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TV Actor Passed Away At Age Of 90

Richard Chamberlain, who rose to fame as the heartthrob star of the television series “Dr. Kildare” in the early 1960s, proved his mettle by becoming a serious stage actor and went on to a new wave of acclaim as the omnipresent leading man of 1980s mini-series, died on Saturday at his home in Waimanalo, Hawaii, on the island of Oahu. He was 90.

A spokesman, Harlan Boll, said the cause was complications of a stroke.

Mr. Chamberlain was just 27 when he made his debut in the title role of the idealistic young intern on NBC’s “Dr. Kildare,” based on the 1930s and ’40s movie series. With his California-blond boyish good looks and low-key charm, he became an overnight star, said to be receiving 12,000 fan letters a week during the show’s five-year run, from 1961 to 1966.

Not long after the series ended, he moved to England, determined to shake his pretty-boy image by training as a serious actor. By 1969 he was playing Hamlet at the Birmingham Repertory Theater and surprising the British critics, who called him assured, graceful and plucky. “Anyone who comes to this production to scoff at the sight of a popular American television actor, Richard Chamberlain, playing Hamlet will be in for a deep disappointment,” a review in The Times of London declared.

After five years he returned to the United States and to notable stage and screen roles, but it was television, and in particular the mini-series format, that restored his major star status. It began with a role as a Scottish trapper in the ensemble cast of the 12-part “Centennial” in 1978, as viewers began a brief but intense romance with this new programming form, which combined feature-film ambition with the many hours required to tell big stories in great detail.

For Mr. Chamberlain, the phenomenon hit full force only when he played the dashing 17th-century romantic lead in “Shogun” in 1980, seducing a new generation of fans. He followed that in 1983 with his portrayal of Ralph de Bricassart, the tortured young priest in the saga “The Thorn Birds,” making him a 49-year-old sex symbol and the undeniable holder of the unofficial title “king of the mini-series.”

Mr. Chamberlain received Emmy Award nominations for “The Thorn Birds” and “Shogun,” as well as for “Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story” (1985) — in which he played Raoul Wallenberg, the World War II resistance hero — and for “The Count of Monte Cristo” (1975). He won three Golden Globes during his career, for “The Thorn Birds” and “Shogun,” and as best television actor for “Dr. Kildare” in 1963.

Mr. Chamberlain compared acting in a mini-series to doing Shakespeare. “It’s a very special knack to keep the ideas clear through a whole soliloquy with qualifying asides and pick up the line again,” he told The New York Times in 1988. “A 10-hour mini-series is similar. You must keep the overall design in your mind while shooting totally out of sequence.”

In 2003, Mr. Chamberlain published a memoir, “Shattered Love.” It was the story of his childhood, his career and his personal struggle for enlightenment. But one subject received most of the news media coverage: the acknowledgment that he was gay.

He patiently answered interviewers’ questions on the topic. “The sort of double life I was leading seemed, after a while, part of the game,” he said on the “Today” show. “You know, the performer’s — your public image is part of the show, really.”

But four decades after “Dr. Kildare,” social attitudes toward gay performers had changed enormously. The general public’s reaction was matter-of-fact acceptance.

George Richard Chamberlain was born on March 31, 1934, in Beverly Hills, Calif. — on “the wrong side of Wilshire Boulevard,” as he often said, rather than in the city’s movie-star-wealthy section. He was the younger of two sons of Charles Chamberlain, a supermarket-furnishings salesman, and his wife, Elsa.

He received a bachelor’s degree in art history and painting at Pomona College in Claremont, Calif. But in his freshman year he had joined a student theater group, and by graduation he had decided to pursue an acting career.

A Paramount Pictures talent scout who had seen him in student productions approached him, but around the same time he received a draft notice. After two years in the Army (he achieved the rank of staff sergeant), stationed in Korea shortly after the Korean War, Mr. Chamberlain returned to California, took acting and voice classes, and found an agent.

One of his first professional jobs was a 1959 guest appearance on the anthology television series “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” in which Raymond Massey played his father. Soon after that, Mr. Massey approved him to play his medical colleague on “Dr. Kildare.”

