Anthony Van Dyck was born in Antwerp, Belgium 412 years ago. He was the leading English court portraitist during the first half of the 17th century. Above, one of his many self-portraits he created, this one in 1633. They named a beard after him, too.
Chico Marx would be 124. He was the piano-playing, vaguely Italian-dialected Marx brother. He was the first brother born and the first to check out. Did you know his name is properly pronounced "CHICK-oh," rather than "CHEEK-oh"?
He very nearly made it to his 100th birthday, having passed away in 2009. Karl Malden was born 99 years ago today. He was a truly great actor, if only based on his performances in two films alone: A Streetcar Named Desire and On the Waterfront. But the fact is, he was great in every film he appeared in. He got the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in Streetcar in 1951 and in 2003, got the Lifetime Achievement Oscar for his entire body of work. Well-deserved, indeed.
Virginia Grey would be 94. Chances are you've never heard of Virginia Grey. She never rose to top-tier Hollywood stardom, but was a reliable and always lovely actress of the 1930's and 40's, mostly at MGM. Perhaps her most memorable role was as the mouthy shopgirl who pestered "Crystal" (Joan Crawford) in the 1939 classic, The Women, while she was trying to talk on the telephone with her married lover. In real life, Grey was Clark Gable's "go-to" girl whenever he was in between marriages. The tabloids often talked of the two of them marrying, though they never did.
Marcel Marceau would have silently turned 87. Though some say the only good mime is a dead mime...oh my...now that's not very nice. And yet....well, he was a good mime.
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And a very happy 81st birthday to Stephen Sondheim, the greatest living composer (in my humble opinion). His vast and profound body of work encompasses many genres and styles, from West Side Story and Gypsy (lyrics) to Sweeney Todd and A Little Night Music (words and music) and many other shows which were instant classics--though some were misunderstood in their early incarnations, largely owing to Sondheim's iconoclastic and singular style and sophistication. He's definitely getting his due now, in his eighth decade, as his shows are staples of repertory and opera companies around the world. I worked with him (at a distance) at New York City Opera several years ago, and upon meeting him, was completely tongue-tied, so impressed was I. But he couldn't have been more pleasant. The man's a genius, plain and simple, and I only hope he knows how appreciated he is. Here he is, at his very best, with the finale of the brilliant Sunday in the Park With George. This one gets me every time....
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