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Alan Arkin, Oscar-Winning ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ Actor, Dies at 89

Actor Alan Arkin poses during the CinemaCon Big Screen Achievement Awards at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada April 23, 2015. (Reuters)
Actor Alan Arkin poses during the CinemaCon Big Screen Achievement Awards at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada April 23, 2015. (Reuters)
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Alan Arkin, Oscar-Winning ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ Actor, Dies at 89

Actor Alan Arkin poses during the CinemaCon Big Screen Achievement Awards at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada April 23, 2015. (Reuters)
Actor Alan Arkin poses during the CinemaCon Big Screen Achievement Awards at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada April 23, 2015. (Reuters)

Alan Arkin, the wry character actor who demonstrated his versatility in everything from farcical comedy to chilling drama as he received four Academy Award nominations and won an Oscar in 2007 for "Little Miss Sunshine," has died. He was 89.

His sons Adam, Matthew and Anthony confirmed their father's death through the actor's publicist on Friday. "Our father was a uniquely talented force of nature, both as an artist and a man," they said in a statement.

A member of Chicago's famed Second City comedy troupe, Arkin was an immediate success in movies with the Cold War spoof "The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming" and peaked late in life with his win as best supporting actor for the surprise 2006 hit "Little Miss Sunshine." More than 40 years separated his first Oscar nomination, for "The Russians are Coming," from his nomination for playing a conniving Hollywood producer in the Oscar-winning "Argo."

In recent years he starred opposite Michael Douglas in the Netflix comedy series "The Kominsky Method," a role that earned him two Emmy nominations.

"When I was a young actor people wanted to know if I wanted to be a serious actor or a funny one," Michael McKean tweeted Friday. ‘I’d answer 'Which kind is Alan Arkin?’ and that shut them up."

Arkin once joked to The Associated Press that the beauty of being a character actor was not having to take his clothes off for a role. He wasn't a sex symbol or superstar, but was rarely out of work, appearing in more than 100 TV and feature films. His trademarks were likability, relatability and complete immersion in his roles, no matter how unusual, whether playing a Russian submarine officer in "The Russians are Coming" who struggles to communicate with the equally jittery Americans, or standing out as the foul-mouthed, drug-addicted grandfather in "Little Miss Sunshine."

"Alan's never had an identifiable screen personality because he just disappears into his characters," director Norman Jewison of "The Russians are Coming" once observed. "His accents are impeccable, and he's even able to change his looks. ... He's always been underestimated, partly because he's never been in service of his own success."

While still with Second City, Arkin was chosen by Carl Reiner to play the young protagonist in the 1963 Broadway play "Enter Laughing," based on Reiner's semi-autobiographical novel.

He attracted strong reviews and the notice of Jewison, who was preparing to direct a 1966 comedy about a Russian sub that creates a panic when it ventures too close to a small New England town. In Arkin's next major film, he proved he could also play a villain, however reluctantly. Arkin starred in "Wait Until Dark" as a vicious drug dealer who holds a blind woman (Audrey Hepburn) captive in her own apartment, believing a drug shipment is hidden there.

He recalled in a 1998 interview how difficult it was to terrorize Hepburn's character.

"Just awful," he said. "She was an exquisite lady, so being mean to her was hard."

Arkin's rise continued in 1968 with "The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter," in which he played a sensitive man who could not hear or speak. He starred as the bumbling French detective in "Inspector Clouseau" that same year, but the film would become overlooked in favor of Peter Sellers' Clouseau in the "Pink Panther" movies.

Arkin's career as a character actor continued to blossom when Mike Nichols, a fellow Second City alumnus, cast him in the starring role as Yossarian, the victim of wartime red tape in 1970's "Catch-22," based on Joseph Heller's million-selling novel.

Through the years, Arkin turned up in such favorites as "Edward Scissorhands," playing Johnny Depp's neighbor; and in the film version of David Mamet’s "Glengarry Glen Ross" as a dogged real estate salesman. He and Reiner played brothers, one successful (Reiner), one struggling (Arkin), in the 1998 film "The Slums of Beverly Hills."

"I used to think that my stuff had a lot of variety. But I realized that for the first twenty years or so, most of the characters I played were outsiders, strangers to their environment, foreigners in one way or another," he told The Associated Press in 2007.

