Kevin McCarthy's many obits called him a character actor, perhaps because some writers and critics felt a desperate need to categorize him. If McCarthy indeed was a character actor, he was an unusual one, because everybody knew his name. That was mainly because of a movie he did long ago, a 1956 film called Invasion of the Body Snatchers, in which he played the lead — a doctor who discovers that our bodies are being cloned and then destroyed by aliens while we sleep. Invasion of the Body Snatchers is one of the great '50s sci-fi films, an intelligent movie made for adults, and it gave us the wonderful expression "pod people" ... but it's got an awful title that suggests an el-cheapo, run-of-the-mill monster movie. For a while, even McCarthy resented the fact that much of his fame came from this film. As the years passed, though, McCarthy found himself well-remembered and even beloved for it, and that kind of thing will tend to change one's mind.

McCarthy's story starts with a disaster. He was one of four children born to Roy and Martha McCarthy. Roy was the scion of a wealthy Irish Catholic family in Minnesota. Martha was the daughter of Harold and Augusta Preston of Washington state. Harold was an Episcopalian; Augusta was Jewish. Harold was rich, too, mainly because of his thriving law practice. Roy and Martha met and fell in love and got married in Seattle, and that's where their four children were born. Toward the end of World War I, Roy and Martha decided to relocate from Seattle to Minneapolis. Roy's family had money and connections, and there was a future there.

Except there wasn't.

Roy and Martha caught the Spanish flu aboard the train to Minnesota and, quickly, died. Theirs were two of as many as 675,000 American deaths in the pandemic. Their four orphaned children, none of them older than six, wound up with one of Roy's brothers and his wife in Minneapolis. Kevin's older sister, Mary, was the great American author and early modern feminist who wrote The Group, The Company She Keeps, and other important works. She would write that her uncle and aunt were physically and emotionally abusive to the four McCarthys. Not soon enough to suit Mary, Martha's parents agreed to take the kids. Mary wrote that, after the siblings' return to Seattle, things were much better.

Kevin was sent away to a Jesuit high school in Wisconsin and then, still in the sway of the Jesuits, to Georgetown University. That was back when Kevin still thought he might want to become a diplomat. He changed his mind and, restless, transferred to the University of Minnesota. That's where he found himself. McCarthy auditioned for a part in a student production of Henry IV, Part I. During World War II he was a sergeant in the Army and performed on stage in the propaganda drama Winged Victory. He did the film version, too. It was his first movie.

McCarthy's big break came when he played Biff in the film they made from Death of a Salesman in 1951. He'd been in the 1948 tryouts in Connecticut, while Arthur Miller was still writing and tweaking it, and he was a member of the original London cast. McCarthy was handsome, talented and, apparently, tireless. He worked steadily and wound up with more than 200 film and TV credits. One of them was for a memorable 1960 episode of the original Twilight Zone, "Long Live Walter Jameson," about a man who'd remained alive and ageless for more than 2000 years. In lesser hands, the episode would have been stupid fluff; in McCarthy's it became, well, immortal.

Kevin McCarthy worked until he died. His last appearance is in a 2010 short, Drawback, in which he plays a doctor. Again. I'll bet we love him in it.

Born with the Defect, Eternity Tours and R H Draney, alike as three peas in a pod, hereby snatch a whopping two points for age and 1 for the trio. Total: 3.

— Brad

I'm not sure what it means that James Bacon was in all five Planet of the Apes movies. I suspect liquor was involved.

Liquor lubricated the Golden Age of Hollywood, and Jim Bacon knew it. He partied non-stop with the Hollywood stars for whom one name suffices. Sinatra. Gleason. Liz. Lana. This is a world that no longer exists, one in which a celebrity could put faith in a gossip columnist. Someone you could invite to your parties. Someone you wanted to come to your parties. Someone you could (ahem) trust with the news, sometimes good, more often horrible.

Your daughter stabs your boyfriend? Call Jim Bacon. Your husband dies in a plane crash? Jim Bacon breaks the news. You going to Vietnam to perform for the troops? Bring Bacon for laughs! You want to cover up a rape by a major singing star? Jim Bacon is the man for the job. He carried their water, he carried their coats, he carried their secrets. Not exactly to the grave, but to the correct news outlet. Mind you, all the juicy stories are in his autobiography (referred to as "official") so God knows if he really had an affair with Marilyn, or if he spent the wee hours with Sinatra, or if he knew all the mobsters, or John Wayne told him first that he had cancer, or that he was the one who convinced Eddie to take the dough and leave her to Burton.

