Heath Ledger, 1979--2008

I can’t really wrap my brain around the idea that Heath Ledger is dead. I have such an indelible image of him in my mind, as Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain, the one left behind after a wrenchingly tragic death, the one left to blink disbelievingly that someone so young, so good-hearted, so beautiful, could be taken from this earth so suddenly and horribly. I remember vividly the first time (and also the second time) I watched this performance in a darkened movie theatre, as Ennis feebly cradled in his hands the few earthly remains of another man’s life, and nearly choked on the wealth of emotion left behind. I imagined this character left to choke on that love and sorrow for the rest of his life; it was the most a film has ever made me cry. Now Ledger is the one gone too soon, breaking the hearts in every life he has ever touched.

I don’t presume to know who Heath Ledger really was, just because I saw him in a movie. I only know how he shook me to the core with that film, and as an actor, I know a performance of that magnitude simply can’t come from a soul that doesn’t have the deepest empathy for the human condition. That was the beauty of Brokeback Mountain, and the beauty of any film that achieves the highest and noblest goal of storytelling: To make us feel profoundly for people we have never met, and to carry that understanding to the people we do meet.

The storytellers who aim for this highest and noblest goal – be they actors, writers, directors – have a tough job. They live with open hearts and exposed skins; they damage easily. Whatever the circumstances of Heath Ledger’s death, I wish him rest and peace.