Last Monday, February 11th, 2008, I clicked on cnn.com just before heading out to meet a friend. That’s when I read that Roy Scheider has passed away at the age of 75. He died on February 10th in Little Rock, Arkansas, at the University of Arkansas Medical History. His wife attributed his death to complications from a staph infection. In 2004 he’d been diagnosed with multiple myeloma and the next near, according to Wikipedia, “underwent a bone marrow transplant to treat the cancer which was classified as being in partial remission.” I have vague memories of being aware of these health issues, so maybe his passing away should not have come as a shock, but it did. I have never met him, and yet I felt like an old family friend had slipped off the mortal coil. It actually sunk me into a depression.

Here’s the thing: I’m one of those people that always reads the obituaries, be it locally, in the hometown newspaper, or nationally, such as in my weekly edition of Variety. Not a week goes by where I don’t read an obituary for somebody that I know of. And I never ask for whom the bell tolls. I’m a good humanities student. I know each death diminishes us all. Sometimes I’ll read about complete strangers, and what is printed about their life will fascinate me as much, if not more, than what gets put out for a celebrity. Just a month ago I read a local obituary for a woman who wrote her own piece and I was strongly moved by her eloquence. Granted, she had a terminal disease and she saw it coming, whereas most of us don’t anticipate the exact time of our departure, but still… why don’t we all take a moment to write something up to keep on file, something we can update every now and then with instructions for its publication as our obituary? Why leave this task to the bereft? Their grief often clouds their perception in ways that are not always lucid.

But my point is this: I read a lot of obituaries. They always put me in a contemplative mood. But they don’t always depress me in a way that makes me feel like someone I’d had a long and ongoing conversation with was suddenly gone. It’s like when John Lennon was shot. Or when Stanley Kubrick died. These people had wielded such dramatic impacts on my world that I can’t even begin to imagine my life shaped without their influences. I realize that, to the impartial observer, putting Roy Scheider on par with The Beatles or the man responsible for 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) may seem a bit of a stretch. But, in my world, yup, he’s up there. And the reason why is that, I’ll admit it; I was one of the many kids who was blown away by Jaws (1975). And then there was Marathon Man (1976), Sorcerer (1977) – a complete flop that I still found riveting and which later pointed me toward it’s far superior source material, The Wages of Fear (1953) – and, um, yeah, speaking of flops came Jaws 2 (1978). Hey, I make no excuses other than to say I was a kid and even though that film stunk, Roy didn’t – he was still my man!

And let me tell you this: after All That Jazz (1979), all was forgiven. Nobody saw that one coming. Lots of people were thinking he was going to get typecast as Police Chief Martin Brody forever more, but in All That Jazz he just stunned everybody. He was nominated for a Best Actor Academy Award and wuz robbed. The statue would be given, instead, to Dustin Hoffman for his performance in Kramer vs. Kramer. Hoffman was solid, sure. He had that bit where he gets mad and flings his wine at the wall and he did a commendable job of showing how the horrors of divorce can be so devastating on many levels. But I dare anyone to see that film again, side-by-side against All That Jazz, and come back to tell me that Roy Scheider did not blow Dustin Hoffman away. Dustin was working within his parameters. Roy completely redefined them.

Alas, after this I saw him in Blue Thunder (1983), which showed that maybe the ghost of Police Chief Brody would be hard to escape after all. Then came 2010 (1984) which wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that it was trying to square shoulders with one of cinema’s most crowning achievements (good luck, and nice knowin’ ya!)… then I saw him in 52 Pick-Up (1986) which I can’t quite remember now other than thinking it was a “serviceable.” Please bear in mind that I was a college student with a kegerator at the time. Also, the film was directed by John Frankenheimer who should always be given some respect for Seconds (1966). Then, finally, some redemption courtesy of David Cronenberg in Naked Lunch (1991), bringing us Roy as Doctor Benway. Romeo is Bleeding (1993) was a bit of a blur for me (that damn kegerator!)… and I’ll admit I started to lose track of him after this.

But he kept going on with another 40 parts. It’s a list of lesser titles, ones I’ll admit to not really following. At that point it was more fun for me to go back in time and see him in stuff like The French Connection (1971) or Klute (also 1971). And speaking of revisiting titles, I should say that while Jaws is such a milestone in the history of blockbuster films, people sometimes forget that it’s also a great story of three guys who go out on a life-changing fishing trip and it has subtle and powerful scenes. I remember my script-writing professor (Bruce Kawin, who has a credit on The Grifters) used one specific scene from Jaws as the perfect example of how silence, rather than words, can speak volumes more than even the best speech. The clip he selected was of Roy Scheider when he, as Brody, is confronted on the beach by the woman whose child was killed by the shark and she basically blames him for the kid’s death. It’s a stunning moment because as viewers we know Brody has done more than any other person to try to keep everyone safe. This is his worst nightmare. He could easily blame the corrupt mayor, who is the true culprit, or begin to describe all his efforts. But, instead, he quietly accepts the blame. It’s heart-breaking. And it also says so much about his principles and his character. Being a kid and seeing this in the summer of 1975… is it any wonder he was one of my heroes?

Flashforward more than 30 year later to last summer: a small distributor (Artistic License) pitched a film my way called If I Didn’t Care (2007). My film series focuses on art-house titles, and I’ll admit that when I read the description for this film it struck me as the kind of direct-to-tv (or dvd) thriller that was not going to be appropriate for my series. But because the film had Roy Scheider I asked them to send me a screener. I wanted to see what my old shark-chasing and jazz-playing friend was up to. Because I still did care.