Whatever. Sounds like he had a blast. And he fucked Marilyn.

Stop the presses! Moldy Oldies brings home the Bacon. (Who could resist?) Bacon was 96, so Moldy (one name will suffice) gets two for the hit and five for the solo. Cheers.

— Amelia

Grace Bradley was an actor who had appeared in several movies with Hollywood stars such as Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, W.C. Fields and Richard Arlen. However, her greatest performance was in 1937, when she was introduced to an aging silent-screen has-been named William Boyd. She was 23 and he was 42. She seduced him. Led him astray. That's the only explanation. Otherwise Hoppy would have never kissed a dumb old girl.

Anyway, she was good for William Boyd. His movie career once again took off and, at the same time, Grace Bradley Boyd started a new career marketing (among other things) lunch boxes, toy six-shooters, black cowboy hats, plastic spurs that could actually make your sister's neck bleed, and saggy Hopalong Cassidy underpants that made your six-year-old butt itch. I know, because at one time I owned some of those items. I was so crazy about Hopalong Cassidy that at one time I had the hat, the gun, the chaps and vest, the Topper rocking horse, Hoppy lunch boxes, a Hoppy toy chest, a Hopalong Cassidy plastic figure with Topper and ... and ... well, fifteen years after William Boyd died, when I was thirty-eight, I named my youngest son Cassidy.

Grace Bradley Boyd was 97 when she sold her last lunch box and rode off into the Forest Lawn Mausoleum with the love of her life, Hopalong Cassidy. And while I wished her no ill will, I have to admit I was a little tired of carrying her water for five freakin' years. Still, it was thoughtful of Mrs. Hoppy to head on out to the last roundup on her birthday. I get 2 points for the hit, five for the solo, and another fifteen points for the birthday bonus. Total: 22.

— Bill Schenley

What was wrong with Debbie Reynolds? They were the perfect couple. She was cute, adorable, and wonderful. And he was a nice Jewish boy. All the nice Jewish boys were marrying shiksas. They got terrific publicity. She played Tammy in the movies. She recorded the song "Tammy." Then she had the number-one record. He didn't like that.

Whatever happened to Eddie Fisher? I mean, besides dying at 82 last week? Yeah, I know his music died out and he was never able to make a real, sustained comeback. But was it Eddie-Dumps-Debbie-for-Liz, NBC canceling The Eddie Fisher Show, Liz and Dick, Elvis, or The Beatles? Or was it just the Eddie's-an-Asshole thing that sent his career careening out of sight? His daughter, Carrie, who was routed through Debbie Reynolds, once thanked that man-eater Elizabeth Taylor for getting Fisher out of their house. Years later she added, "I'm having my DNA fumigated."

After Eddie dumped Debbie for Liz, Liz dumped Eddie for Dick. Eddie then ran off with Connie Stevens, who would also dump Eddie ... but not for dick ... So, at age 47, he woos a 21-year-old beauty queen, Terry Richard, who also dumped Eddie, not for Dick, but for lack of dick. Finally, he marries Betty Lin, a Chinese business woman, who dumped Eddie Fisher at Betty Ford's front door. Alas, Eddie dumped Betty ... in a coffin. Eddie should have spent less time banging meth and/or cocaine and spent more time on his shoddy relationship skills.

All those great songs: "Oh My Papa," "Count Your Blessings," "Turn Back the Hands of Time," "Unless," "I Remember When," "Tell Me Why," "Bring Back the Thrill," "Forgive Me," "Maybe," "Thinking of You," "Sunrise, Sunset," "Trust in Me," "Anytime," "Hand of Fate," "Dungaree Doll," "Never Before," "I Wanna Go Where You Go," "Heart," "Some Day Soon," "Tonight," "Young and Foolish," "Now I Know" and so many others, and what is he remembered for? Being an asshole. Still, he bebopped Liz and Debbie, Connie Stevens, Kim Novak, Angie Dickinson and Marlene Dietrich, who was 27 years older than Eddie.

