He was a Golden Boy when Golden Boys were out of style. Leading men in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s were supposed to look like Dustin Hoffman or Al Pacino or even the handsome but offbeat Jack Nicholson.
But Ryan O’Neal, who died late last week at age 82, was about as Golden Boy-looking as it gets. Plus, he had a kind of goofy charm, as if he knew he was a lightweight, too, but if it didn’t bother you, it wouldn’t bother him. There was something self-deprecating about him, evident from the first-time co-star Ali McGraw, as a rough-edged ‘Cliffie, called him “preppie” in the monster 1970 hit, “Love Story.”
That, of course, was the on-screen O’Neal. Off-screen, he was apparently a beach-boy disaster, way too much into drugs and alcohol and hitting people (including his own kids).
Still, he had a helluva early ‘70s, bringing a bumbling, almost self-deprecating magnetism to leading-man roles opposite McGraw, Barbra Streisand (a bespectacled nerd in “What’s Up Doc?”) and his own daughter, Tatum (an inept con-man paired with a smart-mouthed nine-year-old orphan in “Paper Moon.”)
Interestingly, it was she who won an Oscar for the movie, becoming the youngest performer so far to ever to win in the supporting category. But her father had at least been nominated, for “Love Story” which was his feature film breakthrough after 519 episodes playing Rodney Harrington in the ‘60s nighttime soap, “Peyton Place,” which made him a household name (it did the same for Mia Farrow).
When his nomination was announced, the New York Times sneered, “You would think that this kid would at least come with the right Ivy League credentials. You would be mistaken. Furthermore, not only isn’t he from the East, he isn’t even a kid. Ryan O’Neal has been married twice, has three children and will soon be 30 years old. And he has a prison record.”
O’Neal’s reply? “I made sure I looked right. You know, the right scarf, the right sweater.”
There might have been a bit of sour grapes in the Times’ comment. “Love Story” made money so fast, it quickly joined “Gone With the Wind” and “The Sound of Music” at the top of the box-office champs list.
And O’Neal wasn’t doing so badly himself. By the mid ‘70s, he was the number-two box-office star in the world, below Clint Eastwood and above Burt Reynolds. Yes, the times they were a’changin’.
The biggest change for O’Neal was when Stanley Kubrick cast him in the title role in his period epic, “Barry Lyndon.” The part was as an ambitious 19th-century Irish scoundrel who manipulates his way up the era’s complicated social ladder.
Kubrick’s first choice was that other early-‘70s anomaly: Robert Redford, who was not only one of the most Golden Boys in the history of movies, but had the acting chops to back up his looks. However, Redford was otherwise engaged (“The Great Gatsby”).
O’Neal was both astounded and flattered. When a journalist asked him if he considered this, “The most serious film you’ve ever made,” the actor replied, “Probably that I’ll ever make.”
The film was a flop, but the sort of flop that has since achieved a kind of revered cult status. It was, after all, a Kubrick movie.
O’Neal wasn’t so lucky. He became better known for his fraught private life (especially his long relationship with Farrah Fawcett) than any acting he did. “Your feelings (about him) are mixed,” Kubrick once said. “But he has charm and courage, and it is impossible not to like him, despite his vanity, his insensitivity and his weaknesses.”
The director was talking about Barry Lyndon, but he could just as well have been talking about Ryan O’Neal.
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