The city of Los Angeles arranged a nice tribute to Adam West yesterday, flashing the bat-signal on the side of City Hall.
The cool part is they got the symbol right: there have been several iterations over the years, but this one matches the one on West’s costume (on the show, the shape of the projected signal was different, but why quibble?).
What makes it doubly awesome, though, is that LA City Hall doubled for the Daily Planet starting with the second season the old “Adventures of Superman” TV show, making for a cool, if probably unintentional, cross-reference. Wish I could’ve seen it in person.
This is shaping up to be one lousy year. Mere weeks after the death of Roger Moore, I’ve lost another childhood hero, Adam West.
As related in an earlier post, I first encountered Mr West’s Batman in a television airing of the 1966 feature film starring the cast of the TV show. It’s fair to say it blew it my young mind, with its outlandish sets, gadgets, vehicles and costumes. It was, in essence, a comic book brought to life. A couple of years later, the show itself turned up in syndication and watching it became a highlight of my daily routine.
I would’ve been about 9 when I saw the movie, maybe 11 or 12 for the series, so I may or may not have caught on at first that it was all a gag. Not that it would have necessarily mattered: I knew Get Smart was played for laughs but I still viewed Max as a hero, and when Uncle Arthur put on a Superman costume and flew around the neighborhood on Bewitched, I didn’t think “that’s hilarious” (as the laugh track seemed to encourage) but rather, “Wow, I wish my Superman suit made ME fly.”
Similarly, even if I realized that the central joke of Batman was what a square the caped crusader was — that he was a postmodern lampoon of straight-shooting, tea-totaling heroes like Clayton Moore’s Lone Ranger (with a similar delivery) — it wouldn’t have mattered to me.
There’s a really great post at NPR that sums up my own experience with the Adam West Batman; like that author I was a kid devoted to law and order and rule-following. As a toddler I lectured strangers on the perils of smoking and chastised my grandfather for improperly disposing of litter. Neighbors said I wouldn’t get out of my pedal car until I’d properly parallel parked it next it to the house. Naturally I’d be a sucker for a hero who ordered orange juice in a nightclub and refused to start the Batmobile until Robin had fastened his safety bat-belt.
As has been noted endlessly everywhere, Adam West’s portrayal of Batman was aimed at two audiences; kids who took him deadly serious and their parents who chuckled at his cornball earnestness. The interesting thing, for me, is that even though in the short run the bread and butter of the show was in that older audience, who after all were the potential customers for the show’s sponsors, in the long run it’s the younger audience that’s defined the show’s legacy. For years, I’ve frequented a message board devoted to ’66 Batman and its members aren’t the least bit self-conscious about declaring this Batman as their personal hero. His straight-laced morality may have been the butt of the joke in ’66, but it’s made him a role model to generations.
I believe this is the genius of West’s approach; it would’ve been easy to aim for full-on comedy with the role and make Batman an utter doofus…and maybe that would’ve helped the actor keep the character enough at arm’s length to have shed the image when the show was canceled…but by adding that layer of earnest sincerity, he ensured the longevity of the show through the younger fans. Because as sure as we may have been in ’66 — and are today — that we’re above corny ideals like “fair play” and “good citizenship” and the like, the truth is every generation is hungry for heroes who understand there are such things as “right” and “wrong” and are willing to step up and do what’s right. The Lone Ranger and Hopalong Cassidy generation got that kind of hero straight up and without irony. Kids of the 60s and 70s happily settled for a Batman who was cut from the same cloth even if Mom and Dad did laugh at him.
After the show was cancelled, Adam went through a long rough patch, career-wise, having been typecast as a caped crimefighter at a time when live-action superhero projects were rare as hen’s teeth. People only wanted to see him as Batman, so with a family to feed he packed up the cape and cowl in a traveling case and made the rounds of car shows, county fairs and mall openings, playing the Caped Crusader well into middle-age. In the time-honored tradition of kicking a guy while he’s down, he was mercilessly parodied for this and held up as a kind of cautionary tale for actors nervous about taking on similarly iconic roles. But to his eternal credit, he never gave up and never lost his sense of humor, poking fun at himself and turning his public persona into sort of 24/7 in-character performance: “Adam West” the kooky eccentric. It won him a new generation of fans and gave his career a second wind as a celebrity spokesperson, voice artist and frequent guest star “as himself” in the grand tradition of Hollywood legends who end up “famous for being famous” long after we forget what they were originally famous for. If anyone ever had a reason to resent Batman and want to bury him, it was this guy, but he remained a fan and champion of the character until the end, which was awesome.