Mr. Chamberlain made his film debut in “The Secret of the Purple Reef” (1960), a crime drama set in the Caribbean. He agreed to exploit his Kildare image by playing a young doctor in “Joy in the Morning” (1965), a lightweight drama about newlyweds, with Yvette Mimieux. That did not call for (or yield) a particularly complex characterization. But he went on to give several memorable — and, at that time, surprising — film performances.

They included Julie Christie’s dangerous husband in “Petulia” (1968), Octavius in “Julius Caesar” (1970), Tchaikovsky in “The Music Lovers” (1971), Aramis in “The Three Musketeers” (1973) and its sequel, the cowardly electrical engineer in the disaster film “The Towering Inferno” (1974) and an Australian lawyer transformed by an encounter with Aboriginal culture in Peter Weir’s drama “The Last Wave” (1977).

His stage career got off to an unfortunate start with the disastrous 1966 Broadway musical adaptation of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” also starring Mary Tyler Moore, which closed in previews. But he later earned admiring reviews for classic roles in “Richard II” and “Cyrano de Bergerac,” as well as in “Hamlet.” In the 1970s he was nominated twice for Drama Desk Awards, for his portrayal of a fallen minister in Tennessee Williams’s “The Night of the Iguana” (1976) at the Circle in the Square and of Wild Bill Hickok in “Fathers and Sons” (1978) at the Public Theater. He called Hickok his favorite role.

He returned to Broadway, if not triumphantly at least to more than respectful reviews, in “Blithe Spirit” (1987) and “My Fair Lady” (1993), and as a replacement in “The Sound of Music” (1999). (The musicals reminded longtime fans that he had a hit record in the ’60s, singing the “Dr. Kildare” theme.)

In addition to the mini-series, he appeared in numerous made-for-television movies, playing the title roles in “F. Scott Fitzgerald and ‘The Last of the Belles’” (1974) and “The Man in the Iron Mask” (1977). He starred in another series, “Island Son,” in 1989, playing yet another doctor, but he was unhappy with its direction and it lasted only one season.

After his formal coming out, Mr. Chamberlain appeared to delight in portraying characters who were gay or played with gender stereotypes. He had already appeared on the sitcom “The Drew Carey Show” in full drag as a female character. He was later a guest star on “Will & Grace” and made a cameo appearance in the film “I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry” (2007).

His later television work included appearances in the drama series “Brothers & Sisters,” in which he played a former lover of Ron Rifkin’s character, and on the crime series “Leverage.” In May 2017, he made the briefest of cameo appearances in a celebrity-studded episode of Showtime’s “Twin Peaks: The Return,” as the elegant gray-haired assistant to the transgender F.B.I. chief of staff.

In 2011, he appeared as an ailing rock-club owner in an indie comedy film, “We Are the Hartmans.” And he returned to the New York stage in 2014, playing the family priest in an Off Broadway revival of David Rabe’s dark comedy “Sticks and Bones.” Ben Brantley’s review in The Times summed up his performance as “wonderfully unctuous.”

His final film role was as an acting coach in the mystery “Finding Julia” in 2019.

After he became a full-time resident of Hawaii in 1990, Mr. Chamberlain began painting again and exhibited his work there. More than once, he described himself as a contented “beach bum.”

In 2010 he announced that he would be moving back to Los Angeles and living apart from Martin Rabbett, the producer, writer and actor who was his companion of more than 30 years. But Mr. Boll said that before his death Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Rabbett had resumed living together in Hawaii.

Mr. Rabbett is his only immediate survivor.

When an interviewer for the Archive of American Television asked Mr. Chamberlain in 2010 how he wanted to be remembered, he laughed heartily and said, “I am not interested in being remembered.”

He was willing, however, to share his spiritual beliefs. “I’m positive that love exists,” he said, “and is available to us all the time.” He didn’t mean the phenomenon of being in love, he insisted, but rather “a vibration that is — and is at our beck and call.”