"As I started to get more and more comfortable with myself, that started to shift. I got one of the nicest compliments I've ever gotten from someone a few days ago. They said that they thought my characters were very often the heart, the moral center of a film. I didn't particularly understand it, but I liked it; it made me happy."

Other recent credits included "Going in Style," a 2017 remake featuring fellow Oscar winners Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman, and "The Kominsky Method." He played a Hollywood talent agent and friend of Douglas' character, a once-promising actor who ran an acting school after his career sputtered.

He also was the voice of Wild Knuckles in the 2022 animated film "Minions: The Rise of Gru."

Arkin also directed the film version of Jules Feiffer's 1971 dark comedy "Little Murders" and Neil Simon's 1972 play about bickering old vaudeville partners, "The Sunshine Boys." On television, Arkin appeared in the short-lived series "Fay" and "Harry" and played a night court judge in Sidney Lumet's drama series "100 Centre Street" on A&E. He also wrote several books for children.

Born in New York City's borough of Brooklyn, he and his family, which included two younger brothers, moved to Los Angeles when he was 11. His parents found jobs as teachers, but were fired during the post-World War II Red Scare because they were Communists.

"We were dirt poor so I couldn't afford to go to the movies often," he told the AP in 1998. "But I went whenever I could and focused in on movies, as they were more important than anything in my life."

He studied acting at Los Angeles City College; California State University, Los Angeles; and Bennington College in Vermont, where he earned a scholarship to the formerly all-girls school.

He married a fellow student, Jeremy Yaffe, and they had two sons, Adam and Matthew.

After he and Yaffe divorced in 1961, Arkin married actress-writer Barbara Dana, and they had a son, Anthony. All three sons became actors: Adam starred in the TV series "Chicago Hope."

"It was certainly nothing that I pushed them into," Arkin said in 1998. "It made absolutely no difference to me what they did, as long as it allowed them to grow."

Arkin began his entertainment career as an organizer and singer with The Tarriers, a group that briefly rode the folk musical revival wave of the late 1950s. Later, he turned to stage acting, off-Broadway and always in dramatic roles.

At Second City, he worked with Nichols, Elaine May, Jerry Stiller, Anne Meara and others in creating intellectual, high-speed impromptu riffs the fads and follies of the day.

"I never knew that I could be funny until I joined Second City," he said.

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‘The Brutalist’ Doesn’t Work without Guy Pearce

Guy Pearce poses for photographers upon arrival for the premiere of the film "The Brutalist" in London, Wednesday, Jan.15, 2025. (AP)
Guy Pearce poses for photographers upon arrival for the premiere of the film "The Brutalist" in London, Wednesday, Jan.15, 2025. (AP)
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‘The Brutalist’ Doesn’t Work without Guy Pearce

Guy Pearce poses for photographers upon arrival for the premiere of the film "The Brutalist" in London, Wednesday, Jan.15, 2025. (AP)
Guy Pearce poses for photographers upon arrival for the premiere of the film "The Brutalist" in London, Wednesday, Jan.15, 2025. (AP)

Over the years, Guy Pearce has been good in most all things. But he’s been particularly good at playing characters with a refined disposition who harbor darker impulses underneath.

That was true of his breakout performance in “L.A. Confidential" as a squeaky clean police detective whose ambitions outstrip his ethics. It was true of his dashing upper-class bachelor in “Mildred Pierce.” And it’s most definitely true of his mid-Atlantic tycoon in “The Brutalist.”

“I’m really aware of how precarious we are as human beings,” Pearce says. “Good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things. Moment to moment, we’re trying to just get through the day. We’re trying to be good. And we can do good things for ourselves and other people, but pretty easily we can be tipped off course.”

That sense of duality has served Pearce’s characters well, especially his men of class who turn out to have less of it than they seem. His Harrison Lee Van Buren in “The Brutalist” may be Pearce’s most colossally two-faced concoction yet. If Brady Corbet’s film, which was nominated for 10 Oscars on Thursday, is one of the best films of the year, it’s Pearce’s performance that gives the movie its disquieting shiver.

Pearce’s Van Buren is a recognizable kind of villain: a well-bred aristocrat who, at first, is a benevolent benefactor to Adrien Brody’s architect László Tóth. But what begins as a friendship — Tóth, a Holocaust survivor is nearly destitute when they meet — turns increasingly ugly, as Van Buren’s patronage, warped by jealousy and privilege, turns into a creeping sense of ownership over Tóth. The psychodrama eventually boils over in a grim, climactic scene in which Van Buren pronounces Tóth “just a lady of the night.”

