Any opportunity to see Gene Hackman on the big screen was always a privilege, even when the characters he played were morally grey and the movies perhaps not his best. He made enough “hits” (more than most) that it’s easy to forgive the misses. No matter what the quality of the film, he was always good in it, and the turkeys were often turkeys only in relation to the eagles. My, how I miss his kind. It was a great era for the movies, especially when Gene was just hitting his stride.
Sometimes it came at a cost to those around him. I’ve read multiple accounts of Hackman being difficult on the set, especially with untried directors. (There are behind-the-scenes horror stories about “Hoosiers” and “The Royal Tenenbaums.”) I must say, Hackman reminded me an awful lot of my father in “The Royal Tenenbaums.” Draw your own conclusions.
Apparently, his wife was a classically trained pianist. He was one of the few white guys, outside of Sinatra and the Blues Brothers, that could pull off wearing a pork pie hat.
R.I.P., Gene. I’ll be picking my feet in Poughkeepsie.
