My relationship to Heston wasn’t personal in the usual sense of the word. And it wasn’t based on the classic performances which made him famous in his prime.
My relationship to Heston was based strictly on the experience from a seat in a corner of a movie theater, decades ago.
These were Heston’s late-era leading man roles. The hammy ones. The ones that stick in your memory, especially if you first witnessed them as a kid, humbled before that giant silver screen and the legends performing on it.
Nobody wore a turtleneck better than Chuck Heston.
Or a loincloth, for that matter.
Nobody swooped into the open cockpit of a 747 like Chuck Heston.
Nobody fought a planet full of simians better.
Nobody survived an earthquake in LA with more class – in Sensurround, even.
Nobody was a better last man on Earth.
With the death of Charlton Heston goes a tiny piece of my childhood.
And what kind of loss could be more personal than that?