It’s hard watching these icons of my youth exit the stage one by one, and I know it’s not over yet. But if there’s any comfort to be had, it’s from knowing that as long as there’s reruns and DVDs and Blu-Rays and Roku and Youtube and whatever comes next, they’ll live on, forever young and vital and handsome and courageous. Somewhere out there right now on a screen somewhere in the world, the Caped Crusader is racing into action in the Batmobile, figuring his way out of a nefarious death trap, stopping for a lecture on traffic safety or good nutrition. And that’s as it should be.
Still, it’s hard not to feel it’s a dark day in Gotham, with that red phone beeping away unanswered.
I’ve been taking the death of Roger Moore pretty hard, considering I never met the guy. But then again, he’s been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. Basically, he was who I wanted to be when I grew up.
As an awkward, buck-toothed beanpole of a kid living in a succession of middle-of-nowhere small towns, I was completely in awe of this impossibly handsome, witty and sophisticated jet-setter who got to do the coolest things in the most wonderful places with the most interesting people in the world. Early on, I decided that was the life for me. If my off-the-rack Sears Toughskin leisure suits were no match for Roger’s bespoke creations from Cyril Castle or Douglas Hayward, and our Country Squire station wagon was a far cry from a Lotus Esprit, at least I could manage an approximation of Roger’s hairstyle, and after hours of practice in front of the mirror, raise one eyebrow at a time.
Looking back, I wonder if I could sense somehow that the Roger Moore I saw was himself a construct, the invention of an insecure, pudgy and often sickly kid from working class South London who grew up idolizing screen heroes like Stewart Granger and David Niven with dreams of following in their footsteps. Young Roger George Moore taught himself to speak with a precise and measured upper-class accent and comport himself with the manners and grace of a true English gentleman, to the point where it was hard to imagine him not having been born into the peerage. No one batted an eyelash when he played a full-fledged English Lord in The Persuaders and when he was eventually knighted in real life, it seemed a logical development. Even before I knew his biography, his carefully constructed public persona inspired my efforts to mimic the traits I most admired: an unflappable sang-froid under even the most stressful conditions, an air of class that never strayed to snobbery, pride in appearance that stopped short of vanity, the ability to weather reversals with humor and elan, the pluck to succeed by wits and wit where muscle was not sufficient.
Obviously, I tended to blur the lines between Roger Moore and James Bond, since I knew the latter better than the former. but the great thing was that when Roger showed up on talk shows or interviews, he was a match for his fictional roles; dressed to the nines, debonair, cultured, witty and charismatic. For me, Roger Moore WAS James Bond and vice-versa. Critics would dismiss his performances as not “acting” at all, saying he was just being himself. Oddly, they seemed to be suggesting that was a bad thing. Personally, I cherished the notion that somewhere out there in the “real” world was a guy every bit as cool as he seemed on screen.
To me, criticism that Roger was too unflappable, too flippant about the chaos exploding around him as 007 missed the point: Roger’s Bond wasn’t immune to fear or pain, but he understood the importance of maintaining an outward calm. It unnerved his enemies to see him face threats with such equanimity. They would pull up next to him in a speeding car and he’d flash them the friendly smile you’d give a fellow motorist on a Sunday drive in the country. They’d crush objects in their bare hands and he’d look on with mild bemusement. Sometimes I got the impression the baddies spent all those millions on their enormous, stainless steel hideouts in hopes they’d finally pierce Bond’s nonchalance and elicit a gasp of awe. Roger never obliged.
