Karl Malden (1912-2009)

Perhaps moreso than any other death in the last week, Karl Malden's seems to have hit me the hardest. Yes, Michael Jackson's music transcended the airwaves and Farrah's flip was awe-inspiring, but for me, it's always a return to the movies.

And there's really nothing you can say about the movies that Karl Malden didn't personify. He was a steady, sometimes sensational, always reliable actor who graced our presences with dynamite roles such as On the Waterfront (seriously, where have the films that could produce three worthy Oscar-nominated supporting turns gone?) to the solid work of Patton. And yet, for me, he will eternally be Harold 'Mitch' Mitchell.

I was eleven the first time that I saw A Streetcar Named Desire, and up until that point in my life, films were merely a place to spend $2 on popcorn, pop, and candy (yes, kids, my theater experience was enough for a $5 allowance). And yet, with that haunting Alex North score, and the cast of four (there are other players, but for me, it's the four central), I found myself in love eternally with the cinema. Something happened on that couch while I watched Mitch, Stella, Blanche, and Stanley in their dangerous ballet of deception, lying, and hidden emotions, and I would never be the same. Maybe it was the performances (legendary, and the best I've ever seen), the script (brilliant, and the best I've ever seen), or the direction (claustrophobic, tortured, and fickle all at once), but one thing was for certain-I would eternally be in love with the movies.

Mitch, of course, was the least central of the four characters-Malden's character wasn't part of the love triangle, but instead the most obvious victim of Blanche and Stanley's mind game duels. He starts off sweet, stumbling across the haunting (some would say faded, I'd say more crystalized) beauty of Vivien Leigh. Watch how playful Malden is when he is attempting to flirt with Blanche-he understands that this character is far less experienced than he thinks he is, and is melding old-fashioned ideals with the recklessness that his friends (like Stanley) exhibit daily. One of the film's most underrated, and most frightening scenes, is Malden's penultimate turn in the film, when he decidedly turns on Blanche, showing her the maleviolent nature that is so obviously outside of his nature. Malden is truly brilliant, and takes his character to heights a lesser actor would have made 2-dimensional.

I remember when Kim Hunter died in 2002, I recessed in her character's contradictory earthiness; in 2004, when the world lost its finest actor, I found myself looking at the coldness and the impossibly sensual Stanley with new eyes. And so, tonight, as I take another ride onto the Streetcar named Desire, I look forward to seeing what newness I will find in Mitch. And as always, Ms. Leigh, Mr. Brando, Ms. Hunter, and, of course, Mr. Malden, thank you for making me fall in love with the movies.