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When Marcus first sees his newborn baby, his world shatters. Convinced his wife Elena has betrayed him, he’s ready to walk away. But before he can, she reveals a secret that leaves him questioning everything. Is love enough to hold them together? I was ecstatic the day my wife announced that we were going to be parents. We’d been trying for a while and couldn’t wait to welcome our first child into the world. But one day, as we were discussing the birth plan, Elena dropped a bombshell. “I don’t want you in the delivery room,” she said, her voice soft but firm. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “What? Why not?” Elena wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I just… I need to do this part on my own. Please understand.” I didn’t understand, not really. But I loved Elena more than anything, and I trusted her. If this was what she needed, I’d respect it. Still, a tiny seed of unease planted itself in my gut that day. As Elena’s due date approached, that seed grew. The night before she was scheduled to be induced, I tossed and turned, unable to shake the feeling that something big was about to change. The next morning, we headed to the hospital. I kissed Elena at the entrance to the maternity ward, watching as they wheeled her away. Hours ticked by. I paced the waiting room, drank too much bad coffee, and checked my phone every two minutes. Finally, a doctor emerged. One look at his face, and my heart plummeted. Something was wrong. “Mr. Johnson?” he said, his voice grave. “You’d better come with me.” I followed the doctor down the hallway as a thousand horrible scenarios raced through my mind. Was Elena okay? The baby? We reached the delivery room, and the doctor pushed open the door. I rushed in, desperate to see Elena. She was there, looking exhausted but alive. Relief washed over me for a split second before I noticed the bundle in her arms. The baby, our baby, had skin as pale as fresh snow, wisps of blonde hair, and when it opened its eyes, they were startlingly blue. “What the hell is this?” I heard myself say, my voice sounding strange and far away. Elena looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of love and fear. “Marcus, I can explain—” But I wasn’t listening. A red haze of anger and betrayal descended over me. “Explain what? That you cheated on me? That this isn’t my kid?” “No! Marcus, please—” I cut her off, my voice rising. “Don’t lie to me, Elena! I’m not an idiot. That is not our baby!” Nurses bustled around us, trying to calm the situation, but I was beyond reason. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. How could she do this to me? To us? “Marcus!” Elena’s sharp voice cut through my rage. “Look at the baby. Really look.” Something in her tone made me pause. I glanced down as Elena gently turned the baby, pointing to its right ankle. There, clear as day, was a small crescent-shaped birthmark. Identical to the one I’d had since birth, and that other members of my family had, too. The fight drained out of me in an instant, replaced by utter confusion. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. Elena took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you years ago.” As the baby quieted, Elena began to explain. During our engagement, she’d undergone some genetic testing. The results showed she carried a rare recessive gene that could cause a child to have pale skin and light features, regardless of the parents’ appearance. “I didn’t tell you because the odds were so slim,” she said, her voice trembling. “And I didn’t think it would matter. We loved each other, and that was all that counted.” I sank into a chair, my head spinning. “But how…?” “You must carry the gene too,” Elena explained. “Both parents can carry it without knowing, and then…” She gestured to our baby. Our little girl was now sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the turmoil around her. I stared at the child. The birthmark was undeniable proof, but my brain was having trouble catching up. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Elena said, tears streaming down her face. “I was scared, and then as time passed, it seemed less and less important. I never imagined this would actually happen.” I wanted to be angry. Part of me still was. But as I looked at Elena, exhausted and vulnerable, and at our tiny, perfect baby, I felt something else growing stronger. Love. Fierce, protective love. I stood up and moved to the bed, wrapping my arms around both of them. “We’ll figure this out,” I murmured into Elena’s hair. “Together.” Little did I know, our challenges were just beginning. Bringing our baby home should have been a joyous occasion. Instead, it felt like walking into a war zone. My family had been chomping at the bit to meet the newest addition. But when they laid eyes on our pale-skinned, blonde-haired bundle of joy, all hell broke loose. “What kind of joke is this?” my mother, Denise, demanded, her eyes narrowing as she looked from the baby to Elena. I stepped in front of my wife, shielding her from the accusatory glares. “It’s not a joke, Mom. This is your grandchild.” My sister Tanya scoffed. “Come on, Marcus. You