0106290386
DETROIT FREE PRESS
010629
Friday, June 29, 2001
METRO FINAL
1A
File photo by REED SAXON/Associated Press
'The Apartment' (1960)
'The Out-of-Towners' (1970)
'Missing' (1982)
Jack Lemmon celebrates with an Emmy for his performance in "Tuesdays with
Morrie."
MITCH ALBOM. SIDEBAR BY TERRY LAWSON.
JACK LEMMON 1925-2001. SIDEBAR ATTACHED.;THE CORRECT SPELLING IS FELIX UNGAR, NOT FELIX UNGER, PER NEIL SIMON'S SECRETARY.
Copyright (c) 2001, Detroit Free Press
ACTOR ENDEARING ON-SCREEN AND OFF
'TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE' WAS HIS LAST REAL ROLE
MITCHALBOM -- He called me "kid," which is not something I usually like people calling me.
It seemed OK with him because, well, he was older and I was younger and
besides, it was endearing when he said it. And no one -- certainly no one in
show business -- was better at being endearing than Jack Lemmon.
From "Some Like It Hot" to "The Odd Couple" to "The Out-of-Towners" to
"Missing," endearing was the word that came to mind. A straight man trapped in
a crooked world. He made you care about him. He made it an art.
I was hardly the first person to make friends with Jack Lemmon, but I was
likely among the last. By the time we crossed paths, he was already 74. He had
been chosen to play Morrie Schwartz, my beloved but terminally ill college
professor, in the TV film version of "Tuesdays with Morrie." It would prove to
be Lemmon's last real role.
To be honest, at first, I didn't think he was the right fit. Morrie, after
all, had been short, Jewish, with a high, lilting voice, whereas Lemmon was
prep school, Harvard University, ironic, sardonic, and decidedly nonethnic. A
great actor, yes. A Morrie, no.
At least until we met. That day, he was dressed like my old professor, made-up
with a false nose and crooked teeth to look like my old professor, and when we
were introduced, he turned and hugged me and called me "kid" -- which, come to
think of it, was pretty much like my old professor, too.
His humanity overwhelmed me. My doubts were gone. By the time I saw the
finished product, it was hard to imagine anyone else playing the role.
Two roles that touched him
Over time, in numerous conversations, we would talk about things, but never
much about acting. Oh, I once asked him his funniest role ("Some Like It Hot,"
he said. "It still makes me laugh, kid") or his most intense role, which I
guessed was the controversial alcoholic in "Days of Wine and Roses" ("Yeah,
that was intense," he quipped, "damn near drove me to drink.")
I also asked about getting so deep into a character you couldn't let go at the
end of the day. He said that only happened twice in his career. The first was
in 1973, "Save The Tiger," a movie that earned him an Oscar. He played a
garment industry man on the edge. Mr. Lemmon, whose own father was a doughnut
salesman in Boston, got so into the role that one morning as he was driving
into the set he began to weep. He became hysterical. A cop spotted him and
pulled him over.
"Are you all right, Mr. Lemmon?" he asked.
"No," Lemmon said. "I'm playing this part of a guy who's cracking up, and I
think it's getting to me."
The cop could have smirked. He could have issued him a ticket, or rolled his
eyes at these crazy Hollywood types.
Instead, he personally escorted Lemmon back to his hotel. I'm not surprised.
Beneath the whiskered face, the tight smile, the short hair, what Lemmon gave
off most was an air of vulnerability. You wanted to take care of him.
"The only other time I got into a role like that," he told me, "was playing
Morrie."
I had no idea how much he meant that. During the filming of that project, Mr.
Lemmon was not a fit man. On most days, he needed to go home early. There were
whispers about his health. We came to understand there was something
potentially threatening going on, but such was your respect for Lemmon, that
if he didn't want to talk about it, you didn't ask.
Still, when Lemmon asked me questions about Morrie's approach to dying, about
his courage battling a terminal illness, or his insistence on dying his own
way, I began to sense that this was not acorn-gathering for a method actor.
Jack Lemmon died Wednesday night, from cancer, at 76, and now I know.
He had been asking for himself.
