The Triangle

I tend to gossip about the lives of minor British actors before I tend to American movie stars, but Heath Ledger’s death caught my eye along with everyone else’s (read the link; it's the most accurate, disambiguating rendition of the story I've come across). It might’ve had something to do with the fact that he’s an Aussie, which, while not exactly British, is at least also not American (though he tried to act like it). It might’ve had something to do with him achieving a high profile at an early age, particularly striking given his later penchant for avoiding blockbuster hits and stereotypical leading-man roles (compare the careers of Orlando Bloom, roughly the same age as Ledger, or Zac Efron, both of whom jumped at the chance of becoming pop culture icons as soon as the opportunity was presented them). Or it might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was so dang young (what, 5 to 9 years older than most of us students?), and it made me realize, gee, if Ned Kelly can pass away without warning, what guarantee is there for the rest of us?

I saw The Patriot a couple years after it came out on video and remembered Ledger’s face from then on (given a particular scene in that movie, how could you not?); after he took the lead role in A Knight’s Tale the year after, his status as a new silver screen heartthrob was easily recognizable. A curious sort of sub-culture fan-cult comprised of geeky young women quickly grew up around Ledger thanks to his part in the flick, but aside from that, only his groundbreaking role in Brokeback Mountain garnered any substantial attention from the masses.

Heath wasn’t particularly fond of limelight; according to the building superintendent where he lived, “He was a very simple guy. You wouldn't know he was an actor unless you saw him on TV.” Most of the commentary I’ve read about his death revolves around how much of his talent was yet untapped; it seems like he would save himself up for only the most poignant characters, conserving and refining both his skills as an actor and his bid at stardom. Rather than build his reputation on careful PR marketing, Ledger earned his status through substance. His attitude toward the industry reminds me of Christian Bale, who started slowly and worked his way up through the ranks of Hollywood with integrity and class over a few decades. Only recently has Bale become box-office hit material via his stint as Batman, and after Heath snagged a supporting role in the latest installment, I could easily imagine a mentoring relationship being fostered.

The tragedy of losing something you only might’ve had is perhaps the most regretful: we have to deal with unsatisfied anticipation in addition to simple grief. Maybe this is why people are so stirred up over Heath. When Marlon Brando died in 2004, there was a signature sympathetic tut-tutting on the part of the public, but no real mourning. Plenty of truly awe-inspiring public figures have passed away without generating a big hoopla, but in most cases, their time—as we perceive it—had come. In Heath’s case, it seemed like one of the Fates had caught his thread on a sharp object and torn it off by accident.

His sudden death also inspires more empathy in other relatively young folk. How many of us here at school take pills to help cope with stress or depression, and how often do we consider the imminence of our own mortality? If nothing else, the reminder that even our idols can die is frightening.

Of course, there are some people who don’t sense Ledger’s death as a loss, who can’t relate to any aspect of his position in life, and who really don’t care where he’s from. Bryan Lambert offers some guesswork as to why people like himself dive headfirst into the sensationalism of an event like this for no apparent reason, even despite second thoughts. As cold as Lambert’s assessment is, he could be onto something: is our interest in Ledger only a result of the desire for easy-access spectacle?

Considering how much we've come to expect it from the man, it's a distinct possibility.

Article Tools