Donald Sutherland (1935-2024)

by Cláudio Alves

THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE (2013) Francis Lawrence

Yesterday, Kiefer Sutherland came to social media with a devastating announcement. His father, who he rightfully described as "one of the most important actors in the history of film," had passed away. Donald Sutherland was 88, and he leaves behind an enviable legacy. His career is the stuff of legend, spanning nearly two hundred screen credits over six decades and many a landmark in American cinema. Moreover, his kindness and political activism earned him admiration as a human being, not just an artist.

Speaking only for myself, Donald Sutherland was one of my favorite thespians of the silver screen, a man of varied talents who could as effortlessly embody fatherly warmth as the darkest impulses within us all. His absence is inconceivable, yet one must contend with it. And what better way to do it than to celebrate his well-lived life? Let's start at the beginning…

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Bernard Hill (1944-2024)

by Cláudio Alves

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING (2003) Peter Jackson

Today, sad news comes from England. Actor Bernard Hill has passed away at the age of 79, comforted by his family to the end. 

Among Oscar obsessives, Hill is best known for his appearances in Titanic and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. For James Cameron, he played the stalwart captain of the doomed ship, while Peter Jackson saw him embody Théoden, King of Rohan. Both roles share a touch of quiet authority, power laced with the deep sorrow of someone responsible for countless other lives. Hill's very presence seemed to project these qualities, making him a dream character actor, able to shape a movie's tonalities with little more than a glance, a shift of posture, a sigh. To this day, he's the only actor to star in two of the Academy's all-time champions, pictures with eleven Oscars each…

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Louis Gossett Jr. (1936-2024)

by Cláudio Alves

THE COLOR PURPLE (2023) Blitz Bazawule

Yesterday, in a public statement, the family of Louis Gossett Jr. announced the actor's death. He was 87, and though no cause was revealed, he had been fighting prostate cancer for the past decade. Mourning the loss of such an artist is to celebrate the person and the performer, remembering his work across decades, from stage to screen, big and small. No genre was beneath him, no role beyond his range, be it a lead part or a supporting turn that showed up for just one scene or two. Indeed, earlier this year, Gossett received a SAG ensemble nomination for his work in The Color Purple musical. 

Speaking of awards, this thespian is a history-making figure for Oscar obsessives. After all, he was the first Black man to win the Best Supporting Actor trophy…

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Tom Wilkinson (1948-2023)

by Cláudio Alves

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL (2014) Wes Anderson

True character actors often feel like a thing of the past, one of those artifacts of bygone eras lost in our collective trudge forward. And yet, some performers keep the idea alive into the 21st century, shining brightly as something other than an all-consuming star. Such was the case of Tom Wilkinson, the two-time Academy Award-nominated actor who died suddenly last Saturday, surrounded by family. He was 75 years old. 

I concede that it might feel wrong to start the new year with an obituary. Still, one must pay respect to the fallen titan, an artist of integrity and craft whose filmography contains over a hundred credits, from minor indies to awards juggernauts, chamber dramas, blockbusters, animation, and the whole shebang. On this sad occasion, let's remember the greatness of Tom Wilkinson…

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Goodbye, Terence Davies (1945-2023)

by Cláudio Alves

A moment ago, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to you. I have run through this letter in my mind so very often and I wanted to compose something eloquent, but the words just don't seem to be there.

So mused Hester Collyer in The Deep Blue Sea, and so I felt this past week, trying to articulate a fitting farewell to Terence Davies and failing to do so, over and over again. Words don't seem enough to describe what the filmmaker meant to me. Suddenly, my limitations as a writer became obvious, heavy on the soul, almost accusatory, for I can't seem to express what cinema lost on October 7th, 2023. It feels too big a calamity to encompass within a measly obituary. At the same time, this bruisedness that conquers me seems foolish, one of those idiocies of celebrity culture. How can I not feel silly for this grief over someone I've never met and will never meet? How can I worry about this considering everything else going on in the world? I don't know, yet I do.

Eloquence and intelligence, sensibility and sense have slipped from my grasp, so vulnerability might have to be the last resource available to confront this text, clumsy as it might seem. At my wit's end, it's all that's left…

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