I never bebopped Debbie or Connie or Angie or Kim or Marlene, but I still get five points for the hit and another five for the solo ... and, following the death of Grace Bradley Boyd, I missed the Daily Double bonus by just a few hours. Total: 10.

— Bill Schenley

A fabulous update by Ed Varner:

* * *

With this year's deaths of Meinhardt Raabe, Zelda Rubinstein and Gary Coleman, the average height of a deadpool hit seemed destined to sink to an all-time low. Up steps Jorge González, a giant of a man at 7 feet 7 inches tall, to bring the water level of the pool closer to the standard.

A century ago, if you were 7-1/2 feet tall and wanted to capitalize on your size, you joined a circus and became a sideshow attraction. In modern times, you learn to play basketball. At age 16, González began his career in basketball in his native Argentina. The tallest player in the history of his country, he was mostly relegated to second division teams before winning a spot on the Argentine national team. In 1988, the Atlanta Hawks selected him in the 3rd round of the NBA draft. González' pro career never started, as he proved to be too slow for the rigors of the NBA.

Hawks owner Ted Turner wasn't willing to completely give up on his investment, so he asked the people running his World Championship Wrestling organization to turn González into a pro wrestler. After a year of training, González debuted for WCW as "El Gigante." Billed at "near eight feet tall," El Gigante was quickly inserted into main events as a fan favorite, but his run at the top was short due to his lack of ring mobility and technical wrestling skills. Despite his diminished wrestling ability, González was lured away by the competing WWF and its owner Vince McMahon, who was always looking for the next Andre the Giant. Though tall, González did not have the physique that the WWF envisioned, so they repackaged him in a body suit complete with airbrushed muscles and fur. Now billed as "eight feet tall" and renamed Giant Gonzalez, he was paired with Harvey Wippleman, the smallest, scrawniest manager on their roster. González was given main event status and became a top heel (bad guy), wrestling the Undertaker at Wrestlemania IX, a match that was widely panned and which topped several "worst match of the year" lists. González lasted less than a year in the WWF. Then he wrestled in Japan for two years before retiring due to health reasons.

In his final years, he was plagued by health problems and confined to a wheelchair and dialysis machine. Jorge González died at his ranch in El Colorado, Argentina on September 22, 2010 at the age of 44 due to complications of diabetes.

— Ed Varner

Allen Kirshner, EdV and Johnnyb all get 18 very large points for this very large and forgettable one-time professional wrestler, and one extra point for the trio. Total: 19.

Talk about your second act. Well, actually, there wasn't much of a first act. Gloria Stuart was one of hundreds of pretty girls who populated the Hollywood studios in the '30s and '40s. They starred in films for the most part forgotten and forgettable. You needed a certain amount of luck in that situation. You needed to be cast in something other than the "girl" roles. Girl Detective, Girl Reporter, Girl Singer. She even made a couple of minor John Ford films. Really minor. Also you needed to co-star with the likes of Gary Cooper, not Shirley Temple. So her second act might have been the role she played in My Favorite Year, with Peter O'Toole. But, twenty years later, she'd still be a camp memory and none of you would have had her in the pool. (Well, maybe Jim would, but he's not playing anymore.)

Then came Titanic. The oldest person to be nominated for an Oscar (and for that reason, I suspect), she nevertheless played her role perfectly. Because she knew what it meant and what it felt like to be a survivor. She had been doing just that in the motion picture business for more decades than anyone else.

Gloria Stuart's heart would not go on forever. But she did live to see 100. Gloria Stuart was instrumental in forming the union for actors, but Dead People Server, Eternity Tours, Moldy Oldies, Roxanne Wiggs and Tim J have all earned the AO Deadpool minimum. One stinkin' point.

— Amelia

In 1970, when I was a junior in high school, or maybe a senior, one day the Walter Reade theaters, in honor of the birthday of Walter Reade, or maybe it was the birthday of the Walter Reade theaters, were free. All day. So I cut school (I can finally admit this) and my friends and I ran from theater to theater to see some of the worst movies ever made. Because this was 1970, and some of the worst movies ever made were being made in the late '60s in America, and of course when we talk about the '60s we're including 1970 and 1971. Maybe it was 1971, because one of the films was Little Murders, which was ok, but really silly, and that's what I remember the most about this period of filmmaking. There was all kinds of silliness, and in my opinion film culture wasn't enhanced by counter-culture. I can barely remember the names of the other films — I think I saw four — but the other one I remember was Little Big Man, which I remember disliking immensely. I wish I could remember more about the day other than a vague memory of thinking I should have gone to school.

