BURT REYNOLDS MEMORIAL TRIBUTE - December 26

There is a tragic component to Burt Reynolds' life and legacy that pains me. When, as a young boy, I discovered the thrill of the movies in the mid to late '70s, this was the biggest star in the world. He was charming, funny, loyal, sly, smart, a little wicked and every woman on the screen was in love with him. And the men wanted to be like him. I know I did. Smokey and the Bandit was the first movie I ever saw three times.

More significantly, it was the first movie I recall enjoying with my dad. I'd seen it once or twice already with my friends before going again with pop. I watched him as often as the screen. If he laughed where I laughed, if he were as dazzled by Burt's reckless rebellion as I was - and he was - then I felt validated for being so completely taken in by this movie and its star.

So, imagine the thrill 34 years later when I hosted a TCM event at The Tampa Theatre with Burt Reynolds before a screening of Smokey and the Bandit. First, the turnout was overwhelming, so we had to turn people away. Second, I don't remember much that Burt said on stage. I know it was good - the audience left satisfied. But I recall in detail the conversation we had backstage in a green room tucked away well below the theater.

Much of what he told me appeared four years later in his well-regarded second memoir, But Enough About Me. I'm sure he was working on the book at the time, so the stories - and his willingness to honestly lay them out - were likely part of his process. Ultimately, that's what struck me most that day, his honesty, which was often brutally frank. Not about others, only about himself. I didn't have to ask much either - he just started talking. First, it was his deep regret over the nearly nude centerfold in Cosmopolitan in 1972 - he'd been drinking when he agreed to do it and drinking when he did it. He thought the photo shoot cost him an Oscar nomination for Deliverance. And he believed it crippled his reputation as a serious actor just as the industry was ready to recognize his gifts. "What an ass," he told Katie Couric in 2017. "What an egomaniac that would do something like that." When I asked him why he did it, he sighed, clearly reflecting on the foolish decisions he made at the time. "People told me not to do it. I didn't listen. I thought everyone would get the joke." They didn't.

That led to a question about further regrets. Without hesitating, he said he should've played James Bond when Cubby Broccoli came calling. He hardly considered it, telling Broccoli that Bond had to be British, couldn't be an American. But inside that cramped green room in 2011, Burt told me fear played a role - he was afraid to take the part, afraid he'd fail. "I was an idiot," he said. "I would've been good." But when I brought Bond up on stage 45 minutes later, he reverted back to his public face. "James Bond," he said. "Never heard him," as the crowd roared with laughter. I pressed him a bit, but he stuck to the country of origin explanation, though he got some more laughs when he pointed out that replacing Sean Connery would've been a far tougher task than succeeding George Lazenby. "That guy crashed and burned," said Reynolds before adding, "I'd like that guy to follow me in every role."

I mentioned the green room was below the stage in Tampa. That was significant. There must have been 20 steps - narrow steps - up to the stage. As show time neared, Burt and I made our way up, but it wasn't easy for him. He was 75, with the mind of a 50-year-old inside the body of a 90-year-old. The effects of playing football in high school and college at Florida State University, plus years of doing his own stunts - including going over a waterfall for a shot in Deliverance - had cost him mobility.

Still, he made his way up those stairs. As we were climbing, he said, "You know, I've made maybe 80 pictures, and only four of them are any good." He wasn't looking for a laugh, at least I didn't think so. They sounded to me like the words of a man filled with disappointment, even sadness, at his own choices. It goes without saying that Burt Reynolds made many more than four good movies. But for record, when I asked which four he named Deliverance, The Longest Yard, Smokey and The End.

At the time, what I didn't know was that Burt hadn't even seen one of his best, the movie that earned him the only Oscar nomination of his career: Paul Thomas Anderson's second feature, 1997's Boogie Nights. Today, the friction between Reynolds and Anderson is well documented (maybe it was then, too, but I didn't know it). Reynolds bristled at taking direction from a young director - Anderson was just 27 at the time. According to Reynolds, Anderson offered him the part seven times before he finally accepted. What we also know now is that Anderson has an artistic vision that has made him one of the best and most interesting writer/directors working today.

Anderson knew Reynolds was right for the part - that's why he was willing to get turned down six times. On one of those visits, in a tune up for their battles during production, Reynolds got angry. According to Reynolds, Anderson told him to channel that anger. "If you do it just like that in the movie," said Anderson, "you're going to get nominated for an Academy Award." Reynolds said he was baffled, before adding, "I'll be damned if I didn't." Still, Reynolds fired his agent after Boogie Nights, but before the announcement of the Academy Award nominations.

Despite their antagonism, Anderson recognized what Reynolds was capable of delivering, offering Burt a part in his next feature, Magnolia. But Reynolds turned him down. And as of 2016, he still hadn't watched his own performance in Boogie Nights. I'd like to think Burt was posturing, that one night before he died he sat down and watched himself dazzle on screen in a performance Janet Maslin of the New York Times described as "his best and most suavely funny performance in many years," adding that he gave his character "an extra edge, playing a swaggering and self important figure very close to the bone."

Burt died in September, but we held off giving him a tribute until we could make sure we had the right movies to present - movies demonstrating that Burt Reynolds was so much more than an action movie hero. So, on December 26, to honor one of the great stars of his generation, we'll have Hooper, The Longest Yard, Deliverance, and the picture that helped me fall in love with movies, Smokey and the Bandit. And when you're done watching Burt, before the end of the year, I'm actually going to encourage you to turn off TCM (just for a couple of hours, then it's right back on) and stream or buy a copy of Boogie Nights. Whatever kept Burt from watching shouldn't prevent us from seeing this singular actor deliver one of his signature performances.

by Ben Mankiewicz