Favorite roles, favorite lines
"Death ends a life, but not a relationship." That's a line from "Tuesdays with
Morrie," and it was one of Lemmon's favorites.
You think about the relationship Lemmon gave moviegoers in his nearly 50 years
of film. He was your knee-slap funny man ("Mr. Roberts," "Irma la Douce"),
your controversial serious character (the drunk in "Days of Wine and Roses,"
the frenzied nuclear plant manager in "The China Syndrome") one half of
arguably the funniest buddy team in movie history ("The Odd Couple," "Grumpy
Old Men," "The Fortune Cookie," "The Front Page," all opposite Walter Matthau,
his dear friend.) He even played an ex-president ("My Fellow Americans.")
But beyond all that, Jack Lemon played salesmen. Nobody did them better. He
seemed to understand the internal combustion that comes from having to be nice
to people who don't want you around.
His portrayal of the shameless, desperate real estate man in "Glengarry Glen
Ross" is a brilliant piece of work, and, seeing him alongside Kevin Spacey,
you realize how Jack Lemmon opened a huge door in Hollywood -- he made it
acceptable for funny actors like Spacey, Tom Hanks and Jim Carrey to play both
comics and tortured souls.
In the end, Lemmon neither took nor wanted credit for this. Just as he wanted
no attention to his disease. Quiet was just fine for him. No bad boy behavior.
No wild parties. No 22-year-old trophy wives.
A straight man in a crooked world. Although I did not know him long, knowing
him at all was an honor. He told me playing Morrie was "my greatest role ever"
and that is sweet but clearly not true. His greatest role was Jack Lemmon. And
I get a warm feeling remembering him hugging me, calling me "kid." It was a
term of endearment, and endearment was what he did best.
Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Catch "Albom in
the Afternoon" 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760) and simulcast on MSNBC 3-5
p.m.
STAR, FAMILY MAN
Two-time Oscar-winner Jack Lemmon died Wednesday night from complications
related to cancer. His wife Felicia, his two children and a stepdaughter were
at his bedside at the University of Southern California's Norris Cancer Center
in Los Angeles.
Born Feb. 8, 1925, in Newton, Mass., John Uhler Lemmon III was married from
1950 to 1956 to actress Cynthia Stone; they had a son, Chris. In 1962, he
married actress Felicia Farr, with whom he had a daughter, Courtney. Plans for
services have not been announced.
SLICES OF LEMMON
Jack Lemmon may have been best known for his comic portrayals of tightly wound
fussbudgets: his Oscar-winning Ensign Pulver in "Mister Roberts"; his
fastidious Felix Unger in the film version of Neil Simon's stage hit "The Odd
Couple."
But his extensive filmography reveals an actor of versatility and great
precision. Here are five very different slices of Lemmon, all available on
tape or DVD.
"The Apartment" (1960). As C.C. Baxter, the corporate climber who compromises
his principles by loaning his apartment to trysting superiors, Lemmon
introduced quiet rage to his repertoire and introduced post-'50s cynicism to
the American screen.
"Days of Wine and Roses" (1962). Lemmon's most brutally realistic performance
as a public-relations executive with a withering career and a loving wife (Lee
Remick) whose attempt to sympathize leads to mutually destructive alcoholism.
His hospitalization sequence is harrowing.
"The Out-of-Towners" (1970). Though "The Odd Couple" was the most beloved of
Lemmon's Simon-written comedies, both actor and writer are at their best in
this film, with Lemmon as an Ohioan who takes wife Sandy Dennis along for a
New York City job interview, only to find himself no match for the big bad
city.
"Missing" (1982). Lemmon returned to serious drama in this based-on-fact
story, playing an American businessman whose son disappears in South America.
Lemmon's transformation from conservative patriot to outraged father is
heartbreakingly honest.
"Glengarry Glen Ross" (1992). Lemmon and profane playwright David Mamet may
have seemed a truly odd couple, but the actor gave his last great screen
performance as a cold-call real estate broker who just can't close the sale in
this adaptation of Mamet's Pulitzer-winning drama.
By Terry Lawson, Free Press movie critic
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
JACK LEMMON;LIST;OBITUARY;OBT