Friday, February 07, 2014

Belated R.I.P. Philip Seymour Hoffman

A combination of work, travel, and illness has prevented me from weighing in earlier on this very sad loss. I'm still buried under work and the remnants of the illness, so I'll keep it simple. Two main thoughts struck me when I heard the news:

1. This is the first time I can recall a truly great actor dying in my lifetime who was at the *height* of his career. (Heath Ledger was still ascending - a different kind of tragedy; so was James Gandolfini, albeit slightly later in life; the rest were largely in their twilight years.)

2. Fucking drugs.

Beyond that, I can't improve on Slate critic Dana Stevens' lovely, grieving tribute, so here it is for anyone who missed it.


On, if it's possible, an even sadder note, the other downer of a topic that seems to be dominating movie-related news these days is technically old news - but the kind that never dies, for a reason: Dylan Farrow's allegations that her stepfather, Woody Allen, molested her as a child. Much virtual ink and vitriol has been spilled anew on the subject in the wake of the Golden Globes and Dylan's "open letter" to the N.Y. Times. Too much. So much that I don't really feel like adding to it except to lament the fact that no matter what the truth is, it's fucking obscene and obscenely tragic. The most frustrating thing about it is that we'll probably never know for sure what the truth is. And that's all I have to say about that.