There are, if you look for them, plenty of moments when panic threatens to take over, when Roger’s Bond realizes he’s in the soup and he’d better think fast: Trapped on a tiny island surrounded by hungry alligators, clinging precariously to the side of a mountain as a villain kicks away the pitons holding him up, spinning to seeming doom in an out-of-control centrifuge. In For Your Eyes Only, he’s tied to girlfriend du jour Melina as a motorboat prepares to pull them across a coral reef and tear them to shreds. “I didn’t think it would end like this,” says Melina. Looking her in the eyes, he answers calmly, “We’re not dead yet.” With only the girl to hear him, and no villains to impress, he shows what’s at his core, not flippant disinterest but the dogged determination that he WILL, he MUST survive, or that if he must die, he’ll at least not give the enemy the satisfaction of breaking him. This was old school, stiff-upper-lip English hero stuff, and I ate it up.
As a kid, it irritated me when adults said, “I liked Roger Moore better as The Saint.” I hadn’t seen The Saint at that point, but I knew it was a TV show, so this left-handed compliment clearly implied that (1) no matter what Roger did, Sean Connery would always be better, and (2), Roger’s talents might have been good enough for TV, but he was clearly out of his depth in movies. Far from brow-beating me into switching to Team Connery, this kind of criticism just caused me to dig in my heels and defend my chosen favorite more steadfastly. It was a crusade I’d have to keep up for the next few decades.
Whenever I met another Bond fan (which, to some degree, is pretty much everyone), they’d start the discussion with enthusiasm, but when they asked my favorite and I said, “Roger,” more often than not they’d look at me with disappointment, or even pity. Poor boy, you obviously don’t know your Bonds if he’s your favorite. When in the ’90s I co-founded a popular Bond fansite (“Mr KissKissBangBang”) one of my first articles asked, “Who Says Less is Moore?”, a (preserved at this Polish site). At the time I felt like a voice in the wilderness, though thankfully he has plenty of champions, now. Possibly that’s because with the benefit of hindsight, most fans can agree Roger had a positive impact on the series, and indeed may have ensured its survival. Nowadays we take it for granted that the mantle will be passed every few years and a new actor will take the reins, but in 1973 it was by no means certain the series would survive the loss of Connery. Under Roger, it not only survived but thrived, bringing in over a billion dollars in ticket sales. Plus — and this is important — Roger did all this not by imitating Connery but by studiously avoiding doing anything the way Connery would have, giving license to subsequent 007s to interpret the role as they saw fit.
By the way, eventually I did get to see The Saint and I realized those old folks may have been on to something: I found that on the whole I liked Roger better as the Saint than I liked anyone as James Bond. Where Bond was largely amoral and professional about his job (which was, in the end, to kill people), Templar was motivated by a strong personal sense of right and wrong (if not strict adherence to the law). Bond was, for all his glamorous trappings, a glorified civil servant who had to show up at the office in the morning and take orders from a boss. Templar was a “free agent” who went where he pleased and involved himself in cases when he felt like it, and for his own reasons. That archetype of the hero motivated by a personal sense of right and wrong as opposed to patriotic duty was a better fit for Moore, more comfortable as the “knight errant” than the “blunt instrument” of a government agency. This creates a friction between actor and role in those moments when Bond’s harder side comes to the fore; sometimes it works (as when he kicks a killer’s car off a cliff in FYEO; we know he deserves it) but sometimes it doesn’t (slapping around Maud Adams in Man With The Golden Gun, an act of needless cruelty). Over 12 years, Bond morphs to fit Moore’s screen persona as much as, or more than, Roger conforms to the Bond template, until, by the end, he’s hanging from airplanes and blimps to rescue damsels in distress. With Roger at the wheel, the role is incrementally steered away from “ruthless assassin” to something closer to “white knight.” Fandom remains divided over whether that’s a good thing.
For the last month or so, I’d been working my way through the early seasons of “The Saint” and working on this Youtube tribute, hoping to post it in honor of his upcoming 90th birthday. It was nearly finished when I got the bad news:
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and by the time of A View To A Kill in 1985, even I was ready for Roger to move on. Unfortunately, what he went on to was a series of progressively awful films until he pretty much threw in the towel on acting, but on the up side that left him free to devote his time to his charity work as a goodwill ambassador for UNICEF, championing the cause of underprivileged children around the world and becoming at last a hero in real life, as well.
