The Final Transmission From the Charlton Heston Fan Club

Goodbye Moses, Ben-Hur, Michelangelo, El Cid, The Omega Man.

Goodbye Charlton Heston.

Goodbye to the muscular masculinity that he delivered consistently across 126 movies, winning the Oscar for Ben-Hur in 1959.

We’ll never see another Charlton Heston again, that embodiment of Y chromosome virtue. Today’s action heroes are aware of their atavistic, chauvinist dimensions – see Bruce Willis – but still can’t help themselves.

Heston, on the other hand, was never bothered by the knowledge that he was a brief social phenomenon, a hybrid cross between the swashbuckling heroes of the 19th century and the new man of the 20th, which had its high water mark in 1959. After that, Superman always came with italics.

Charlton Heston was the last hero without italics. These days, the closest thing we have to Charlton is Jodie Foster, and her act is wearing thin.

Before he wore out, the doddering shell of an action hero captured in Bowling for Columbine, he was able to apply his alpha male chops to a string of dystopic science fiction movies that remain some of my favorites: The Planet of the Apes, the aptly titled Omega Man and Soylent Green. He was never miscast as The Last Man Standing, even if he did look slightly ridiculous Standing there.

I don’t think anyone ever bought Charlton Heston’s act, except maybe Heston himself. He spawned a generation of fake deep announcer voices and a deep distrust of unreflective hamminess. With the help of material like Chalton Heston, we became a nation of critics and pundits…it was like shooting handsome, square-jawed fish in a barrel.

So when he died Saturday, leaving behind 60-plus years of hammy performances, we lost more than a bad actor—we lost a reason to feel superior.

Goodbye Charlton Heston. We knew you, all too well.