Tuesday, January 22, 2008


A couple years ago a friend and I were talking about Zadie Smith, and how happy it is to love the work of an artist that's approximately your own age. It's nice to think that I'll grow older getting to read her new novels, and that when she's writing about being 50 or 60, I'll (hopefully) be there to compare.

There aren't many others who've made me feel the same way: Paul Thomas Anderson (he's 36 but close enough), Craig Finn (obviously), Ryan Gosling in Half-Nelson (I'm not being a copycat, I swear).

I didn't like Brokeback Mountain, but when I watched it I felt like the same might be true about Heath Ledger. I'm not a fan, I couldn't tell you a thing about his divorce, I've never seen 10 Things I Hate About You, and I'm emotionally unaffected, except to the extent that it's frustrating to see someone that good bite it on purpose when people with a fraction of his talent carry on for years. We're stuck with more no-talent hacks instead of people like Heath Ledger. Imagine what a dumber world it would be if Brando offed himself at 28 or Nicholson did the same after Five Easy Pieces.

I've got no sympathy. My reaction is selfish. That's a compliment.

Perhaps not a suicide, in which case I'm an asshole for jumping the gun, as usual. It's an unhappy loss either way.


dmbmeg said...

Yeah how much of an asshole am I for saying "who is next?" after Renfro died?

crimenotes said...

I don't think there's any causal connection between your blog and Heath Ledger's death.

Personally, I was hoping the answer to your question was Limbaugh, and I'm still waiting. If you've got that kind of power, feel free to administer a hex any time.