So, farewell then, at 91. Ernest Borgnine made more films than most people, and nearly all of them were creaking turkeys. But he himself was memorable from the first time one saw him. He could act but wasn't a great actor. What he had was star quality, something wholly indefinable (although film stars tend to have big heads and big faces, good for closeups). In his case it seemed to be centred on that ambiguous gap-toothed grin, which could range from menace to soppy good nature. He played villains more often than not but his most-admired performance (not really by me) was of the lovelorn butcher in 'Marty'.
Borgnine's workaholic ethic may be the reason why he chose so many doomed disaster movies and crime B features instead of waiting snootily for a decent script to come along. He continued to work until very recently, latterly complaining that work was hard to get because everyone thought he was dead.
What showbiz people call a trooper. I'll miss him, although not those crappy disaster movies.
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