From My On-Line Readings This Week
On September 12, 1992, Anthony Perkins was rushed to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. Just days before, he had quietly confided in close friends that he was dying of AIDS-related pneumonia. The revelation stunned Hollywood. Few beyond his inner circle even knew he was ill.
For two years, Perkins had kept his diagnosis secret, continuing to work, record voiceovers, and write letters to his sons from his hospital bed. According to his widow, Berry Berenson, he believed his fans should remember him for his art, not his illness. He died at the age of 60, leaving behind a legacy as haunting as it was brilliant.
Perkins’s name is forever tied to his chilling portrayal of Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960)—a role that would both define and overshadow his career. While it narrowed his casting opportunities, it also immortalized him as a giant of American cinema. But his talent reached far beyond that singular role. Before Psycho, he earned an Academy Award nomination for Friendly Persuasion (1956), a performance that revealed a tender vulnerability beneath his lanky frame and delicate features.
He followed it with memorable turns in The Tin Star (1957), Desire Under the Elms (1958), and The Matchmaker (1958). Despite being typecast in the shadow of Norman Bates, Perkins continued acting with purpose, starring in The Trial (1962), Catch-22 (1970), Crimes of Passion (1984), and reprising his most iconic role in three sequels: Psycho II (1983), Psycho III (1986), and Psycho IV: The Beginning (1990)—the last of which he also directed.
Born on April 4, 1932, in New York City, Anthony Perkins entered the world steeped in performance and artistry. His father, Osgood Perkins, was a respected actor on stage and screen, known for his commanding presence. His mother, Janet Esselstyn, was a homemaker with a creative soul, who nurtured Anthony’s sensitivities. Osgood’s death when Anthony was just five left a deep emotional wound that shaped his fragile sense of identity and infused his performances with genuine pathos.
A shy, introspective child who struggled with a stutter, Perkins often escaped into books and music. He attended Brooks School, then Columbia University before transferring to Rollins College in Florida. He later studied at Harvard, immersing himself in the vibrant intellectual circles of the 1950s while honing his craft. Acting became more than a profession—it was a means of grappling with fear, repression, and inner conflict.
Perkins made his film debut in George Cukor’s The Actress (1953), acting opposite Jean Simmons. By 1956, his breakout performance in Friendly Persuasion had made him a star. With his lanky charm and gentle intensity, he captivated audiences as both heartthrob and tortured soul. His stage work flourished as well, with standout performances in Look Homeward, Angel (1957) and the musical Greenwillow (1960), earning acclaim that mirrored his success on screen.
Yet behind the camera-ready smile was a man quietly struggling. In an era of strict moral codes and homophobia, Perkins wrestled with his sexual identity in silence. He had relationships with men—including a discreet romance with actor Tab Hunter—but lived in fear of being exposed.
That fear led to isolation, depression, and emotional distance. It wasn’t until his mid-forties that he found love and stability with photographer and actress Berry Berenson. They married in 1973 and had two sons, Oz and Elvis. Family life offered him a rare sense of peace.
Even through his darkest moments, Perkins remained creatively driven. He worked internationally, starring in films like Is Paris Burning? (1966) and The Black Hole (1979), and lent his voice to animated works in his final years. He directed two films, including Psycho III, which earned praise for its psychological insight. His final performance was a voice role in The Substance of Fire (1992), recorded from his hospital bed—his voice frail, but unmistakably his.
Perkins never spoke publicly about his illness. Only after his death did Berry reveal that he had AIDS, a diagnosis he had carried privately for years. In a letter he had written before his passing, Perkins said, “There are many who believe that this disease is God’s punishment for immoral lifestyles. I do not believe that. And I feel deeply for all the suffering that has been caused by this widespread ignorance.”
Tragedy struck again nearly a decade later. On September 11, 2001, Berry Berenson boarded American Airlines Flight 11, which was hijacked and crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Her death, on the eve of the anniversary of Perkins’s passing, stunned those who had known the couple’s quiet, creative life filled with devotion and artistry.
Anthony Perkins remains an enduring figure in film history—a gifted actor, a complicated soul, and a man who lived between light and shadow, art and anguish.
Meanwhile. Did you know that....
The iconic Barong Tagalog, often seen as a symbol of Filipino elegance, was originally a tool of colonial control. During the Spanish era, the ruling class mandated that native Filipinos wear a translucent, untucked shirt to prevent them from hiding weapons or concealing any form of rebellion. This policy was meant to reinforce social hierarchy, distinguishing the Indios from the Spaniards, who wore coats and tucked-in shirts. Over time, the Barong Tagalog transformed from a colonial restriction into a proud national attire, representing Filipino identity and resilience.
The iconic Barong Tagalog—now proudly worn at state functions—was originally designed as a symbol of oppression.
Its transparency was also meant to prove they weren’t hiding weapons. But over time, Filipinos redefined the Barong into a symbol of dignity, resistance, and national identity.
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