A few months ago we looked at one of the greatest figures in the history of cinema, and today we’re going to take a look at possibly one of the lamest. He’s Roy Scheider, the badass, tough guy action hero who never was. It’s not that he never received a big break; it’s just that he managed to severely screw up every one he got. Somewhere along the line this lanky, awkward guy with his goofy name decided that people would accept him as a gritty leading man, but by the time things were all said and done it was difficult to take him seriously as any sort of character.
One of Roy’s first chances to establish himself as an effective protagonist came in The French Connection, where he unfortunately found the cards stacked against him from the beginning. Whereas a man of his demeanor would have done best being coddled into the role, he was instead cast second fiddle to an angry Gene Hackman, who was equipped with his own nonsensical catchphrases. Also, Roy’s badass cop nickname in the film was “Cloudy,” one that didn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of criminals anywhere. It turned out to be a moot point, anyway, as he spent most of the time in the background while Hackman wore a funny hat and asked perps if they’d been picking their feet. It seemed that the writers had all but forgotten “Cloudy” was even part of the script by the time of the final scene.
It appeared to be over for Roy as quickly as it had begun, but he somehow managed to find himself cast in a similar role once more, this time as the lead in 1973′s The Seven-Ups. He must have jumped at the opportunity, but, in retrospect, it may not have been the wisest decision to rush to find one’s self associated with a beverage not far removed from carbonated water. He could’ve at least lobbied to have the title changed to pertain to a slightly more potent soft drink, such as Moxie or Royal Crown, but instead his timidity turned the situation against him. Later, driving a magic car that transformed from a Ventura into a GTO and back again during the film’s climactic chase scene, Roy managed to foul things up further, ramming the enchanted automobile into a semi and allowing the villain to make an easy escape. Would Eastwood have wrecked a magic car? Would McQueen or Bronson have wrecked a magic car? Hell, even Jimmy Stewart probably wouldn’t have wrecked a magic car, and, if he did, he’d most likely get out and continue the chase on foot. What did Roy do? He threw a fit and gave up, causing the otherwise exciting sequence to fizzle at a greater rate than the beverage the film was named after.
Moviemakers were unquestionably reluctant to try to make Roy seem imposing from that point on, as his next role came as the apprehensive Chief Brody in Jaws, one that ironically fit him like a glove. Finally he was able to showcase his talents of bellyaching, seasickness, and general inaptitude. This also meant, however, that Roy’s chances for making Brody into a badass cop were even slimmer than usual, as throughout the course of the plot he winds up being berated and pushed around by mourning housewives, kids with cardboard fins tied to their backs, and a guy in a powder blue ‘anchor-print’ business suit. Getting out on a boat with a gargantuan, man-eating shark lurking around would have to be infinitely preferable to being made a mockery of by obnoxious townspeople. Sadly, Roy neglects to take into account how he’s going to look when compared with his company, and when Richard Dreyfuss has more scars to show off at the dinner table than you do, you know you’re in trouble.
Roy got one last chance to look tough playing super spy “Doc” Levy in 1976′s Marathon Man, and was actually doing a decent job of it for the time he lasted. Sadly, “Doc” is killed by a geriatric Nazi dentist before the film is even halfway over, a somber but somehow appropriate end to Roy’s career as an action hero. There were glimpses of Roy’s broken aspirations in a few of his later productions, but he was mostly relegated to roles more his speed, such as the Captain on an underwater rip-off of Star Trek or a guy named “Fred.” Which, of course, is what he should have been aiming for all along.
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I had no idea who that was until you mentioned jaws ((smile))
A true badass wouldn’t have let Richard Lynch get away in a Delta 88, especially when he had a magic car at his disposal.
You really had me laughing. Thank you.
I loved this piece, Number Six.
Number Six,
Once again you have managed to capture in a way no one else could the sad and tragic life of Roy’s career as an action hero. If they don’t make an E! True Holliwood Story about this then I want a formal inquiry.
I’m very happy to hear that you enjoyed it, Heather.
You’re right, the fact that he was going up against Richard Lynch in a Delta 88 makes it even worse. The only thing that could’ve been more pathetic than that would be losing to Donald Sutherland in a Pinto.
Martie, I think that’s pretty much allegorical for the scope of Roy’s success.
I agree about the potential for an E! True Hollywood Story, Bill. There could be interviews with guys like Gene Hackman, and they, when asked what it was like to work with Roy Scheider, would reply “Who?”
Well, in his favor he was in All That Jazz and Naked Lunch, and was a serious (if exceedingly strange) bad ass in the latter. Although now that I think of it, is it a coincidence that neither of those films are available on DVD?
Not to disparage All That Jazz or Roy’s performance contained within, but I think this pretty much sums up how much of an action hero he played in it.
What, you don’t buy the idea of an action hero who spends most of the film coughing up a lung or hooked to an IV? Although he *did* get plenty of action… [rimshot]
The sad irony of it being that those traits made him far grittier a character than any “legitimate” action hero Roy ever played. Even with the sparkly shirt.