Now the only way Talula, Willa and Cooper Hoffman will be able to laugh again is when watching the hilarious movie Pirate Radio, where their father was a DJ of a certain kind, an illegal music pioneer in the rocking 60s British waves.
Rest in peace dear Philip Seymour Hoffman, heroin won today when they took you away from us, away from it all. We can only hope you are able to see the gigantic sorrow your death has created, almost as sad as a Woody Allen film.
I remember your first flick as a director, Jack Goes Boating, thinking, whoa, another actor equally talented on both sides of the camera, and knowing that when your acting days were going to be over by your own choice, you would have another career all warmed up for you and in the waiting.
Capote was a masterpiece in acting, the brutality of your physical transformation was even painful to watch, so true to the legend that the man was. Is that what is called Method Acting? I would call that dedication acting, an extraordinary flexibility and ability to transform oneself into another person. More than talking, more than make up, a real osmosis into someone you were not.
You died all alone, fully dressed in a bathtub, a scene that in a sad way may have made you smirk, if only it were an image from one of your movies. Now that image will stay with me forever in sadness. You barely reached middle age, 46 is no longer half way through life, it’s young, promising, hopeful, rising, damned drugs, damn it Philip.