Possibly the saddest movie of all time, for three reasons:
The first reason -- is itself -- you'd just have to see it. I am no 'see Jane run, wow she ran!' spoiler or script writer, and couldn't hold a literary candle to the bonfire that is this movie. Its love is so sweet, its situation so bitter and its dispair so complete... that anyone who has the gift of opening their heart, such that they would be moved to tears by Titanic... will be torn to pieces by this 1976 movie. I am gravely serious. No 70s camp, no schlock. Even your perception of the cinematic grain of the period will disappear (as irrelevant) as you are drawn into the film.
What's sadder still -- you probably won't get the chance to see it. This masterpiece carries the silly "made for TV" stigma, though it is a world class film without a dull moment. It shows a talent of Peter Falk that does not appear in any other production he has made: not through any fault of his of course, in my opinion his is a stellar, believable performance. This beautiful original was consigned to oblivion -- so undeservedly -- while so many other goofy trashy things sucked at the money trough all these years.
But saddest of all, this movie has been "remade" -- with all due respect to Ed Stone, who knows his craft -- unless I chance to acquire the original, I will pass it by.
Of course, the remake has a water tower; a new, younger generation will be shocked and transfixed, as were we, by a man with a plan and some paint.
What a deliciously dark twist, doubly prophetic, to know that there are actually two sets of 'Griffin & Pheonix' -- painted on that tower. When the last Falk/Clayburgh has disappeared into an analog past... who will remember?
We are such amazing creatures: ever ready to love, to fight, dilute pain with laughter. Grieviously wounded, to rise time and again with a shout of joy for the gift of another whole day -- this day; even angels in the heavens applaud, their tears of gladness falling as gentle rain. On the eve of the final day, one last fall, slow and theatrical to add a bit of jest to a moment -- this moment, as we may. Disarm the stern counttenance of fate with a grin and a shug... and we're off.
Now that is a death -- be assured that it is a factual account -- my own death. Some day as these events unfold I will be way too busy fighting and falling and loving and making angels weep and all that... so I decided to write it up. What a death -- and I will pull it off. Your own death should be so fine. Be inspired but do adapt it a bit, add your own trimmings. The heavenly host is a tough crowd: they detest copycats, chase bad comics off the stage, throw things you wouldn't believe.
That's life.