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Category 6: Long-form, tribute

Tony Curtis

When his handsome face and a stroke of luck brought Tony Curtis to Hollywood in 1948, he was 23 years old and felt as if he was in heaven. That wasn't because of the acting opportunities. It was because of the women, and Tony became one of the town's best-known lotharios. He loved acting, too, and made great films and bad ones with the same sense of fun. He was also a lifelong artist, whose paintings commanded decent fees, and a party animal until he got clean and sober in 1982. One thing you will not notice in his obituaries is anyone with a bad word to say about him. He was fun, and few had more fun than he did himself.

Curtis, 85, who died Wednesday night of a heart attack, was born Bernard Schwartz in 1925. Raised in poverty and in an orphanage, he served in the Navy in World War II, took acting lessons in New York and in 1948, was spotted by a talent agent and signed by Universal.

He was one of the most beautiful men to ever appear in the movies, and stardom came quickly. One day in 1985 at the Cannes Film Festival, he told me of those days:

"Let me tell you a story, sort of a parable. One day in 1948, I went to Hollywood. My name was Bernie Schwartz. I signed a contract at Universal, and I bought a house in the hills. It had a swimming pool. One night I came home, I jumped in the pool, I swam a few laps, I got out, I dried myself off, I put on my clothes, and I walked directly into this room, sat down and started to talk to you. Do you see what I'm saying? Thirty-eight years, I don't know where they went. Gone like that."

He made four films that certainly can be called great, and he was crucial to the success of all four: "Some Like It Hot," "Sweet Smell of Success," "Spartacus" and "The Defiant Ones," for which he received an Oscar nomination. He made perhaps 60 others, some of them huge successes, others best forgotten. He worked on all of them with boundless energy.

In an earlier interview at Cannes in 1982, in the Carlton Hotel suite of mogul Menahem Golan, Curtis commanded a view of the sidewalk. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and pressed his nose against the glass.

"Will ya look at the build on that lady!" he shouted. He pushed the curtain aside. "There -- the one with the blond hair and the leopard-skin leotard! See her? Standing in the middle of the intersection, chewing the hell out of that guy? Jesus, I got great eyes!" he said.

Golan was not impressed. "She's coming this way!" Curtis reported. He moved to another window. An overstuffed chair was in his way. He hurdled the chair. He opened the French doors leading to the balcony and shouted: "Mon petit! Mon petit! Yoo-hoo! Up here! Come up here, mon petit. Up here. Room 241! Two four one!"

The thing about Curtis was, here was a truly great star, a legend, who had a big libido but not a big ego. How many other movie stars would pull up their shirt in a restaurant to show you their scar from heart surgery?

Once Wolfgang Puck hung an exhibition of Curtis' paintings in his original Spago on Sunset. Puck and director Billy Wilder, who directed "Some Like It Hot," were both from Vienna and loved talking with each other. One night, Puck had Wilder, a famed art collector, get up and inspect some of the paintings.

"Billy looked at one," Puck said. "All he said was, 'Lousy actor, lousy painter.' Then he turns around, and Tony was standing right there. He doesn't miss a beat. 'Oh, hello, Tony,' he said. 'I knew all along you were standing right there.' "

Many people liked his paintings. He wasn't a lousy actor, but he often suffered because of his material. He would joke about bad reviews, but one really stung. It wasn't a review, really, but a myth that grew over time: That in "The Black Shield of Falworth," his Bronx accent had him saying "Yonder lies da castle of my faddah."

"I never said, 'Yonder lies da castle of my faddah!' That line has become part of the folklore. What I said was, clear as day, father. See, I was born Bernie Schwartz. I'm a Hungarian Jew from New York. So they thought I had to pronounce it faddah, because it fit their stereotype. Laurence Olivier was in the same picture, but nobody thinks he ever mispronounced anything in his whole life."

Actually, Lord Olivier only co-starred with Curtis in "Spartacus," but you get the point.

Bernie Schwartz from the Bronx and Tony Curtis from Hollywood died Wednesday at his home near Las Vegas. His sixth wife, horse trainer Jill Vandenberg, was at his side.

In addition to his wife, survivors include two daughters with the late Janet Leigh, his first wife: Kelly Lee Curtis and actress Jamie Lee Curtis. Also, Alexandra Curtis and Allegra Curtis, daughters with wife Christine Kaufmann, and a son, Benjamin Curtis, with wife Leslie Allen. A memorial service, open to the public, will be held Monday at the Palm Mortuary in Las Vegas.