Charlton Heston died on this date back in 2008. Heston was and is an authentic Hollywood legend. However, when news of his demise hit, I was initially kind of ‘whatever’ about it. Heston had suffered so many slings and arrows from the press during the final years of his life that I had—as intended—come to view him as sort of a cheesy has-been. The fact that I hadn’t seen a Heston flick in over a decade probably helped as well. Then, a few days later, Steve Tompkins posted “John Carter of Earth” on the Cimmerian blog. That essay turned me around and made me reconsider how I viewed Heston. Tompkins’ homage to Heston is why I’m typing this post tonight, despite not really having the spare time to do so.*

Heston--born John Carter in Willmette, Illinois--brought a presence and gravitas to his roles that no other Hollywood actor--thus far--has been able to match. Not Connery, not Wayne--nobody. This was recognized at the time and should be acknowledged today. Does that make him the greatest actor in film history? I didn't say that. I won't even say that Heston is my favorite actor. Nonetheless, greatness and talent should be admitted as such when they manifest themselves. Heston possessed those traits.

Heston’s centennial will be upon us in October. My intention is to cover his half-century career in-depth at that point. Meanwhile, feel free to check out some obscure Heston gems like Secret of the Incas, Crossed Swords and Branagh’s Hamlet.

Here is what Tompkins stated in his final sentence:

"When a damnable disease dulled Heston’s spirits, he reacted with considerable grace and dignity, and our day can only be more tedious now that he’s embarked on his last and longest sleep."

Indeed.

Raise a glass to the shade of Charlton Heston, sword-brothers. An actor of true weight and heft and a man who held to his principles, come what may.

*Steve himself died almost exactly a year later.