crusading lawyers out to challenge a rigged system, nor did he play the rich debonair businessman romancing the beautiful but troubled young woman from the wrong side of the tracks. Instead, he specialized in playing rascals, scalawags, libertines, and reprobates, but always with a dollop of good humor and bonhomie. A former college football star who famously posed nude for Cosmopolitan at the beginning of his career, Reynolds enjoyed physical roles that showcased his athleticism through intricate stuntwork.
By far, my favorite two Burt Reynolds roles are Bo “Bandit” Darville from Smokey and the Bandit and J.J. McClure from The Cannonball Run. Both movies were directed by Reynolds’ longtime buddy Hal Needham, a Korean War paratrooper and one-time stunt coordinator who made sure that all four Smokey and Cannonball movies were virtually reel-to-reel car-chases with as little plot as possible getting in the way of the story. These movies were part of my boyhood, and I especially loved the Cannonball Run movies because Reynolds & Needham assembled a fun cast (Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Farrah Fawcett, Jackie Chan, Roger Moore, Mel Tillis, and on and on), rolled cameras, and just let everybody yuk it up. Imagine being 12 years old and dreaming about racing from Connecticut to California in a purloined ambulance with Dom DeLuise, Jack Elam, Burt, and Farrah; I hoped perhaps someday that would be me.
Burt Reynolds, as much as this is a pretty trite cliché, lived life on his own terms. He went through a string of high-profile paramours, including a marriage to and ugly divorce from the beautiful Loni Anderson. He allegedly turned down the role of Han Solo, and in his most critically-acclaimed role he lost the Best Supporting Actor Academy Award to Robin Williams’ annoying scene-chewing in Good Will Hunting. He feuded with the media and, depending upon his mood, he could apparently be pretty surly towards his fans, especially in the final three decades of his life. But he damn near wrote the book on roguish charm (pipe down there Errol Flynn fans) and it’s impossible not to think of him every time I see a black TransAm or a truckload of Coors Beer.
Ave atque vale, Bandit.
ADDENDUM — I should have mentioned one other thing I love about Burt Reynolds: to the best of my knowledge, he never told anyone how they ought to vote.
– JVW