TIME remembrance

Clifford the Big Red Dog Creator Norman Bridwell Dies at 86

Clifford The Big Red Dog 50th Anniversary Celebration
Clifford's creator, Norman Bridwell, attends Clifford The Big Red Dog 50th Anniversary Celebration at Scholastic Inc. Headquarters on Sept. 24, 2012 in New York City Slaven Vlasic—Getty Images

The series has been translated into 13 languages, and sold 129 million copies

Author and illustrator Norman Bridwell died on Friday, Dec. 12, in Martha’s Vineyard at age 86. His publisher, Scholastic, announced the news Tuesday, but did not give a cause of death.

Bridwell was best known for creating the Clifford the Big Red Dog book series. First published in 1963, Bridwell eventually wrote and illustrated more than 150 Clifford titles. The series has been translated into 13 languages, and sold 129 million copies. Moreover, the lovable canine also found a home in television with PBS Kids’ animated series, which was on air between 2000 and 2003. Plus, David Bowers is directing a big-screen adaptation, which is set for a April 8, 2016 release date.

“Norman Bridwell’s books about Clifford, childhood’s most loveable dog, could only have been written by a gentle man with a great sense of humor,” Dick Robinson, Chairman, President and CEO, Scholastic, the global children’s publishing, education and media company, said in a release. “Norman personified the values that we as parents and educators hope to communicate to our children – kindness, compassion, helpfulness, gratitude – through the Clifford stories which have been loved for more than fifty years.”

Robinson added: “The magic of the character and stories Norman created with Clifford is that children can see themselves in this big dog who tries very hard to be good, but is somewhat clumsy and always bumping into things and making mistakes. What comforts the reader is that Clifford is always forgiven by Emily Elizabeth (named after Bridwell’s daughter), who loves him unconditionally. At Scholastic, we are deeply saddened by the loss of our loyal and talented friend whose drawings and stories have inspired all of us and generations of children and their parents.”

Bridwell is survived by his wife, Norma, their daughter, Emily Elizabeth, son, Timothy, and three grandchildren. Bridwell finished two more Clifford books prior to his passing, both of which will be released in 2015. Clifford Goes to Kindergarten will hit shelves in May, and Clifford Celebrates Hannukah will come out in October.

For Scholastic’s full statement, click here.

To watch Clifford’s 50th anniversary video, which features an interview with Bridwell, click here.

This article originally appeared on EW.com

TIME celebrities

Joan Rivers’ Will Leaves Money To Her Favorite Charities

Joan Rivers in New York in 2012.
Joan Rivers in New York in 2012. Jason Kempin—Getty Images

Her fortune has been estimated at $150 million

NEW YORK — Joan Rivers’ left her daughter, Melissa, in charge of her fortune and left money for some of her favorite charities, including Guide Dogs for the Blind, Jewish Guild Healthcare and the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.

According to Rivers’ 2014 will, which was filed in New York State Surrogate’s Court, the late comedian made Melissa Rivers her will’s executor with “the broadest and most absolute permissible direction” over a fortune that has been estimated as high as $150 million.

Other charities she singled out were the New York-based food pantry God’s Love We Deliver, the Simon Wiesenthal Center and the Jewish Home and Hospital Foundation in Manhattan.

Rivers died Sept. 4 at 81 of brain damage due to lack of oxygen. She’d stopped breathing during an endoscopy days earlier.

The late comedian asked that her business manager Michael D. Karlin and interior designer Robert Higdon be named co-executors of the living trust. Specifics of her assets and how they will be divided haven’t been disclosed.

Bequests were made to her assistants, Sabrina Lott and Jocelyn Pickett, her friend Scott Currie, and Rivers’ niece and nephew, Caroline Waxler and Andrew Waxler.

TIME remembrance

Washington Post Photographer Michel du Cille Dies in Liberia

CAPTION: Michel duCille, The Washington Post. DATE:  4/15/04  PHOTO: Julia Ewan/The Washington Post. ONE-TIME USE ONLY. NO SALES. NO REDISTRIBUTION. MANDATORY CREDIT.
Michel du Cille Julia Ewan—The Washington Post

Three-time Pulitzer Prize winning photographer Michel du Cille has died

Washington Post photographer Michel du Cille, a three-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize, died Thursday while on assignment covering the Ebola outbreak in Liberia.

