Henry Bumstead, legendary art director, dies at 91. Films include To Kill A Mockingbird and The Sting
A priest was brought to mind the other day, one who, that fateful week that Death scored that double whammy, Lady Di and Mother Theresa, made it a point not to mention either in his sermon. At the coffee hour after the service, he suffered a terrible tongue-lashing for his failure to concede to popular culture. The next time a figure of note died, he wisely built his entire spiel around it.
I knew when I took on this assignment for Suite 101 that one of my job duties, as chronicler of a bygone era, would be to play the part of that enlightened priest (and indeed I have; see my piece on the late Maureen Stapleton.)
And yet I question the number of avid movie lovers who would had me defrocked had I failed to administer last rites to Henry Bumstead, the legendary art director who passed away this week at the age of 91. We know actors, directors, writers, even the odd producer - but those great "below the line" talents (the official industry term for those in lower profile occupations) are almost anonymous to us.
It's extremely unjust, because these blue-collar heroes have a sizeable stake in a film's look, themes, story and subtext.
The proof is Bumstead. What would 1962's To Kill A Mockingbird have been without the benefit of his talents, without his quiet Southern streets, his roomy porches, his gothic courtroom? A talky family drama with a political conscience. What would The Sting, that new age classic film, have been without him? Those Depression era streets, that carousel in the house of ill repute, those unforgettable Saturday Evening Post graphics? Without Bumstead, this 1973 multi-Oscar winner is a good twist in search of a movie.
The Sting is, in my opinion, Bumstead's masterwork, and that's saying something in career that spanned an incredible 70 years! (In fact, it's continuing beyond the grave; he has 2 more films coming out before Christmas)
So the next time you're scanning your local newspaper's entertainment section, and your eyes catch that two-line obit for some just deceased cinematographer or costume designer or art director, don't play "bad priest." Read it, remember the films, and lament their passing as you would those of industry giants.
