http://www.guardian.co.uk/australia/story/0,,2245819,00.html---------------------------------------
'It's not fair. It's not right'Thursday January 24, 2008
The Guardian
The shock felt by so many at the death of Heath Ledger shows how strongly we identify with great actors, says Joe Queenan 'I don't have to believe it if I don't want to," the writer John O'Hara said when he learned that America's greatest songwriter, George Gershwin, was dead at the age of 39. Similar thoughts come to mind with the news that Heath Ledger is no longer among the living. Those of us who followed his career from the beginning, those of us who may have remarked, just this past weekend, that we were looking forward to Ledger's sinister turn as the Joker in the upcoming The Dark Knight in a way we were not looking forward to Jude Law's turn as anyone in anything, are devastated that he will no longer be on hand to divert us, surprise us, inspire us, cheer us. It had not occurred to any of us that he would be leaving so soon; none of his admirers were quite prepared for this turn of events.
Ledger's death illustrates the unusually intimate relationship the public has with movie stars. Movie stars, unlike rock stars, have an appeal that transcends narrow demographic parameters; middle-aged people do not instinctively resent young actors in the way they resent young musicians or young athletes. It is a natural human instinct to want gifted young people to succeed, because talent should be rewarded. But there is even more of a desire to see the young and the gifted succeed if they are charismatic and fabulous-looking, which movie stars usually are and athletes and musicians often are not.
This generation-spanning affection for actors can also be explained by the fact that no matter how reclusive and mysterious the star may be, the public feels that it knows him or her. The public is like a doting parent that spends decades compiling a mental scrapbook in which it meticulously mounts photos of its child's greatest triumphs. When an actor dies young, it is almost as if one's own child had passed away. There is no greater tragedy than for a parent to outlive its children, because the old are supposed to exit the stage before the young. This is why Ledger's death seems not only tragic but morally incorrect. Once again, the universe is not playing by the rules.
When a bit player or an ageing has-been dies, we are saddened but hardly shattered. These people may have amused us from time to time, but their careers were not part of the fabric of our lives. With the Cary Grants and the Audrey Hepburns, with the Brad Pitts and the Julia Roberts, things are different. We welcome their arrival, monitor their progress, revel in their triumphs. But part of the deal is that we expect them to hang around for awhile, not to pull a Jimi Hendrix, a Janis Joplin, a Jim Morrison, a Nick Drake. When an actor dies young, there is more cultural fallout than when a musician checks out early, because there is no way for musicians to grow old gracefully in the way actors can. Rock stars and athletes tend to hang around too long, making fools of themselves, frantically clinging to the last vestiges of youth. Actors simply grow up and play more mature roles. Actors can get old without seeming ridiculous. If we are lucky enough to be exposed to an actor's work when he first starts out, in my case because my 15-year-old daughter originally viewed 10 Things I Hate About You as the defining film of her generation, we start to think of them almost as members of the family. We indulge their fledgling errors (A Knight's Tale, Four Feathers), chide them for squandering their talent (Casanova), beam with pride when they begin to assert themselves (Monster's Ball), and are outraged when they are denied the honours they deserve (the Academy's failure to give Ledger its best actor award for Brokeback Mountain ranks with its most hideous, cowardly decisions ever. Ledger will now be remembered as the victim of an epic miscarriage of justice, giving a truly astounding performance that somehow did not find favour with the grizzled, homophobic slobs who run Hollywood).
For a man not yet 30, Ledger squeezed an awful lot into a short career. By the day of his death, he had already vaulted from a teen heart-throb in 10 Things I Hate About You (a post-adolescent reworking of The Taming of the Shrew) and A Knight's Tale to a performer known as much for his gifts (Monster's Ball), his range (The Brothers Grimm, I'm Not There) and his courage (Brokeback Mountain). Following a similar, though not identical, trajectory to Johnny Depp, who debuted as a teen idol, began to be taken seriously in Ed Wood, started to be taken very seriously after Donnie Brasco, and soon reached the point that he was not only admired but beloved (Pirates of the Caribbean), Ledger had quickly got to the stage of his career where his work was being talked about months before previews of his films had even reached the screen. The excitement and anticipation surrounding The Dark Knight has not focused on Christian Bale, the worthy star; it has swirled around Ledger, the villain. This may be because in taking on the role of Batman, Bale is getting in the ring with Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer and George Clooney, while in taking on the role of the Joker, Ledger is getting in the ring with Jack Nicholson.
Ledger is not the first gifted actor to die long before his time, but not all actors who die long before their time fall into the same category. When the troubled Brad Renfro passed away last week, his best years as an actor were far behind him; his was the classic case of the child star who ceased to be appealing once he ceased to be a child. Much the same can be said about Elvis Presley, a very old 42 when he breathed his last, with any hopes of a serious film career having gone up in smoke years before. John Belushi and Chris Farley, both alumni of Saturday Night Live, died quite young, but the reverberations were slight, as it was not likely that either of them was ever going to become a lord of the stage.
A more appropriate comparison with Ledger is River Phoenix, the beneficiary of a huge cult following after his death at 23. Less obviously gifted than Ledger, and certainly much more cut from the ostentatiously self-destructive James Dean mould, Phoenix was already starting to make his mark as an actor, particularly after his turn as Keanu Reeves' narcoleptic sidekick in My Own Private Idaho (a Pacific northwest reworking of Henry IV). In the end, Ledger's death is more in the category of Dean and Marilyn Monroe, actors who had already made a number of memorable films at the time of their deaths, actors for whom the sky seemed to be the limit. Ironically, their stature grew after their deaths in part because their lives were so brief, their body of work so small, and they didn't stick around long enough to make films like Meet the Fockers. This is the only upside to an untimely demise.