In a note shared with the Post‘s newsroom, Executive Editor Martin Baron said du Cille, 58, had collapsed during a “strenuous hike” while returning from a village where he and a reporter had been working. He was first transported to a clinic and later to a hospital two hours away, Baron added, where he was pronounced dead. Du Cille had returned to Liberia two days earlier.

“We are all heartbroken,” Baron said. “We have lost a beloved colleague and one of the world’s most accomplished photographers.”

A graduate of Indiana University’s School of Journalism, du Cille won his first Pulitzer Prize in 1986 with the Miami Herald for his coverage of the 1985 eruption of Colombia’s Nevado del Ruiz volcano. Two years later, his photo essay on crack cocaine addicts won him a second Pulitzer.

In 1988, he joined the Washington Post as a picture editor. In his 26 years at the Post, he won another Pulitzer Prize – this time for Public Service, which he shared with reporters Anne Hull and Dana Priest in their exposé of abuses at Walter Reed Army Medical Center – and rose to the position of photography director before returning to the field in 2012.

In October, he was banned from appearing at a teaching lecture at Syracuse University after returning from Liberia, where he had covered the Ebola outbreak. “I’m angered by the decision and sorry not to get to teach,” du Cille wrote. “It was a disservice to journalism students at Syracuse, a missed opportunity to share real-world experiences with future media professionals. Especially now, I am cognizant of what I could have told them — about the power and necessity of capturing images that interpret the human experience while daily life unfolds under the cloud of Ebola.”

Du Cille is survived by his wife, Post photographer Nikki Kahn, and two children.

TIME remembrance

Melissa Rivers Speaks Publicly for the First Time Since Joan Rivers’ Death

Television personality Melissa Rivers arrives at The Hollywood Reporter's 23rd annual Women in Entertainment breakfast,  in Los Angeles
Television personality Melissa Rivers arrives at The Hollywood Reporter's 23rd annual Women in Entertainment breakfast, in Los Angeles, California Dec. 10, 2014 Jonathan Alcorn—Reuters

Melissa Rivers gave a speech at The Hollywood Reporter's annual Women in Entertainment breakfast to honor her mother

Joan Rivers wasn’t the only one in her family who was good for a laugh. During her first public speech since the death of her mother, Melissa Rivers joked that she’s now an orphan.

The 46-year-old actress said that when she was approached to speak at the Hollywood Reporter‘s annual Women in Entertainment breakfast, which celebrated the release of the magazine’s power 100 list, she was “overwhelmed.”

“Not just because it is the first time I’m speaking in tribute to my mother, but because every single person in this room could hire me, and a few have actually fired me. You know who you are but I don’t want you to feel bad … but technically I am now an orphan,” Rivers said Wednesday.

The past three months have been “different,” she said, adding that she’ll remember her mother as being “fearless.”

“I don’t mean she didn’t have any fears,” said Rivers. “I mean that although she was only 5’2″, she stood tall and walked through them,” she said, according to the Hollywood Reporter. “She was willing to say what others were thinking and too frightened to admit. She never apologized for a joke and no topic was taboo and she was fine with that.”


TIME remembrance

Former Miss America Mary Ann Mobley Dies at 75

Mobley was crowned Miss America in 1959

Actress, philanthropist and former Miss America Mary Ann Mobley died Tuesday morning in Beverly Hills, Calif., after a second battle with breast cancer, one of her daughters has announced in a statement to NBC News. She was 75.

Born in Biloxi, Mississippi, Mobley, was crowned Miss America in 1959 and became one of the few Miss Americas to launch a successful TV and movie career. She graduated from “Ole Miss” in 1958 and was the university’s first Carrier Scholar and the first woman voted into the Alumni Hall of Fame.

“When I was a little boy growing…

Read the rest of our story from our partners at NBC News

TIME remembrance

Nelson Mandela Remembered, One Year Later

Mandela cover
The Dec. 19, 2013, cover of TIME Cover Credit: PHOTOGRAPH BY HANS GEDDA - SYGMA/CORBIS

The South African leader died on Dec. 5, 2013

It was one year ago, on Dec. 5, 2013, that Nelson Mandela died at age 95. To mark the passing of a man who U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon called “a giant for justice and a down-to-earth human inspiration,” TIME put out a special issue, with remembrances from luminaries like Bono and Morgan Freeman, as well as a look back by the magazine’s former managing editor, Rick Stengel, who had worked closely with Mandela.

