Crying Men
September 26, 2022
Philip Seymour Hoffman resides as a spectral head on my Mt. Rushmore of actors. My ‘relationship’ with him traverses his filmography, myriad Youtube clips of his stage performances and interviews, and profiles of him in print publications. I feel as though my accumulation of feelings for him is as great, if not greater than, a number of people I’ve engaged with personally, IRL. Sam Taylor-Johnson’s 2004 photo of him (part of her Crying Men series) is one of the more striking artifacts of PSH ephemera I’ve come across. In my view, PSH was a sort-of harbinger of ugly feelings. His performances, even when provided weaker material or popcorn fare, were always captivating because he was an open vein––i.e, his channeling of an emotional essence was immediate and impossible to contain. PSH the character actor was pantheon, a chameleon of boundless invention, but this facet of his game was constant no matter his costume, prosthetic, vocal affectation, etc. and, I believe, was just as central to PSH the man. In interviews, he was somehow unassuming and impossibly heavy. He toggled modes of shy and witty to intelligent and serious about his craft and then on back to a self-consciousness about being so serious. Such schisms clue his burden. The specter of substance abuse loomed large, always threatening to shroud his light. He required his craft to survive, and required life to inform his craft. Ultimately, neither could sustain. To reduce him to his addiction is a disservice, but ugly feelings plagued his life, that is an undeniable truth. His uninhibited translation of his own anxieties, paranoia, etc. was a key grail of his gift and provides a through line, for these feelings were prolonged, perhaps there from the very beginning. I’m interested in this intermingling of ugly feelings, addiction (is addiction itself an ugly feeling?), and artistry. And all of this to say, while I certainly don’t trust some of Taylor-Johnson’s photos of Crying Men, I sense no artifice in her capture of Hoffman. The emotion is genuine, for he, as always, required only the invitation.
(26 September 2022)
P.S.
This one doesn’t really have anything to do with anything. Had to dip a toe in the blog post waters and writing about PSH felt like a home game. Two metaphors. I stand by it though. What is there to say about the man that hasn’t been said already? type of thing. But I’m focused at least. There’s some excess language-wise but the content doesn’t stray, doesn’t comment on itself, cut itself down. Kind of soothing, in fact. How do we get back here? To the point. Is this how all of these are going to go? I’d be a good grader. My only entry to focus on an artwork as opposed to a text. Could’ve commented on its composition more. Taylor-Johnson’s choices. Interesting beginnings of something: human bodies as ugly feelings (i.e. “harbinger(s) of ugly feelings”). Can actors aid catharsis? Is this their service? Does PSH free us or trap us inside with him? Addiction doesn’t really come up again, even though a number of the characters I spend time with over the course of the anthology engage in some form of substance abuse…