Ledger made one film for which he will undeniably be remembered. When the news of his death was reported on the airwaves, commentators unanimously described him as the groundbreaking young Aussie who played the "gay cowboy" in Brokeback Mountain. This captures the press at its most lavishly cretinous. Brokeback Mountain is no more about gay cowboys than Hamlet is about indecisive, twenty-something Danes. It is about two people who are madly in love but whose lives are destroyed because they cannot be together. They are separated not only by social mores, by marriage, by distance, but by class: Jake Gyllenhaal, buoyed with the emancipation from financial worry he has achieved by marrying into a wealthy family, can do whatever he damn well pleases, whereas Ledger, a cash-strapped day labourer, does not have the money or the social mobility to go where he wants, whenever he wants. Gyllenhaal, a talented actor, does a very nice job in Brokeback Mountain, but Ledger gives a performance that is literally heartbreaking. The harmless pretty boy who once danced down the steps of a football stadium singing Can't Take My Eyes Off of You in 10 Things I Hate About You had now grown into a serious, confident, fully grown man who played against his looks, played against his sexual persuasion, played against cultural stereotypes and delivered a performance for the ages. I know quite a few people who have still not seen Brokeback Mountain, presumably because they find the subject matter off-putting. This is idiotic. Brokeback Mountain is a beautiful story about two people who love one another but live in a hypocritical society that needs a moral overhaul. Romeo and Juliet, anyone?
When I saw The Patriot eight years ago, one element in the story repelled me. Early in the film, the grizzled patriarch Mel Gibson butchers a contingent of Redcoats after his youngest son is capriciously slain by the murderous Jason Isaacs. As the film wends its way toward Isaacs' deadly comeuppance, Ledger, playing Gibson's eldest son, gradually evolves from a boy into a man. Everything is in place for Gibson to die and for Ledger to avenge him, because the whole point of these archetypal tales is to transmit ancestral truths to young people: your father is going to die, so before he dies learn every trick he has up his sleeve, and then raise good children, love your wife and kill the villain. But, because Gibson was a star of greater magnitude than his Australian compatriot, and because Gibson was directing the film, it was the young Ledger, not the middle-aged Gibson, who died. There was something shockingly wrong about this, something that violated the basic laws of drama. Ledger wasn't supposed to die before Gibson died, not in a motion picture, not in real life. It's not fair. It's not right. It's a terrible way to end what was otherwise a very uplifting story.
Death of a star, birth of a cult
How six young actors became legends
James DeanDean died aged 24 on September 30 1955, following a car crash on what is now Route 46 in California. He is buried at Park Cemetery in Fairmount, Indiana, though his gravestone has been stolen three times. There is a memorial in Cholame, California, and a stretch of Route 46 was rechristened the James Dean Memorial Highway. A troubled soul, plagued by depression and substance abuse, Dean made few films. The collective memory seems to preserve him as the swaggering, misunderstood Jim Stark in Rebel Without A Cause, and as such he has remained a touchstone for generations of teenagers and an inspiration for plays, films and fashions. His estate still earns $5m a year.
Edie SedgwickThe subject of many of Andy Warhol's films in the late 60s, Sedgwick died in November 1971, aged 28. Her films were not commercial successes; instead she earned notoriety for hanging out at The Factory in New York and her outlandish fashion sense (leotards and silver hair featured heavily). Her death is believed to have been caused by barbiturates and alcohol. Sedgwick is rumoured to have inspired Bob Dylan's songs Just Like A Woman, Leopard-Skin Pillbox-Hat and Like A Rolling Stone, as well as Femme Fatale by the Velvet Underground, but her lasting legacy has been as a style icon. In 2006, her life was re-examined in the Sienna Miller vehicle Factory Girl.
Jean HarlowNicknamed the Platinum Blonde and the Blonde Bombshell, Harlow was one of the great sex symbols of the 30s. She died, aged 26, from renal failure, and is buried in a private room at Forest Lawn Memorial Park, California. A huge star during her lifetime, she was also dogged by scandal - her first husband, Paul Bern, was found dead, prompting whispers of murder and suicide. Today she remains the blueprint for all the platinum blondes who followed in her wake.
Marilyn MonroeIn chemical terms, Monroe died of "acute barbiturate poisoning" on August 5 1962, aged 36. In legal terms, things are murkier. Donald Spoto's 2001 biography makes the case for accidental death; the LA County coroner decided it was "probably suicide" - but the officer who found her asserted murder, as did her first husband, Joe DiMaggio, who believed the Kennedys were responsible. Monroe's image has survived her to such an extent that it seems less a cult and more an indelible part of the culture.
Rudolph ValentinoA reported 100,000 people attempted to attend the funeral of this star of the silent movies, who always knew that "I am merely the canvas on which women paint their dreams". He died at 31 of peritonitis. For years a mysterious woman veiled in black visited his grave on the anniversary of his death, carrying a red rose. Various women claimed to be her; a fan called Vicki Callahan currently fulfils the role.
River PhoenixThe older brother of Joaquin Phoenix, River was only 23 but had already been nominated for a Golden Globe and an Oscar when he overdosed on heroin and cocaine outside the Viper Room in Hollywood on October 31 1993. Johnny Depp, who until 2004 was part-owner of the club, used to close it every Halloween in memory of Phoenix; every year fans still gather on that date to pay tribute. A keen singer-songwriter, it is in music that he is most often remembered - by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, R.E.M. (who dedicated their album Monster to him), and Rufus Wainwright, among many others.
Laura Barton and Aida Edemariam