Stengel recalled visiting Mandela’s ancestral village with him, and finding that the South African leader seemed uninterested in talking about death:

Mandela might have been a more sentimental man if so much had not been taken away from him. His freedom. His ability to choose the path of his life. His eldest son. Two great-grandchildren. Nothing in his life was permanent except the oppression he and his people were under. And everything he might have had he sacrificed to achieve the freedom of his people. But all the crude jailers, tiny cells and bumptious white apartheid leaders could not take away his pride, his dignity and his sense of justice. Even when he had to strip and be hosed down when he first entered Robben Island, he stood straight and did not complain.

Read the full issue, here in the TIME archives: Nelson Mandela, 1918–2013

TIME remembrance

Friends and Family Remember Paul Walker on 1st Anniversary of His Death

Paul Walker
The late Paul Walker in Sao Paulo, Brazil, March 21, 2013. Fernanda Calfat—Getty Images

"I am so lucky to have had him as a big brother," said Cody, Walker's younger brother

It’s been a year since Paul Walker died in a tragic auto accident Nov. 30, 2013.

Immediately after the news broke, tributes poured in from all over as friends, family and costars shared memories of their time with Walker.

And even a year later, memories of the late actor are still fresh in people’s minds.

“I am so lucky to have had him as a big brother,” Walker’s younger brother Cody, 26, told the New York Daily News via email Wednesday.

Cody spoke of Reach Out Worldwide, a charity Walker was highly involved with, and the work it did this year in the Philippines after Typhoon Haiyan and Arkansas after April’s devastating tornadoes in the region. “This year has been very challenging but also extremely rewarding,” he said.

“Just live your life to the fullest. Laugh a lot, love and find your true happiness,” Cody – who, along with other brother Caleb, filled in as a body double for Walker’s remaining scenes in the most recent Fast and Furious film – said when asked what lessons people should take from his brother’s life. “Remember that no matter how cool you think you may be, you’re not cool enough to look down on anyone … ever.”

Walker’s father, Paul Walker III, told Entertainment Tonight that this time of year is doubly tough, with the holidays coinciding with the anniversary of his son’s death. “I’m missing him more now, the last month. It’s not getting any better for me.”

“It’s a sad time. We’re a very close, loving family, and Paul is a piece that’s missing now, that we’re always going to miss,” he continued.

Walker’s Fast and Furious costar Tyrese posted this tribute on Instagram.

And his other costar Michelle Rodriguez Tweeted her own tribute.

You can add your own tribute on Twitter or Instagram with the hashtag #TeamPW.

This article originally appeared on People.com

TIME Cricket

Australian International Cricketer Phillip Hughes Dies Aged 25

Tributes have poured in for the young star

Australian international cricketer Phillip Hughes has died at Sydney’s St. Vincent’s Hospital.

The 25-year-old was in critical condition after he was hit on the head by a ball while batting during an important domestic game in the city on Tuesday.

The incident sent shock waves through the cricket world and was a reminder that, despite its genteel reputation, cricket can be a highly dangerous sport.

Hughes was struck on the rear left side of the head below the helmet by a short, fast ball — known in cricketing parlance as a bouncer — delivered by New South Wales bowler Sean Abbott.

Denser and heavier than baseballs, cricket balls can reach speeds of 100 m.p.h., turning them in potentially lethal projectiles — even when players are wearing protective gear, as the example of Hughes tragically shows.

Hughes, who grew up on a banana farm outside Sydney, had undergone emergency surgery and was kept in an induced coma until passing away on Thursday afternoon, local time.

Tributes have poured in for the young star, who was the first Australian batsman ever to score a century in his debut for his national side in the one-day form of the game.


TIME remembrance

Remembering Mike Nichols: Let’s Talk About Sex

"The Real Thing" Broadway Opening Night
Mike Nichols attend the Roundabout Theatre Company's Broadway Opening Night After Party for 'The Real Thing' at the American Airlines Theatre in New York City on Oct. 30, 2014 Walter McBride—WireImage/Getty Images

From Virginia Woolf and The Graduate to the scalding Closer, this acclaimed director located the humor and pain in stories of erotic alliances

Mike Nichols, who died Wednesday at 83, built such a prodigious and protean résumé that it’s hard to pin him down. An improv pioneer with Chicago’s Compass players, a forerunner of Second City, he teamed with Elaine May to create a series of duet skits, ranging from improbable romance to social satire, that made the writer-performers the rage of nightclubs, records and, by 1960, Broadway. Then Nichols gave up acting (except for starring in David Hare’s 1997 film The Designated Mourner) and became the preeminent director of sophisticated comedy on stage and screen. Broadway: The Odd Couple and Spamalot. Movies: The Graduate and The Birdcage. When a show or a film was smart and funny, it often was one of his.

