Paul Newman’s death inspired me to head to my Netflix queue to line up several films I had never seen. While I didn’t need to catch up with The Towering Inferno, I did need to see, among other things, The Sting and The Hustler. Still to come: Hud. Gotta say I really enjoyed The Sting, and I can’t imagine why I didn’t get to it sooner. And I loved The Hustler for its smoky atmosphere of long-gone bus stations and pool halls. But in both cases, I have to say I thought Newman was good but not great. I think his long history of jovial self-deprecation and humble dismissal of his talent and his movies may have rubbed off on me. If he didn’t take himself seriously, why should I?

Paul Newman lost his battle with cancer at the age of 83. We lost a legend. Rest in peace, sir.

Not to turn this blog into celebrity deathwatch, but Paul Newman is reportedly on his death bed and in the process of giving away his possessions to friends. Newman has been one of the classiest acts in Hollywood for 50-plus years, and frankly the man hasn’t truly been honored enough by the industry. Sad times.