Another death. They’re coming thick and fast these days. This time it’s William Hurt.
This one struck home more than a lot. He was one of my favourite actors, though don’t know why exactly. That he was a great actor is indisputable. Some actors always play themselves – Hurt inhabited a different character every time. He was one of the most versatile and talented actors of his time.
His time coincided with the era I began to appreciate movies as an artform, and not just entertainment. His hot streak was in the eighties, when I first started taking big chunks out of the world assteenager and young man.
I liked the way he looked too, though that was probably helped by someone once telling me we shared a resemblance. Outside of ticking a few physical traits we had in common, that wasn’t really true, but I was happy to believe it at the time.
Back then, fine actor he was, he was also a bit dippy off-screen – thoroughly caught up in the mysticism of the acting profession. It seems remarkable that none of that made it to the screen, but that’s how good he was.
His star began to wane in the nineties, when he became less of the leading man and heartthrob and more the character actor he believed himself to be. He became a strong figure on screen, tall, substantial, occasionally magnetic.
Now he’s dead and I feel a bit older. I was there when he was the hottest actor in town, and now he’s gone too.