Yet across the full half-century he spent as a Broadway director, from the 1963 Barefoot in the Park to the 2013 revival of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal, and his four decades plus making movies, from his sensational debut with the 1966 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? to the 2007 Charlie Wilson’s War, Nichols could be the very model of a serious showman. He lured movie stars off-Broadway to do Beckett — Robin Williams and Steve Martin in the 1988 Lincoln Center staging of Waiting for Godot — and to play Chekhov in Central Park, where in 2001 Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Natalie Portman, John Goodman and Christopher Walken brought fresh luster to The Seagull. His strongest TV work may be his 2003 miniseries of Tony Kushner’s AIDS epic Angels in America, with Streep, Al Pacino and Emma Thompson. So we’ll say: Mike Nichols, all-round expert director.

We might be able to refine that epithet just a bit — for Nichols, in the age of “mature” cinema that he helped launch with Virginia Woolf and The Graduate, was arguably the wisest director of movies about sex. And we mean not Show but Tell. Films can reveal startling erotic truths about their characters, about us, without exposing so much as a breast or a butt. In Nichols movies like Carnal Knowledge (1971), Heartburn (1986) and Closer (2004), what gets naked is a man’s or woman’s most urgent, reckless feelings and animosities.

He managed all this without writing a word of the text, or at least putting his name on it. (After An Evening With Mike Nichols and Elaine May, he took no writing credit except for the 2001 TV adaptation of the cancer play Wit.) In the age of instant auteurs, Nichols had an old-fashioned gift: energizing each moment in a good script, bringing clarity, subtlety and potency to the people on view. He was no Preston Sturges, a writer-director who created his own cockeyed caravan of stories and characters. His Hollywood model was George Cukor, a director of sublime taste and grace, who inhabited the writer’s words and world — in such film comedies as Holiday, The Women, and Adam’s Rib — and made them shine. The very least you think of a Nichols film is: This is the best this project could be.

He had directed just three Broadway plays, all comedies — Neil Simon’s Barefoot in the Park and The Odd Couple and Murray Schisgal’s Luv — when Richard Burton convinced Jack Warner to sign Nichols for the movie of Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The tyro director promptly dismissed veteran director of photography Harry Stradling, who was trying to beautify Elizabeth Taylor in the role of a frowsy, fiftyish wife for which she had scrupulously gained a couple dozen pounds, and hired the rebel DP Haskell Wexler for the movie’s severe monochrome look. Nichols was faithful to Albee’s text; all but a few words in the movie were straight from the play. But because this all-night fight of a married couple and their younger guests (George Segal and Sandy Dennis) used words and emotions new to Hollywood movies, the film created a singeing intimacy that raised temperatures, eyebrows and hackles, and earned Oscars for Taylor, Dennis and Wexler.

His next film, The Graduate, detailed the passive, loveless affair between young Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman) and the avaricious mother (Anne Bancroft) of his pretty neighbor Elaine (Katharine Ross). More daringly, it undercut the plot’s rah-rah climax. Remember that The Graduate broke a basic rule of romantic comedy and let Benjamin win Elaine just after, not during, her marriage to the blond lunk. But after this boy-steals-girl-from-another-guy triumph, they hop on a bus and, in the last shot, we see the excitement quickly drain from their faces. Ben seems to realize that he really wanted a great quest, not the Grail, and that he and Elaine are now condemned to become their parents. It’s true that ’60s audiences for this immensely popular film remembered the big win, not the post-climax depression. But Nichols gets points for plating a sour aftertaste. Hello, darkness, my old friend…

Nichols’ boldest early film was the 1971 Carnal Knowledge, which traced 30 years in the sexual lives of two perpetually immature men played by Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel. The excoriating chatter in Jules Feiffer’s screenplay would be familiar to anyone who’s attended a college-dorm tell-all, or sat at a bar while the guy three stools down pours out his little black heart, but it was a jolt for mainstream movies. Nobody learns, let alone hugs. In sour midlife, the men still abuse their women, still treat them as sex toys to attain the mystical, apocalyptic orgasm that fades almost as soon as it explodes.