“What was great to discuss with Brady is that he is actually a man of taste,” said Pearce in a recent interview. “He’s a man of class and a man of sophistication. He’s not just a bull in a China shop. He’s not just about greed, taking, taking, taking. It’s probably as much of a curse as anything that he can recognize beauty and he can recognize other people’s artistry.”

For his performance, the 57-year-old Pearce on Thursday landed his first Oscar nomination – a long-in-coming and perhaps overdue honor for the character actor of “Memento,” “The Count of Monte Cristo” and “The King’s Speech.” For the Australian-born Pearce, such recognitions are as awkward as they are rewarding. He long ago decided Hollywood stardom wasn’t for him.

“I get uncomfortable with that, to be honest,” he says. “I’m really happy with doing a good performance. I can genuinely say within myself I’ve done a good job. Equally, I know when I’ve done a (bad) job. But I’m also well aware of how a performance can appear good purely because of the tone of the film. I might have done exactly the same performance in another movie with not such a good director, and people might have gone, ‘That was full-on but whatever.’ Whereas in this film, we are all better than we actually are because the film has integrity to it that elevates us all.”

Like F. Murray Abraham’s Saleri in “Amadeus,” Peace’s Van Buren has quickly ascended the ranks of great cinema villains to artists. The character likewise has some basis in reality, albeit extrapolated from a much different time and place. Corbet and Mona Fastvold, who are married and wrote “The Brutalist” together, were fueled by their hardships with financiers on their previous film, 2018's “Vox Lux.”

“We didn’t have a Van Buren but we certainly had our fill of complicated relationships with the people who hold the purse strings,” says Fastvold. “There’s a sense of: I have ownership of the project because I’m paying for it, and I almost have ownership of you.”

Pearce has been around the movie business long enough to shake hands with plenty of wealthy men putting money toward a film production. But he says none of his own experiences went into “The Brutalist.”

“There’s always this slew of producers at a higher level than us who come and visit the set,” Pearce says. “I’m polite and I go, ‘Hi, nice to meet you. Thanks.’ But I’m a little caught up with what I’m doing. Then three years later you’ll meet someone who says, ‘You know, I was a producer on “L.A. Confidential.”’ Ah, were you?”

Pearce, who lives in the Netherlands, has generally kept much of Hollywood at arm's length. In conversation, he tends to be chipper and humble — more interested in talking Aussie rules football than the Oscar race. “Any chance to have a kick, I'll have a kick,” he says with smile.

That youthful spirit Pearce tends to apply to his acting as well. Pearce, who started performing in the mid-'80s on the long-running Australian soap opera “Neighbors,” doesn't like to be precious about performing.

“If I’m hanging on to it all day, it’s exhausting,” Pearce says. “The thing that still exists for me is using our imagination, which is kind of a childlike venture. I think there’s something valuable about that even as adults. I think you can be all ages at all times.”

Pearce compares receiving the script from Corbet to “The Brutalist” to when Christopher Nolan approached him 25 years ago. Both times, he went back to watch the director's earlier films and quickly decided this was an opportunity to pounce at.

In digging into Van Buren, Pearce was guided less by real-life experience than the script. The hardest entry way to the character, he says, was the voice. “Thankfully,” Pearce says, “I’m friends with Danny Huston and he’s got a wonderfully old-fashioned voice.” He and Corbet didn't speak much about the director's hardships on “Vox Lux.”

“I know that it was troubled. Brady is going to have trouble on every film he makes, I reckon, because he is such a visionary,” says Pearce. “I know on this there were producers trying to get him to cut the time down. Of course, all those producers now are going, ‘I was with him all the way.’”

To a certain degree, Pearce says, he doesn't fully understand a performance while he's doing it. He's more likely to understand it fully afterward while watching. Take that “lady of the night scene.” While filming, Pearce felt he was saying that line to put Tóth in his place. “But when I watched it, I went: ‘I’m just telling myself. I’m purely telling myself,’” he says. “There’s something even more distasteful about it.”

It's ironic, in a way, that Van Buren, a man bent on control, is played so indelibly by an actor who seeks to impose so little of it, himself.

“There’s a performative element to Van Buren. He exhausts himself because he’s trying to dominate, to be the one in charge, be Mr. Charming,” Pearce says. “I don’t think he can ever enter a room without being self-conscious. That’s an exhausting way to be, I reckon.”