I have, of course, seen many Arthur Penn films, and all the ones that people think are masterpieces, I think are ordinary. (To be fair, I didn't like his brother's photos, either.) I disliked Bonnie and Clyde with its New Wave pretensions. I thought Alice's Restaurant was moronic, The Missouri Breaks a mess. I think he was astonishingly overrated as a film director. (His theater and TV work I can't comment on, and I suspect it is very good.) But I was blown away by Night Moves, and I still don't understand how someone could make a movie this good after making so many bad ones. I liked Four Friends, too, and I wonder whether his smaller films were more to my taste than the big studio films.

Your opinions may vary, and I welcome any challenges.

One thing is certain. Mark got a solo. Mark of Maine. Mark of Moxie fame. (I had Arthur Penn in 2007 and 2008, but I guess I figured he'd found the fountain of youth, and I took him off.)

So Mark gets 5 points for the hit and 5 for the solo and no points for the birthday bonus, because a day is a day. Total: 10.

— Amelia

Tony Curtis was born Bernard Schwartz in the Bronx 85 years ago to impoverished parents. He wanted to be an actor, just like his idol, Cary Grant. When Bernie got out of the Navy after World War II, he discovered that the G.I. Bill would pay his way through acting school. Holy shit, said Bernie, I'm outta heah.

Hollywood signed Bernie to a contract because he looked great. Maybe they thought they could fix his accent, but Bernie wouldn't go there. The accent didn't really work in the Ali Baba movies he did early in his career, but the movies were so stupid that his accent actually does make them more fun. In some sort of happy cosmic accident, Tony Curtis became known as the guy with the bad accent, but it didn't get in his way, and it made him special: Nobody else sounded like Tony Curtis. Bernie's instincts were good.

Tony Curtis is sometimes dismissed as a movie star, that he wasn't really an actor. Bullshit. He did do movie-star roles, and he did them well, but he also did top-flight work in films such as the Ira Hayes biopic The Outsider, which is astonishingly good and, unfairly, has become largely forgotten. He also did The Sweet Smell of Success with Burt Lancaster. That film was bitterly critical of the still-powerful newspaper columnist Walter Winchell, a risky proposition in 1957. Tony did the film anyway, and he's brilliant in it as an unscrupulous publicity agent. There's also The Defiant Ones (for which he got his only Oscar nomination), The Boston Strangler, and Lepke.

There were also Some Like It Hot and The Great Race, crowd pleasers that showed Tony's gift for light comedy and, in the case of the latter, self-parody. He did TV, too — everything from a series called The Persuaders to an episode of The Flintstones in which he played Stony Curtis. You gotta have a sense of humor to be able to play yourself as a cartoon. He also had the distinction of hosting the documentary series Hollywood Babylon, perhaps the tackiest television show ever made.

Tony's private life was a mess. He was married six times. His first wife was Psycho actress Janet Leigh who, he said, he married for the sake of publicity and who, he said, was kind of a psycho herself. While Tony was married to Janet, he enhanced his already considerable reputation for porking everybody and everything he could. At one time he said he'd always been open about his sexual preferences; later, he backtracked to say his partners had always been women. Occasionally Tony would say he'd carried on like he had because he was really lonely.

Tony hadn't been doing much in recent years except paint, a one-time hobby that had become a passion. The last thing I saw Tony Curtis in was a 2009 commercial for false teeth. He was old and bald and swollen and looked like a potato, but I doubt he cared. Tony was sitting by the side of his pool at his nice home in Nevada with his sixth wife Jill, and he was painting. A good final reel.

Tony's most recent film was in 2008, an Israeli movie called David & Fatima, a love story about a Jewish boy and a Palestinian girl in Jerusalem. In his final role, Tony does what he knows best and plays Mr. Schwartz, a very old Jewish man. (Some of the publicity materials for the film mistakenly billed him as Academy Award Winner Tony Curtis. Well, fine. It shoulda been dat way anyways.)

And yondah lie the five pernts oined by Brigid, JTH, King Daevid (getting his first hit of the year!, notes Amelia) and R H Draney for this hit from Old Hollywood.

— Brad