In Heartburn, which Nora Ephron scripted based on her revenge novel about being married to Carl Bernstein, Meryl Streep has to cope with husband Jack Nicholson’s rampant adultery; she’s especially annoyed that he put one of his hotel assignations on a credit card and asks (as I recall), “Why can’t you pay cash like an ordinary philanderer?” Primary Colors, which May adapted from the roman à clef by Joe Klein (sorry: Anonymous), anatomizes the frailties of another charming horndog: John Travolta as, basically, Bill Clinton. The most conventional of Nichols’ movie romcoms, the 1988 hit Working Girl, threw Melanie Griffith into the arms of Harrison Ford, but only after she found her boyfriend, Alec Baldwin, in bed with another woman.

Nichols’ one sci-fi comedy, What Planet Are You From, imagines Garry Shandling as an alien from an all-male planet; he’s come to Earth to have sex with women, but they’re distracted by his humming penis). The sort-of horror movie Wolf trumpets the rejuvenative pleasures of a publishing executive (Nicholson) who, under the full moon, becomes an animal. He’s a monster, and it’s hell on his family but, in his elemental element, he feels younger, sexier — great.

The director wasn’t building a misogynistic argument in his films; he followed the tone of each script and made it better. His two-woman comedy, Postcards from the Edge, is much gentler to its flawed heroines. Daughter (Streep) is a junkie in rehab, and Mom (Shirley MacLaine) is an alcoholic — though she says that she’s recovered, and that “Now I just drink like an Irish person.” Carrie Fisher’s script could have been as devastating as Feiffer’s, a kind of Maternal Knowledge, but it finds forgiveness in human frailty; isn’t frailty what makes us human? That was the message of The Birdcage, scripted by May from the French comedy La cage aux follies. The gay twosome (Williams and Nathan Lane), playing it straight for visiting conservative in-laws, is the most prominent faithful pair in a Nichols movie.

Mostly, though, Nichols films threw a wicked curve at couples who thought they were attending a date-night movie: At least one of you is cheating.

What must this couple have thought of Closer, the blistering sex drama Nichols made from Patrick Marber’s 1997 play? Covering the intersections of four people — Dan (Jude Law), Alice (Portman), Anna (Julia Roberts) and Larry (Clive Owen) — over four years, Closer is initially playful about the deceptions this handsome quartet of characters commit while falling in love and, later, climbing out. But there are scans to be ripped off, as when Anna tells Larry she’s sleeping with Dan. In just a few minutes, Larry endures the first five stages of the cuckolded male: denial, derision, pleading, sobbing, threatening. Now, in confronting Anna about Dan, he atavizes into Caveman, the Alpha Male in competitive fury. Where did you make love: what parts of the house, what parts of the body? How did Dan perform? What did he taste like? Was he “better”? “Gentler,” she acknowledges, depleted by the hard truths he’s forcing out of her. “Sweeter.” Larry finally has what he wanted: the instant, utter and mutual eradication of their year-long tryst. “Thank you for your honesty,” he tells her. “Now f— off and die.”

The scheme of Closer is simple: two people become a couple, break up, pair off with someone new. We are shown only the beginnings and ends of each affair, when hopes are surging, or betrayal sours the air. The piece is a series of cardiograms: hearts open and shut down. “Have you ever seen a human heart?” says Larry, a doctor. “It looks like a fist, soaked in blood.” Closer is a closeup of that heart, which keeps beating even when diseased. It challenges the big movie lie that in life there are heroes and villains, that the good we seek is easily distinguishable from the good-bad we do. This Nichols film is about four glamorous folks with severe but recognizable fissures in their façades. Not like movie people. Like people.

Nichols made movies in Hollywood but his home in New York, in part because he saw L.A. as a company town that value perception over achievement. As he told ace TIME reporter Josh Tyrangiel in 2004, “One of the great dangers of living in Hollywood, and the reason it’s really unwise, is that it’s very hard to fight the virus: ‘How am I perceived?’ And once you preoccupy yourself with that question you’re pretty much lost. It’s all over Hollywood: you can see whether your stock has gone up or down in the eyes of the parking attendant.”

