Burt Reynolds wasn't bad, in fact he was quite good

Burt Reynolds

Burt Reynolds name is normally met with snickering among film snobs who largely view him as a dated relic of 1970s.

While he has made his fair share of mediocre movies over the several decades he's been in the business, he's also starred in a handful of excellent ones, before he got lazy and started resting on his laurels.

Although his reputation hasn't held up the way say Robert Redford or Warren Beatty's has, he was just as much an icon of cool in my favorite era of movie history.

In fact, for several years -- he was the bigger star.

For an unprecedented five years, from 1978 to 1982, he was ranked as the biggest box office draw in Hollywood and yet now he remains largely unappreciated, the victim of bad plastic surgery and far too many forgettable direct-to-DVD movies.

Still, I've recently been reveling in Reynolds' early '70s heyday. He was a winning combination of the likes of Steve McQueen (he did his own stunts, too) and Cary Grant (he had crackerjack comic timing). In later years he was upstaged by his iconic mustache, but for me, I prefer the earlier, clean shaven Reynolds who was just on the cusp of superstardom.

He made his first and best impression in the blockbuster 1972 film Deliverance. This powerful meditation on manhood and violence is too often remembered for its infamous "squeal like a pig" scene, but it's also a terrific character piece. And in an ensemble that features harrowing work from Jon Voight and Ned Beatty, it's Reynolds who gives the standout performance as the alpha male who's pride and aggression cost him dearly.

He followed that film up with the best of his many good 'ole boy car chase pictures, the ridiculously entertaining 1973 exploitation picture, White Lightning. This movie, which is a favorite of Quentin Tarantino's, features Reynolds as the perfectly named Gator McKlusky -- an outlaw sprung from prison so he can help bring down the corrupt sheriff who brutally murdered his peace activist brother.

Reynolds is all sinewy sex appeal as the taciturn McKlusky -- for those who roll their eyes at his legendary Cosmopolitan centerfold and his later piss-poor toupees this movie is a wake-up call. He's the kind of character who can shamelessly sleep with his sidekick's wife and make no apologies for it.

In my opinion, the end of Reynolds' golden age came with his blockbuster sports film The Longest Yard, which is still a prototypical "guy's movie." Forget the Adam Sandler remake, I never saw it. There's no way it could have the grit and mayhem of director Robert Aldrich's football film. The movie has an irresistible premise: washed up NFL star winds up behind bars and is tasked with spearheading a game between guards and inmates.

To say this movie is politically incorrect would be a vast understatement, but like Reynolds it has a sort of meat and potatoes charm. It's not sophisticated, it's just a fast and furious romp. Unfortunately, the majority of the rest of this giggling star's oeuvre has been fluff. Smokey and the Bandit is amusing but most of his late car chase pictures are not.

It look several years and a number of flops before the big guy redeemed himself with a phenomenal performance in Boogie Nights as an adult film director who really takes his craft seriously. Reynolds was heavily favored to win the Oscar that year, and in my opinion should have, but he was upset by sentimental favorite Robin Williams for Good Will Hunting.

That performance, in a dark and complex film from a truly original filmmaker, should have been a sign of a late career renaissance for Reynolds but instead he lapsed back into paycheck roles, including the aforementioned Longest Yard remake.

Reynolds is now pushing 80, and I only see him popping up on the occasional DVD special feature. But I will always maintain that he once was and could have continued to be a great actor, if only that pesky mustache hadn't gotten in the way.