That, and a remarkable run of movies from the early and mid-1960s — “The Magnificent Seven,” “The Victors,” “The Misfits” and of course “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” — were all before my time, pieces of family legend that I would discover, on video or late-night television or in repertory houses, as I pursued my informal education in film history. But he has never slowed down, and over 54 years has amassed a filmography of more than 90 feature films, as well as scores of television appearances.  It was on the small screen that I learned to recognize him, and shout, “Hey, it’s Uncle Eli!” at the screen. (Though I did the same thing the first time I saw “Mystic River,” in which his single-scene cameo as a loquacious liquor store owner is uncredited.) My youthful Eli epiphany, after seeing him in a few plays that I didn’t understand at all, came when I saw him as Mr. Freeze, scheming against Burt Ward and Adam West on the old “Batman” television series. (I suppose it is my scholarly duty to note that Otto Preminger also played that role, and of course Arnold Schwarzenegger did too, but in my entirely dispassionate judgment they hardly measure up.)  Most of the villains Uncle Eli played were considerably more hot-blooded, like the bandit Calvera in “The Magnificent Seven,” shot dead in a scene that mortified his young son, Peter — “Dad, how could you not outdraw Yul Brynner?” — and that, at least according to Wallach lore, displeased his father, Abe, when it drew cheers from the audience.  What stands out now is the energy of the performance, the spark of playful delight that leavens the savagery and sadism of the character.  I’m aware that my critical eye is shaded by personal affection, but it seems to me that what shines through Eli’s performances, however angry, treacherous or ugly the character — and he will always be “The Ugly” to spaghetti western fans — is the same gruff charm that I find in his company. The Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences citation celebrates Eli as “the quintessential chameleon, effortlessly inhabiting a wide range of characters, while putting his inimitable stamp on every role.” This is true enough, but it is also boilerplate that could just as easily apply to, say, Karl Malden, his foil and co-star in “Baby Doll,” or any of a number of other Methodizers of their generation. With Eli, there is an impish, sly quality, not a self-conscious winking, exactly, but a palpable relish at the sheer fun of acting. He has at times pushed this to the edge of hamminess, and at least once gone over it into something altogether glorious.  That was in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” where, as Clint Eastwood’s partner and patsy, he turned himself into an exploded western archetype: a cartoon character, a soulful gunslinger, a holy fool and a character destined to be quoted for as long as people watch movies.  Like most people in their 90s, he tends to reminisce a lot, and to revisit certain themes and stories. If he drops a word or forgets a name or a title (“The picture I did in Cambodia, with Peter O’Toole ...”) someone will fill in the blank (“Lord Jim”), either a visiting film critic or one of Eli’s children or, most often, Aunt Annie.  Wikipedia describes their marriage as “one of the longest and most successful in Hollywood history.” That may be faint praise, and “Hollywood” is not really Eli and Annie’s milieu. Their stars shone much brighter in New York, for one thing, where they have always lived and where, as a team, they starred in comedies like “Luv” and “Twice Around the Park,” both written by their friend Murray Schisgal. (“Luv,” directed by Mike Nichols, won a handful of Tonys and was made into a film starring other people.)  “I used to like to come into the room when Eli was being interviewed and say, ‘I have very sad news,’ ” Annie says as we sit down to dinner. “ ‘Our relationship is not going to work out. We’re finished.’ ”  It is hard to imagine the last time a journalist fell for this, which only improves the joke. “You see that? She loves to tease me,” Eli says.  “I was at the premiere of ‘The Holiday,’ a movie I did with Kate Winslet,” he continues. “Surrounded by all these beautiful young women. And after they left, Annie comes up and says to me, ‘Honestly, I don’t know what they see in you.’ ”  She does, of course. More to the point, is that the Academy — which never gave Uncle Eli a nomination and which he never bothered to join — at last sees what so many of us have delighted in for so long.  Uncle Eli himself is taking it in stride. One morning last month, shortly after our dinner, I went to visit him again. He greeted me with his usual complaint about The New York Times, which is that he can’t find the obituaries, which migrate from one section to another on different days. He had also just received news that his close friend, the playwright Joseph Stein, had died, and he paused to consider other recent losses, including Patricia Neal, at whose memorial he spoke this year. But he moved on briskly, with tales of Clint Eastwood and Marilyn Monroe and plugs for his 2004 memoir, “The Good, the Bad and Me.” (“The subtitle is ‘In My Anecdotage,’ ” he says. “Bill Clinton asked me if he could use it, and I said: ‘You sold two million copies of your book. How dare you try to steal my subtitle?’ ”)  And there was more to show, as well, including a passage from one of Tennessee Williams’s letters offering tribute to his loyal friends Eli and Annie, who had bolstered him against the occasional unkindness of critics (including those from The New York Times). “Eli,” Williams wrote, “has discovered the secret of pissing people off. He’s happy.”  A version of this article appears in print on November 7, 2010, on Page AR1 of the New York edition with the headline: Oscar Catches Up With Uncle Eli. Order Reprints| Today's Paper|Subscribe
Eli Wallach (or Uncle Eli, as he is known to A. O. Scott) is about to usher in his 95th birthday with a lifetime achievement Oscar.