FRIDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2010 BLAKEEDWARDS,88 Oeuvre of ‘Pink Panther’ series director defies genres BY ADAM BERNSTEIN Blake Edwards, a prolific film-


makerwhokeptalivethetradition of slapstick comedy in his “Pink Panther” franchise and nimbly showcased his dramatic range with “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and “Days of Wine and Roses,” died Dec. 15 ofpneumonia at ahospital inSantaMonica,Calif.Hewas 88. In a six-decade career that re-


jectedeasy categorization,Mr.Ed- wards receivedanhonoraryAcad- emy Award in 2004 for “writing, directing and producing an ex- traordinary body ofwork.” Some of his best-known films


included the sophisticated ro- mance “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (1961) with Audrey Hepburn; the bleak story of a couple in an alco- holic spiral in “Days ofWine and Roses” (1962), starring Jack Lem- mon and Lee Remick; the taut manhunt story “Experiment in Terror” (1962) with Remick and GlennFord;andthewartimemov- ie comedy “Operation Petticoat” (1959) with Cary Grant and Tony Curtis. There also was “10” (1979), fea-


turing Dudley Moore as a pop composer with male menopause and Bo Derek as the object of his fantasies; “S.O.B.” (1981), a scath- ing portrait of Hollywood largely basedonhis ownbitter experienc- es; and “Victor/Victoria” (1982), a cross-dressing farce starring Mr. Edwards’swife, JulieAndrews. The noncompetitive Oscar was


more a tribute to his craftsman- ship, versatility and endurance as a filmmaker than consistent ap- preciationby audiences. Few directors have worked so


long with such checkered results commercially and critically and yet have revived their fortunes withburstsofastonishingcreative energy. Film scholar Jeanine Basinger calledMr.Edwardsa“majorfigure


BOBFELLER,92 Hall of Fame pitcher in sport’s golden era was first major leaguer to enlist BY MATT SCHUDEL Bob Feller, a fireballing pitcher


whobrokeintothebigleaguesasa 17-year-old sensation with the Cleveland Indians and was ac- claimed as baseball’s finest pitch- er from the late 1930s to the late 1940s, died Dec. 15 at a hospice near Cleveland. He was 92 and had leukemia. Mr. Feller, who came out of the


cornfields of Iowa in 1936 as a rawboned right-hander who threw harder than anyone else of his era, rode hismighty fastball to the baseballHall of Fame.Hewas also a significant figure off the field as the first major leaguer to volunteer formilitary servicedur- ing World War II and the first president of the Major League Baseball PlayersAssociation. With his overpowering fastball


and knee-buckling curveball, Mr. Feller — nicknamed “Rapid Rob- ert”—had 107 victories before he turned 23 andwaswell onhisway tobeingoneof themostdominant pitchers in history. “In a sport not noted for its


prodigies, Bob Feller stands su- preme,” Donald Honig wrote in his 1975 book, “BaseballWhenthe Grass Was Real.” “Achieving star statusat seventeenwithasudden- ness thatwasasdramaticas itwas remarkable, Feller became base- ball’smost electrifying performer since BabeRuth.” But twodays after the Japanese


attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, Mr. Feller stepped away from baseball to join the war ef- fort. He enlisted in the Navy and


his prime baseball years to the military. But Mr. Feller never re- gretted his choice. “You’llneverhearme complain


about my time in the service,” he saidin2001. “Baseball is insignifi- cantwhen it comes towar.” Other pitchers have compiled


better records thanMr. Feller, but few have inspired the open- mouthed awe that made him a legendfromthe start. In1936, as a 17-year-old high school student, he struck out eight of the nine batters inanexhibitiongamewith the St. Louis Cardinals. Sportswriter Red Smith once


described the effect the youngMr. Feller had onother players: “They were taking the pre-game exercis- eswhenthekidkickedhis left foot high and delivered his firstwarm- up pitch. All over the field, action ceased.Nobody saidanything.Ev- erybody just stood still and watched.” Mr. Fellermade his first official


ASSOCIATED PRESS


Cleveland Indians star pitcher Bob Feller, shown in 1941 during spring training, paused his lucrative career to enlist in theNavy.


missed three full seasons and most of a fourth while serving as the chief of a gunnery crew aboard the battleship USS Ala- bama. He returned to baseball late in


1945, then recorded his finest all- around season in 1946, with 26 wins and an ERA of 2.18. His 348 strikeouts were considered a sin- gle-season record until statisti- cians later amended Rube Wad- dell’s 1904 total from 343 to 349.