can’t seriously expect us to believe that.” “It’s true,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice calm. “Elena and I both carry a rare gene. The doctor explained everything.” But they weren’t listening. My brother Jamal pulled me aside, speaking in a low voice. “Bro, I know you love her, but you gotta face facts. That ain’t your kid.” I shook him off, anger rising in my chest. “It is my kid, Jamal. Look at the birthmark on the ankle. It’s just like mine.” But no matter how many times I explained, showed them the birthmark, or pleaded for understanding, my family remained skeptical. Every visit turned into an interrogation, with Elena bearing the brunt of their suspicion. One night, about a week after we’d brought the baby home, I woke to the sound of the nursery door creaking open. Instantly alert, I crept down the hallway, only to find my mother leaning over the crib. “What are you doing?” I hissed, startling her. Mom jumped back, looking guilty. In her hand was a damp washcloth. With a sickening jolt, I realized she’d been trying to rub off the birthmark, convinced it was fake. “That’s enough,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “Get out. Now.” “Marcus, I was just—” “Out!” I repeated, louder this time. As I ushered her towards the front door, Elena appeared in the hallway, looking worried. “What’s going on?” I explained what had happened, watching as hurt and anger flashed across Elena’s face. She’d been so patient, so understanding in the face of my family’s doubts. But this was a step too far. “I think it’s time your family left,” Elena said quietly. I nodded, turning to face my mother. “Mom, I love you, but this has to stop. Either you accept our child or you don’t get to be part of our lives. It’s that simple.” Denise’s face hardened. “You’re choosing her over your own family?” “No,” I said firmly. “I’m choosing Elena and our baby over your prejudice and suspicion.” As I closed the door behind her, I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. I loved my family, but I couldn’t let their doubts poison our happiness any longer. Elena and I relaxed on the couch, both emotionally drained. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, pulling her close. “I should have stood up to them sooner.” She leaned into me, sighing. “It’s not your fault. I understand why they’re having trouble accepting it. I just wish…” “I know,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Me too.” The next few weeks were a blur of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and tense phone calls from family members. One afternoon, as I was rocking the baby to sleep, Elena approached me with a determined look in her eye. “I think we should get a DNA test,” she said quietly. I felt a pang in my chest. “Elena, we don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I know this is our child.” She sat down next to me, taking my free hand in hers. “I know you believe that, Marcus. And I love you for it. But your family won’t let this go. Maybe if we have proof, they’ll finally accept us.” She was right. The constant doubt was eating away at all of us. “Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s do it.” Finally, the day arrived. We sat in the doctor’s office, Elena clutching the baby to her chest, me holding her hand so tightly I was afraid I might be hurting her. The doctor entered with a folder in his hand, his face unreadable. “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” he began, “I have your results here.” I held my breath, suddenly terrified. What if, by some cosmic joke, the test came back negative? How would I handle that? The doctor opened the folder and smiled. “The DNA test confirms that you, Mr. Johnson, are indeed the father of this child.” Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. I turned to Elena, who was crying silently, a mix of joy and vindication on her face. I pulled them both into a hug, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Armed with the test results, I called a family meeting. My mother, siblings, and a few aunts and uncles gathered in our living room, eyeing the baby with a mixture of curiosity and lingering doubt. I stood in front of them, test results in hand. “I know you’ve all had your doubts,” I began, my voice steady. “But it’s time to put them to rest. We’ve had a DNA test done.” I passed the results around, watching as they read the undeniable truth. Some looked shocked, others embarrassed. My mother’s hands shook as she held the paper. “I… I don’t understand,” she said weakly. ” All that recessive gene stuff was true?” “Of course it was,” I replied. One by one, my family members offered their apologies. Some were heartfelt, others awkward, but all seemed genuine. My mother was the last to speak. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?” Elena, always more gracious than I could ever be, stood up and hugged her. “Of course we can,” she said softly. “We’re family.” As I watched them embrace, with our baby cooing softly between them, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Our little family might not look like what everyone expected, but it was ours. And in the end, that was all that mattered.