For all those decades, in his journey from Young Turk to Old Master, Nichols kept directing high-IQ movies attentive to the nuances of emotional and sexual brutality. He made no sequels, no flat-out action vehicles (the war movie Catch-22 comes closest) and, excepting his Broadway Annie in 1978, nothing that aims for the adorable. His one box-office smash was The Graduate (nearly $700 million in today’s dollars), followed by The Birdcage, Virginia Woolf, Working Girl and Wolf (all more than $100 million). But after The Graduate, he made the expensive, acerbic Catch-22 and that brazen jeremiad Carnal Knowledge. Nichols just wanted to tell stories that interested him, without worrying what the parking attendant thought.

He could almost be called a minority director, since his films were about adults — who sometimes behave like disturbed kids — for adults. Sitting through them, you’d laugh or smile; and on the way out you might realize there was something deeper, darker, a hard truth worth contemplating and cherishing. Which is how you may feel now, at the end of Mike Nichols’ exemplary career.

TIME remembrance

Mike Nichols: A Half-Century of Raves

The June 15, 1970, cover of TIME
The June 15, 1970, cover of TIME Cover Credit: SANTI VISALLI (NICHOLS); BOB WILLOUGHBY (ARKIN

He was 'the sort of director whom most writers and actors only meet when they are asleep and dreaming'

When Mike Nichols, who died on Wednesday at age 83, first gained notice, it was not as a director. In 1958, Nichols, then 26, appeared along with his comedy partner Elaine May, on NBC’s Omnibus revue; within six months, the two were touted by TIME as “the fastest-sharpening wits in television.” The two had met at the University of Chicago and began their dual career as sketch and improv comics in that city, as part of a group that would eventually feed into Second City.

Though they were an instant hit on TV, the question of how to translate their comedy to the censored and scripted world on screen. They found their footing on Broadway instead with An Evening with Mike Nichols and Elaine May, which debuted in 1960. “An Evening with Mike Nichols and Elaine May,” TIME’s critic declared, “is one of the nicest ways to spend one.” From that point on, the rave reviews just kept coming.

By 1962, Nichols was acting in a play written by May, and in 1963 he directed Barefoot in the Park, earning another rave: “If the theater housing this comedy has an empty seat for the next couple of years, it will simply mean that someone has fallen out of it. Barefoot is detonatingly funny.” He would later tell TIME that it had been a turning point, the moment he realized he was meant to direct:

Nichols remembers: “The first day of rehearsal, I knew, my God, this is it! It is as though you have one eye, and you’re on a road and all of a sudden your eye lights up, and you look down and you know, ‘I’m an engine!’ ”

For his next Broadway foray, Luv, he earned the headline “The Nichols Touch” and was called “the sort of director whom most writers and actors only meet when they are asleep and dreaming.” As for 1965’s The Odd Couple, “[t]he only worry they leave in a playgoer’s head is how to catch his breath between laughs.”

In 1966, when he made his first foray into movies with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, the performance he got out of star Elizabeth Taylor was deemed “a sizeable victory.” By 1970, when he made a movie of Catch-22, he landed on the cover of the magazine, with a multi-page feature that praised the maturity of the work:

Fully loaded, the bombers take flight, make their lethal gyres and return empty. Under Nichols’ direction, the camera makes air as palpable as blood. In one long-lensed indelible shot, the sluggish bodies of the B-25s rise impossibly close to one another, great vulnerable chunks of aluminum shaking as they fight for altitude. Could the war truly have been fought in those preposterous crates? It could; it was. And the unused faces of the flyers, Orr, Nately, Aardvark, could they ever have been so young? They were: they are. Catch-22‘s insights penetrate the elliptical dialogue to show that wars are too often a children’s crusade, fought by boys not old enough to vote or, sometimes, to think.

Despite his much-acclaimed career — which would continue for decades — not every one of his projects won applause.

In 1967, for example, TIME gave one of his films a rare pan. The picture in question “unfortunately shows his success depleted” because “[m]ost of the film has an alarmingly derivative style, and much of it is secondhand” with “a disappointing touch of TV situation comedy.”

But, as befits a comedian by training, he had the last laugh: that movie was The Graduate.

Read the full cover 1970 story here, in TIME’s archives: Some Are More Yossarian Than Others

Your browser, Internet Explorer 8 or below, is out of date. It has known security flaws and may not display all features of this and other websites.

Learn how to update your browser