(The current recordof 383was set byNolanRyan in 1973.) By the time he retired in 1956,


Mr. Feller had a record of 266-162, with an ERA of 3.25. He led the American League seven times in strikeouts and six times in victo- ries. He pitched three no-hitters and a record 12 one-hit games. Baseball aficionadoshave spec-


ulatedthathemighthavewon350 gamesandset the career strikeout record if he had not lost several of


big-league appearance on July 19, 1936, atWashington’sGriffithSta- dium against the Senators. Two months later, on Sept. 13 against thePhiladelphiaAthletics,he tied the major-league record of 17 strikeouts in a game. At the end of the season, he


went back to his home town of Van Meter for his senior year of high school. His graduation was broadcast nationwide on radio, and he was on the cover of Time magazine at 18. On the final day of the 1938


season, against theDetroitTigers, Mr. Feller struck out 18 hitters to set a new major-league record. (Roger Clemens and Kerry Wood


PETULA DVORAK The snowball of panic for theworking parent dvorak from B1


is snarling, it makes sense to keep the kids safe and pre-empt the bad commute by getting them home early. Parents can toss away their


fragile work life for something like that. The boss will understand, right? But whose boss?His or hers? As I walked throughmy office mid-morning on Thursday, I heard the negotiating going on around me. “I get that you’ve got a client


meeting at 2, but I have a project that I have to finish. I can’t go pick her up now— I’ll be toast!” onemomsaid into the phone, pacing in her cubicle. “No.No.No. I did the last two


days— today is your day to take the hit,” a friend of mine said to her husband.


It’s a familiar scenario for


working parents each day, keeping score on who has the more crucial meeting, who did the pickup the last time the kid was sick and needed picking up,


Plus, there was no word on


school closing, even as the windshields outside turned white. I buckled down to work on two columns I was juggling, content


This is the time of the year when the chasm between the chilled-out childless and the snot-stained parents looms largest.


and who did carpool duty all last week.


Only,with the surprise snow


day, the politics of child care are fast-forwarded into a 15-minute duel of Important Appointments. I had morning carpool duty, so


I was covered for the afternoon, figuringmy kid would be taken care of with themomwho is driving in the afternoon.


that it would be a normal day. Then I checked the screen one last time. Sure enough, the school announced it was closing an hour early. I called carpool momand e-mailed her.No answer. I called the husband.He is


wise.He knows not to answer when it snows outside. A very important call he was on, I’m


sure. Sly fox. So I sent a message tomy boss,


letting her know I’d be onmy home computer in an hour. I bundled up and headed out. On the road, it was the usual


snow day demolition derby, with cars spinning out and fishtailing. It’s like Snowmageddon never happened and the people of our region have to learn about driving in the snow all over again. En route, carpoolmom


messaged me to say she’d gotten the kids, so 40 minutes intomy journey, I turned back around. Then the boss messaged me with a whole newgame plan, column- wise, and I knewthe day was far from over. I tried hard to not become the


ultimate District driving moron, someone who texts while driving —in the snow.


I metmy son at home, made


him a snack, gave him a book and openedmy computer to resume working. Within three minutes, he announced he was bored and treated me to his latest version of a saucy Christmas carol: “I want to wish you aHairy Christmas! I want to wish you aHairy


Christmas! I want to wish you a Hairy Christmas from the bottom ofmy fart!” Ah, yes, snow day. Can you


pass me that peppermint schnapps, funday lady?


