This has been a brutal week for anglophiles.
Even as the stream of David Bowie tributes continues to flow, news came this morning that actor Alan Rickman—who, for a generation of film lovers, became the signature villain of his time in Die Hard, as well as the archetypal unattainable bohemian romantic ideal in Truly, Madly, Deeply—has also died, also at age 69, also of cancer.
In another week, the grieving would very likely have been more conspicuous. (Note to aspiring young arts journalists: Pay attention during the part of J-school when they cover obituary writing.) Nevertheless, Rickman was a brilliant character actor whose effortless knack for wry, acerbic comedy only made his equally impressive skill at more dramatic, emotional, and menacing portrayals all the more rich. He was that rare presence whose name on a movie's cast list was reason enough to see it. Even if the film was sub-par, Rickman was always worth it—he even made all those Harry Potter films a little less tedious to endure.
He was also one of only about 10 men in the past 40 years for whom a mustache was not categorically a horrible mistake.
Rickman's other finest hours include Bob Roberts, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, the largely forgotten 1991 torture/censorship film Closet Land , The January Man, Close My Eyes, Sense and Sensibility, and Galaxy Quest.
And here, though the audio quality is not great, is Rickman reading a poem by Robyn Hitchcock at RH's 50th birthday party:
