That’s Life — Steve Bornfeld: Wherefore art thou, Matthau?

Friday, July 7, 2000 | 8:51 a.m.

Steve Bornfeld is the Sun features editor. His column appears Fridays. Reach him at steveb@lasvegassun.com or 259-4081.

"I can't stand little notes on my pillow. 'We are all out of Corn Flakes -- F.U.' It took me three hours to figure out that 'F.U.' was Felix Unger."

-- Walter Matthau to Jack Lemmon in "The Odd Couple."

Who was this man to me, really?

That's a question I've been asking myself since news came of the death of Walter Matthau, a man who grandly entertained me from the safe distance of a movie screen and within the sterile confines of a television screen; a man I met only once, in the kind of fake-sincere encounter perfected by journalists -- a formal interview.

And yet the passing of this foghorn-voiced, basset hound of a man left me with a small yet palpable emptiness I couldn't quite account for.

Celebrities are a unique blend of the personal and the impersonal -- and their deaths create an odd type of hybrid grief: We know them. We don't know them. We're momentarily stunned, as if losing a friend. We move on quickly, as if the friend wasn't quite real.

Yes, we are a culture that has come to worship celebrity beyond all reason. Yet celebrities can fill those tiny niches in our lives -- cherished little moments of humor, drama, passion or pathos that crystallize our humanity within the context of art -- in ways that those closest to us never will. They leave little bits of themselves forever embedded in us.

For me, small Matthau moments were the blessed comic relief that lightened the load of everyday life, the memories I could summon at will, any time, any place, to plaster a desperately needed grin on my face.

Walter Flashback No. 1: In "The Odd Couple," Herb Edelman's Murray the Cop wants to induce Jack Lemmon's suicidal Felix to throw up after ingesting an entire bottle of pills, even though he has no idea what kind of pills Felix devoured. Matthau's Oscar grabs him by the lapels, his hangdog jowls flapping furiously under his crumpled Mets cap, his voice a strangled Noooo Yaaaawk yelp. "They could be vitamins! He could be the healthiest one in the room!" Neil Simon's line made unforgettable by Matthau's delivery.

Walter Flashback No. 2: In "The Sunshine Boys," Richard Benjamin, as the put-upon nephew/agent for Matthau's crotchety ex-vaudevillian Willie Clark, visits his uncle every Wednesday. "Why do I get chest pains every Wednesday!" the exasperated Benjamin whines after arguing with Matthau, who calmly replies: "So come on Thursday." Again, Simon's line rendered immortal by Matthau.

Walter Flashback No. 3: Matthau in "Hopscotch" as the anti-007, a ridiculously rumpled, rogue CIA agent who sings Mozart at the top of his hilariously tuneless lungs, does a mean imitation of Eleanor Roosevelt and dons a turban that tops his basset hound puss for one of the funniest sights in movie history.

Walter Flashback No. 4: A clothes-deprived Matthau in "House Calls" -- all flapping elbows, hunched shoulders and duck-like waddle -- stomps out of Glenda Jackson's apartment in a granny-style frock and hair net.

Walter Flashback No. 5: Every frame of the slouching, snarky Matthau as Morris Buttermaker, the pool cleaner-turned-beer-slurping manager of "The Bad News Bears."

And those are just selected memories, not including: his Oscar-winning turn as the fast-talking shyster in "The Fortune Cookie,"; the subsequent pairings with Lemmon in numerous flicks, including their Grumpy/Grumpier Old Men personas ("Putz! Moron!"); the early-career dramas ("Charade," "Failsafe"); Matthau as a desperate dad trying to talk his petrified bride-to-be daughter out of the bathroom in "Plaza Suite"; Matthau as the randy, Goldie Hawn-chasing dentist in "Cactus Flower"; Matthau as the tired transit cop coping with subway hijackers in "The Taking of Pelham One-Two-Three"; and Matthau as a dissolute playboy trying to turn ugly duckling heiress Elaine May into a swan -- then marry and murder her for the inheritance -- in "A New Leaf."

They are just slivers of pop culture trivia, yes, but they also became flash points of laughter for me, in good moments and bad. Just recalling them made me feel better when I was sick; provoked a hearty laugh around the dinner table; and invited giggles that transformed an awkward social situation into a warm moment. There is enduring value in that.

My brief encounter with Matthau came in Los Angeles in 1994 when I was part of a small group of reporters privileged to interview him for a CBS movie he headlined called "Incident in a Small Town." In his patented laconic style, he was irreverent (poking fun at his own movie as a horrified publicist looked on), bawdy (he may have been ugly, he said, but great in bed), lecherous (massaging the shoulders of a clearly delighted female reporter) -- and absolutely hysterical; everything I wanted him to be.

As I recall while writing the subsequent article, there were few usable quotes, given his penchant for the well-placed expletive delivered in perfect deadpan. But here are some highlights:

Of course, he was "on." It was another performance, just one given in real life. I never met the real Walter.

But that doesn't detract from the tiny but cherished contribution he made to my life -- the movie memories that I can turn on at will to unleash the stress-relieving giggle, the ice-breaking laugh, the joyful guffaw out of nowhere.

I didn't know this man. He didn't know me. But through that odd cult of celebrity that makes the impersonal very personal, I've decided that, yes, this man meant something to me. And it's fitting to grieve.

Wherever you are now, Walter, I hope you're the healthiest one in the room.