E-mail me your worst snow day scramble story at dvorakp@washpost.com.


share the currentmark, with 20.) He also establisheda less enviable record in 1938 by walking 208 batters in one season—a number that still stands. Mr. Feller’s fastball was so ex-


traordinary that there were re- peated efforts to measure its pre- cise speed. Various methods timed Mr. Feller’s fastball be- tween 98 and 107mph. Baseball writer Tim Wendel


concluded in “High Heat,” his 2010 book about kings of the fast- ball, thatMr. Fellerwas the third- hardest thrower in history, be- hindRyan andminor-league phe- nomenon SteveDalkowski. “Feller is the best pitcher liv-


ing,” New York Yankee star Joe DiMaggio said in 1941. “I don’t think anyone is ever going to throwa ball faster than he does.” Robert William Andrew Feller


was born on Nov. 3, 1918, in Van Meter, Iowa, and grew up on his family’s farm.When not working in the fields, he was hurling a rubber ball against the side of a shed or pitching to his father in the barn. In 1936, as a high school junior,


Mr. Feller signed with the Cleve- land Indians for $1 and an auto- graphed baseball. He never pitched in theminor leagues. In 1947, Mr. Feller injured his


armandwasnever quite the same pitcher again. When the Indians won the 1948 World Series, four games to two, both losses were charged toMr. Feller. By adding a slider to his pitch-


ingrepertoire,hebouncedbackin 1951 to lead the league with 22 wins. He won 13 games for the


American League champion Indi- ans in 1954. As one of the organizers of the


MajorLeagueBaseballPlayersAs- sociation in 1950s, Mr. Feller served as its first president and helped establish a pension plan for retired ballplayers. After his election to the Base-


ballHall of Fame inCooperstown, N.Y., in 1962, he was outspoken about preserving baseball’s stan- dards and fought against admit- ting steroid users and convicted gamblerPeteRose into theHall of Fame. Mr. Feller’smarriage to Virgin-


iaWinther ended in divorce. Sur- vivors includehiswife of 36 years, Anne Morris Giuiland, and three children fromhis firstmarriage. As a goodwill ambassador for


theIndians,Mr.Fellerappearedat the team’s spring training games, often playing catch on the field in his familiar No. 19 uniform and signing autographs afterward. In 2009, at the age of 90, hewas spry enough to pitch in aHall of Fame exhibition game in Cooperstown. Mr. Feller fiercely guarded his


place in baseball history and did not hesitate to correct any distor- tions of his record. In the 1990s, when a statue of Mr. Feller was being designed for Cleveland’s new baseball stadium, he asked the sculptor to remove a can of snuff fromhis hip pocket. “Ineverusedthat stuff,”hesaid. schudelm@washpost.com


6


READMOREONLINE For amore complete version of Bob Feller’s


obituary, visit washingtonpost.com/obituaries.


LINDA SPILLERS/ASSOCIATED PRESS


Blake Edwards, shown in 2001 with his wife, actress Julie Andrews, transformed a novella about a cynical call girl into the enduringly successful film “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”


in modern filmmaking” and a “bold interpreter of traditional genreswhowantedtotreat filmas a more sensitive and malleable medium, one that can in its run- ning time take you through a range of moods.” To that end, he crossbred all kinds of genres with wildly variedresults. There was the espionagemusi-


cal (“DarlingLili,” 1970), thecomic combat film(“WhatDidYouDo in the War, Daddy?,” 1966) and a chase movie (“The Great Race,” 1965) that paid simultaneous


homage to westerns, zany silent comedies and the adventure yarn “ThePrisoner ofZenda.” Mr.Edwards, thedescendant of


a silent-film director, developed an audacious and risque comic style as a producer, director and writer thatwas rooted in the prat- falls, sightgagsandotherwisepre- posterous sensibilities of pre- soundmovie comedy. Eveninhismostexuberant fare,


Mr.Edwards—whowas suicidally depressive for long periods in his career—wasoftendrawntomate-


rial that led him to explore the anxieties of love, marriage and masculinity. Inthe firstof thePink Panther outings, a bumbling de- tective is on the trail of a suave jewel thiefwho is cuckoldinghim. The Panther series, launched


with “The Pink Panther” (1963) and “A Shot in the Dark” (1964), broughtMr.Edwards hismost de- voted following. The films’ in- spired lunacy owed a great deal to actorPeterSellers,whoplayedthe pompous and incompetent French police inspector Jacques Clouseau. Over the course of the series,


