PSH, Again

This Philip Seymour Hoffman thing hangs overhead like a dark cloud.

It is one of those deaths. He was one of those life forms.

I read a tribute to him in Rolling Stone this morning.

On the title page it says "The tragic last days and brilliant career of the greatest actor of his generation."

Many times when prominent people die they are eulogized as "the greatest.....................

Many times the compliment is undeserved. Sometimes it is.

Apparently in Hoffman's case the description is deserved, and corroborated by his peers.

When I die I will be eulogized as the greatest whiner of my generation, and well deserved. I have worked hard at it and have perfected the art through persistence and consistency.

Still I don't see myself in the same "greatness" league as PSH.

He was known for total commitment to whatever part he played and for fleshing out each character by "empathizing with a character's vulnerabilities."

That last part makes so much sense when you consider the sensitivity he brought to the screen, so obviously originating in his soul. You could sense it in interviews, you could just see it in his face, wordlessly. There was raw emotion in his eyes, his facial expressions and his body language.

I saw an interview with him re-broadcast on 60 Minutes a week ago. I squirmed in my seat, in admiration, for the raw vulnerability he was unafraid to reveal.

Apparently he was driven, obsessing about every small detail and unafraid to criticize fellow actors when he felt they were not giving a part their all.

Hoffman had enormous talent. Cameron Crowe said "He was the greatest of his generation and more. He was an actor's actor." The last comment, as I tirelessly point out ad nauseum every chance I get, is the ultimate compliment. But Hoffman did not take his talent for granted; he busted his ass to make every performance as good as it could be.

That is what makes a human successful and worthy of respect.

Writer-producer and friend Jeff Roda wrote about Hoffman, "Phil taught me something about genius. It commits without prejudice, believes wholeheartedly and toils tirelessly and without restraint. It is always pushing, pushing, pushing toward the edge, wherever that may be."

In addition to all that the man remained humble. Friends say that when he won the Oscar for Capote it changed nothing. He appreciated the award but cared only about his work.

Personally he seemed a bit lost. In a 2005 Rolling Stone interview he said: "No one knows me. No one understands me. That's the other thing that changes as you get older. It's like everybody understands you. But no one understands me."

I understand why sensitivity kills in this world. I don't like it but I understand it.

I'm starting to think there is a conspiracy against it. The world does not need sensitivity. Sensitivity reveals truth and communicates directly from one human heart to the next.

In a sense, sensitivity is akin to individuality, and that cannot be tolerated in a world like ours.

I have no credibility to say that the world lost a great actor and a great man in the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, although I know it in my soul.

That knowledge is more than substantiated by his peers.