Sometime around 1998 or so, the nearby Kings Dominion theme park opened a “James Bond: License to Thrill” ride, and my “press” status from the MKKBB website let me attend the celebration. There had been rumors early on that Roger would attend, which would have put me over the moon. As it was, I had the great pleasure of visiting and eating lunch with “Q” himself, Desmond Llewelyn, which was beyond awesome. Since he’d starred with five consecutive 007’s, that meant there were now just two degrees of separation between me and Roger Moore. Alas, that was as close as I would get.
More recently, Sir Roger made himself available for Question and Answer sessions on his website, and naturally I sent in questions. On two occasions, he answered them, and it made my day to read “Hello, David” from the man himself. He was also the only movie star to whom I ever mailed an autograph request. Getting back that envelope with a return address of Pinewood Studios — where all the magic happened! — was a thrill, and I still cherish the photo (inscribed “Good luck, David! – Roger Moore”)
Often mocked — sometimes not so gently — for being such a powerful avatar of the 70s, with its outlandish fashions, fatuous pursuits and general goofiness, over time Sir Roger became something of a national treasure in the UK. When Timothy Dalton succeeded him as Bond, many fans were eager to embrace a more serious approach to 007, and it was easy to put down Roger for the same things that had sold all those tickets just a few years before. But the further his era slips into the past, the more fondly it seems to be remembered. It’s difficult to look at where the series is today, under the often grim and intensely physical Daniel Craig, and draw a through-line to Moore’s Bond, but certain vestiges remain. If anything, his legacy is more obvious in non-Bond films like Tom Cruise’s Mission Impossible series, or The Kingsman, with their over-the-top sensibilities and lack of pretension. When the first Iron Man film was released, I saw more than one reviewer draw parallels to Moore-era Bond, and indeed I’d say if any franchise approximates what the Moore era was to Young Me, it’s Marvel’s superhero films, with their emphasis on dazzling spectacle, their embrace of humor, and their skill at transporting audiences to impossible but engaging worlds for a couple hours of pure, unapologetic escapism.
This has turned out to be a ridiculously long post, but like I said Roger meant a lot to me, even at a distance. I’m fast running out of childhood heroes and Roger was at the top of the list. Given the shenanigans most celebrities are prone to, it was great to have a hero who only ever went up in my estimation, never down.
In closing, I like to remember Roger in a scene from Vendetta for the Saint, one of the best stories from the series and one of two adapted for theatrical release. Near the middle of the film, Simon Templar is being manhandled by mob enforcers at the behest of a dying Mafia don, who’s just ordered his execution. The expiring villain says, “Goodbye, Simon Templar. We will never meet again.” “I know,” answers Simon, glancing heavenward with a wry smile. “I’m going that way.”
Godspeed, Sir Roger, and thanks. May your halo never droop.
Jason’s been on a tear this year with a series of successful performances in his chess tournaments. This past weekend, he took first place in the Under 2200 section of the Cherry Blossom Classic in northern Virginia. In the process, he boosted his USCF rating to 2203, marking a 123-point rise from the start of this calendar year and officially earning him his “master” status.
Jason had set himself a goal of reaching “master” by age 15, so this puts him almost a year ahead of schedule. It’s especially impressive to me given what’s involved with chess; namely, maintaining the focus and discipline required to play 5, 7 or even 9 games per tournament, any or all of which can last up to five hours each. That strikes me as a rare talent for a 14-year-old. Certainly it would’ve been for me at 14. It would be now. What’s more, he’s done it all pretty much on his own, aside from helpful input from some kind mentors; he’s never had a coach per se and living here in Richmond, his access to tournaments has been very limited.
Anyway, I’m very proud of his ability to set long term goals for himself and keep at them until they’re achieved. It bodes well for him in life. Next up is that BSA Eagle rank he’s been shooting for since his first Tiger Cub meeting at age 6. I have no doubt he’ll get there.