Truly, sadly, deeply

If I could figure out how to put this post inside a black border, I would do it, because Alan Rickman has died, and my world truly seems diminished.

I want to say that the first thing you noticed about Rickman was his voice; if ever the use of “velvet” as a descriptor was apt, it was for his voice. Mellow, soft, resonant; you wanted to stroke it. But the velvet covered a core of steel, which came through in a number of ways.

He also had the most expressive face, he  conveyed madness, menace, mystery, disdain, longing, tenderness, brutality—everything came from his voice and his face. He was amazing.

I suspect it’s primarily because of Rickman (not Bruce Willis) that 1988’s Die Hard has become enshrined on a lot of people’s traditional must-watch Christmas movie lists. It was his first Hollywood role (although I recall him six years before as the slimy Obadiah Slope in the mini-series of The Barchester Chronicles). There was such relish in Rickman’s portrayal of villains—Hans Gruber in Die Hard, Slope in Barchester, Marston in Quigley Down Under, the Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. They were all borderline OTT (okay, some of them went about 50 miles past the border), but utterly individual. He brought something new to each character.

Which brings me to another point, related to the voice, but much more. Rickman had a unique enunciation (which made him such a good target for the celebrity impersonators) that added layers of depth and deliciousness to the portrayal. I don’t know whether he was given the best lines in his films or he just made them the best, but in movie after movie it’s Rickman’s character who’s quoted over others.

In fact, there’s a cottage industry for celebrities imitating him, viz. my favorite, John Sessions on the panel show QI:

Moreover, he could turn a small or mediocre film into something special. The Costner Robin Hood, for example. It was splashy, but dreadful, except for Rickman’s Sheriff. Bottle Shock was thin, with a plot that drifted all over the place, but watching him made it worthwhile. Same for The January Man—even early in his career, he could add interest to a dog of a movie.

I don’t need to tell you about the Harry Potter movies (but you should read Daniel Radcliffe’s beautiful tribute to Rickman as the actor, the colleague and the human being). It was like the guy invented evil. But I loved him in the smaller productions: Truly, Madly, Deeply is one of my all-time favorite love stories, and Rickman as the dead cellist whose spirit returns to help his lover over her grief is just stunning.

And then there’s Dogma, a quirky, profane essay into religion, morality, gynecology, the destruction of the universe, and Rufus, the 13^th apostle. Rickman played Metatron, the Voice of God. Here he is, in a completely different version of the Annunciation.

He held his own in an all-star production like Love Actually, and (in my opinion) totally owned Sense and Sensibility.

And if you haven’t noticed from this very short list, his range was enormous, and I’ve not even got to his stage work. Or his personal integrity, generosity and kindness (which Radcliffe and others who knew him well have discussed).

At 69, Rickman’s loss is huge; he should have had at least a couple more decades to give us. It seems completely inadequate to say that I’m deeply saddened by his death, but that’s all I got. To quote his android in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, “I told you this would all end in tears.”