Clouseau gets his hands snapped indoorways, chainmail andfloor- standing globes.Disguises involv- ing putty noses, fake parrots and hunchbacks go ludicrously awry. “Undercover” visits tonudist colo- nies becomemasterfulmanipula- tions of sight andsound. In all, Mr. Edwards wrote and


directed seven of the “Pink Pan- ther” films—five ofwhich starred Sellers, until his death in 1980. Their relationshiphadbeentense. “Peter Sellerswas literallybipo-


lar, a raging schizophrenic,” Mr. Edwards told author Franz Lidz. “Once, in the middle of making a movie with him in England, he called me at midnight to say he hadspokentoGodandfiguredout how to play his character in the following day’s scene. I said, ‘Great! I’ll see you in themorning. Nowletme sleep.’ “Thenextmorningheappeared


on set and interpreted the scene. He was terrible — didn’t get a single laugh fromthe crew! I told him, ‘Peter, next time you talk to God, tellhimto stay thehell out of showbusiness.’ ” Mr. Edwardswas bornWilliam


Blake Crump in Tulsa on July 26, 1922.He grew upwith hismother and stepfather in LosAngeles and took the surname of his stepfa- ther’s father, a onetime director of


silentmovies. Husky, with all-American good


looks, Mr. Edwards had a brief acting career in the 1940s. After CoastGuard service inWorldWar II, he began writing radio scripts andscreenplays, leading to apart- nership with director Richard Quine. The best of their output was “Operation Mad Ball” (1957), starring Lemmon as an Army pri- vatewho uses hiswiles to throwa party. Mr.Edwards reached a creative


and popular peak over the next several years, in both television and film. He produced the stylish TV detective series “Peter Gunn” (1958),whose jazzy theme song by HenryMancini became apophit. Mr.Edwards frequentlyteamed


with Mancini, who wrote the slinky “Pink Panther” theme, the melancholy title song (with John- nyMercer) for “Days ofWine and Roses,” the indelibleballad“Moon River” for “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” and “Le JazzHot” for “Victor/Vic- toria.” Mr. Edwardswas creditedwith


transforming a Truman Capote novella about a cynical call girl into the immensely likable “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Starring Hepburn, the film became an en- during success in large part be- cause of Mr. Edwards’s ability to balance the heroine’s cynicismto- ward sex and power with an en- gaging comic approach that did not alienate audiences. His adoration of silent-screen


comedy was apparent in a party scene, when Hepburn’s Holly Go- lightly accidentally sets a hat aflame ina crowdedroom. “Days of Wine and Roses” was


an unexpected project forMr. Ed- wards,whocametothefilmonthe recommendation of Lemmon, who praised the director’s ability to find the “bizarre, comedic side to tragedy.” Lemmon and Lee Re- mick earned Academy Award nominations for their portrayals


of alcoholics, and reviewers found Mr. Edwards’s direction taut and gripping. Gradually, a tendency toward


cost overruns and his own sharp tongue ledMr.Edwards to a series of confrontations with studio bosses. He lost control over the editing of his movies, a humilia- tion that sent himinto a spiral of depressionandtoself-imposedex- ile inSwitzerland. Mr. Edwards continued period-


ically to prove his commercial po- tentialwith Pink Panther sequels, andhe regainedpopular andcriti- cal acclaimin1979with“10.” Hefollowedwith“S.O.B.,”about


awashed-upfilmmaker (playedby RichardMulligan)who, in suicid- al desperation, reshoots a poorly received “family film” as soft-core pornography. Andrews appeared topless in the film, a shocking riposte to her wholesome image from “The Sound of Music” and “MaryPoppins.” Mr. Edwardsmarried Andrews


in 1969 after his divorce from ac- tress Patricia Walker. Besides his wife, survivors include two chil- dren from his first marriage, in- cluding actress JenniferEdwards; two Vietnamese orphans he ad- opted with Andrews; and a step- daughter. Mr.Edwardscontinuedmaking


movies through the 1990s, twice basedonscriptswritteninconjuc- tion with his therapist. None cap- tured the abandon and wit of his best work, and they seemed steeped in his own troubled rela- tionshipwithHollywood. He seemed to acknowledge as


muchwhenhe receivedhishonor- aryOscarandsaluted“friendsand foesalike. ... I couldn’thavedone it without the foes.” bernsteina@washpost.com


6


READMOREONLINEFor amore complete version ofBlake


Edwards’s obituary, visit washingtonpost.com/obituaries.


KLMNO OBITUARIES


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