Alan Arkin, and what he meant to me

Yesterday,  Alan Arkin passed away. 

He's always been there, since my childhood.  One of the great character actors. I have clear memories of my mom telling me who he was, how good he was. One of my earliest film memories was his pairing with the late great James Caan (who he shared a birthday with incidentally) Freebie & The Bean, a film Arkin disliked.  It was an early 70's action film often considered racist in certain circles, but has a cult following to this day that seems to be growing in increments, probably due to the lightning-quick dialogue and ahead of their time vehicular shenanigans.  It was also probably the first buddy-cop-action comedy.

In recent years, he appeared in a remake of Going in Style with Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman, the criminally underrated Stand up Guys with Al Pacino and Christopher Walken, and two seasons of tour de force support in Michael Douglas' series The Kominsky Method.  He's brilliant in all of it.  He drew belly laughs and poignant heartfelt reactions all the way through.

My wife and I recently watched the 1967 tension machine Wait Until Dark, one of his earliest film appearances.  As nice as Arkin is noted for being, he was the personification of evil in this film. When you consider the beauty of his performance as "Unca Lou" in Mike Binder's hellishly underappreciated Indian Summer, it's clear and apparent how he was the ultimate character actor.  He could run the gamut from awful to wonderful, and sell them both with just his eyes, if so required.

I can still hear him say, as he's bringing a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, "They're just a bunch of old cabins." in one of Indian Summer's most important lines.   It didn't seem like he was saying much.

But He was saying everything. 

His memoir, An Improvised Life, is a beautiful book that functions as an examination of his art, his skill.  He doesn't share stories of a long career in Hollywood, dishing out the humorous or salacious, instead he paints a picture of how he developed what he held such pride in.  Giving and taking with others on the stage first, and then the screen. 

Also, he was a striking image of my father.  From the physical to the aural.  When Alan Arkin laughed, I heard my dad.  His scoff and grin, so similar.  And that deep tone that his voice developed into as he aged was a sound mirror of dad's.  His commonalities with Pop are not what make me a member of the Arkin cult, (because I was a member decades before they grew towards each other in likeness) but just a nice addition. 

A warm one.

I wept this morning when I got the news, Alan.  I did.  I still have Freebie, Inspector Closeau, Thin Ice, Catch-22, The Russians are Coming, Glengarry Glenn Ross, Little Miss Sunshine, (for which he won an Oscar) those small but perfect parts in Grosse Pointe Blank, Argo, Grudge Match, and countless others.

But knowing more are not coming makes me sad.  And knowing both you and my dad are no longer here makes me even sadder.

Thank you, Alan.  For all of it.