The Transdimensional Edward G. Robinson
Trippin' with Eddie G.
My previous post covered the Edward G. Robinson crime picture Black Tuesday (1954). I guess I’ve still got Eddie G. on my mind, thinking about a post I wrote several years ago on a different platform. If you’re in the mood for something a little wacky, this just might be for you:
Maybe I think about movies too much. A few nights ago I dreamed I was watching a movie in which Edward G. Robinson could levitate, fly, and travel between dimensions. This wasn’t the Edward G. Robinson who played mob boss Rico Bandello in Little Caesar (1931) or the raging Pete Morgan from The Red House (1947) or even the relentless insurance investigator Barton Keyes of Double Indemnity (1944). This was simply Robinson as an average Joe, neither dangerous nor a dandelion, a guy mostly content with his lot in life. If I had to pick a role most like the Robinson from my dream, it would be Chris Cross from Scarlet Street (1945), only without the nagging wife (Rosalind Ivan) or the femme fatale (Joan Bennett). But this Edward G. Robinson had the ability to levitate, fly, and travel interdimensionally.
In this dream I’m seated in a packed theater watching a black-and-white movie (maybe even an Edward G. Robinson movie). I’m on the right side of the theater when I look to the large middle section and see a guy standing up, staring at the screen like he’s in a trance. The beam of light coming from the projection booth provides more than enough illumination to reveal that this guy is unmistakably Edward G. Robinson. It’s almost as if he’s been summoned to stand up by a voice only he can hear, but he won’t take his eyes off the screen for all the money in Rico Bandello’s personal safe. A couple of people yell for him to sit down but instead, he floats up above the rest of the audience, levitates for a moment, then tilts himself into a horizontal position on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hovers there for a moment and squirms around like he can’t get comfortable, like you do when you’re trying to sleep and nothing seems to help. Then he begins circling around the room in awkward movements. Suddenly he flips so that he's face-down, spread-eagled like a short, stubby Superman, and in no time at all he’s flying, exploring the confines of the theater’s upper atmosphere.
Everyone in the theater is in awe, silently watching Robinson as he floats around the theater. Is this a beatific vision? Did the guy at the concession stand slip us all a shot of liquor in our sodas? What in the world is going on? The movie’s still running, but nobody's watching it.
Except Robinson. He’s a quick study and apparently has grown bored with levitating and floating around the theater. He’s got his mind set on bigger sights, things far more spectacular. In a matter of moments he’s stretching his arms out like he’s set to take off for Heathrow and flies right into the screen.
Yet whatever was on the movie screen has drastically changed. It’s not of this world, but rather a misty, nebulous area, like the otherworldly place from that Twilight Zone episode “Little Girl Lost.” Robinson is like a criminal standing before an entire city filled with unlocked bank vaults, stuffed to the gills with unmarked bills. There’s so much to explore, and he’s going to fly around every inch of this wonderful cinematic world exploring it forever. And I’m on the sidelines watching it all. I think I’m actually cheering for him. No, I’m certain; I am cheering for him.
That’s all I remember from the dream. I actually have a pretty good idea of where it came from. I had listened to an episode of Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast a few days before the dream. One of Gilbert’s guests mentioned that Robinson was briefly considered for the part of Vito Corleone in The Godfather (1972). Of course, Marlon Brando won the role and the rest is history.
One year later Robinson appeared in his final film, Soylent Green (1973), playing Sol Roth, a well-educated elderly man in the overcrowded New York City of 2022 (which sure looked a long way off in 1973). Roth keeps reminding his police detective friend Frank Thorn (Charlton Heston) of the good old days and how much life sucks in 2022. (Roth was clearly onto something there.)
(Minor Soylent Green spoiler here:) I’ve never forgotten Roth’s death scene in the film. Roth is placed on a bed in a gigantic room with an enormous screen, which plays nothing but beautiful images, the last things Roth will ever see in this world. It’s an incredibly moving scene made even more so due to the fact that Robinson himself was terminally ill during the film’s production. Although he kept it a secret from everyone in the cast and crew, Robinson knew he didn’t have long to live. Who knows what he was thinking while shooting that scene? Was he reflecting back on his life and career? It’s astounding that Robinson never won an Oscar for his superb acting. It’s absolutely criminal that he was never even nominated. Yes, he won an honorary Oscar, albeit two months after his death. The man deserved better.
Maybe in my dream I was subconsciously trying to elevate Robinson to something beyond what he received during his time on earth. Maybe it was simply my brain’s neurons firing in weird directions. It was a funny, surreal dream, but I think it might also be my oddball way of paying tribute to an amazing talent whom I fear may one day be forgotten. When I think of all the classic movie stars I’d most like to meet, Edward G. Robinson is clearly in my Top 10, maybe even Top 5. Then again, maybe I’ll see him floating around up there someday.