Richard Corliss
July 10, 2000 12:00 AM EDT
WALTER MATTHAU, who died of a heart attack last week at 79, made moviegoers laugh at their own venality–make that humanity. A deft character actor with star quality, he was the ideal mouthpiece for the wisecracks of Neil Simon (The Odd Couple, The Sunshine Boys) and Billy Wilder (The Fortune Cookie). But he didn’t need good writing to be funny. Born Walter Matuchanskayasky, he had a posture designed by Rube Goldberg and a lovely snarl of a voice that cut like a foreclosure notice. That got him small, dark roles (he beat up Elvis Presley in King Creole, took a shot at Audrey Hepburn in Charade) until Wilder and Simon put him above the title. Then he suavely juggled two genres: romantic comedy (A New Leaf, House Calls) and 32 years of grumpy-buddy movies with Jack Lemmon. He had a few weaknesses, but optimism wasn’t one of them. “I’m a degenerate gambler,” he said in 1994. “If I get lucky, I’ll die before I go broke.” He went out (as a dying meanie in Hanging Up) the way he came in: like the sour sage who believes nothing he hears–or says. If Walter Matthau were to be told that Walter Matthau had died, he’d ask for a second opinion.
–By Richard Corliss
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