But when I heard the news, besides the tinge of grief and “Oh, no ” that always comes when someone that you have identified with or admired dies, I felt a sense of indignation.  Besides all of the greatness that will be exalted for the next week or so, with pointless interviews and maybe a marathon of his movies on TCM, Paul Newman, to me, always represented an unerring bastion of class.  Behind his mischievous and sexy grin, you never suspected anything sinister.  He was wholesome, devoted, honest, funny, charming and talented.  And I’m left wondering — who is taking his place?  Is there anyone left in Hollywood without sordid pasts to hide, paralyzing insecurities, a complete lack of restraint or impulse control?  Who sees their work as an actor as a job – a good job – but not a right, not a means to fame and fortune and a golden ticket to bypass shame or decency?  With these celebrated stars dying, to whom are they leaving their legacy?

The “giants” of today’s Hollywood are people that mean box-office.  Obnoxious starlets like Scarlett Johannsen and their male counterparts like Shia LeBeouf.  The slightly older stars like Leonardo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, proclaimed class acts like Kate Winslet or Charlize Theron are still susceptible to being perturbed by their fame.  Surely it’s true that they are subjected to more scrutiny than Newman ever was, but I don’t know — isn’t there some way for them to maintain sophistication?  Mystery?  Charm?

Maybe the state of the movie business is even to blame.  With so much dreck, it’s probably difficult to be excited about your job all of the time.  To not just see it as an empty paycheck.  It makes me almost nauseous to think that Renee Zellweger has the same number of Oscars as Paul Newman (1).

This is making me depressed.  I’m going to watch a (good) movie.

From his role as Jack in one of my very favorite Woody Allen movies, Husbands & Wives, to his producing and acting credits on last years truly great Michael Clayton, Pollock brought a certain unassuming sophistication to his work. I have mentioned him on this site before, as someone with an eye for energy and visual stimulation.

With a quiet personal life (he was married to Claire Griswold from 1958 until his death — 50 fucking years) and a screen persona that was more paternal (as evidenced by his role as nurturing, tough-love father figure in Michael Clayton, as well as his turn as Will’s actual father on the sitcom Will & Grace) than commanding, Pollock may not have been the first actor to come to mind when reciting the A-list. But with a filmography that includes 2 Oscars (Best Director and Best Picture for Out of Africa) and a slew of contemporary classics from The Way We Were to Tootsie, Pollock contributed meaning and life to American film and his brand of class and humanity will be missed.

I was too young and unhip to really be affected by the deaths of other young luminaries like River Phoenix or Kurt Cobain.  I am old enough now and I feel affected.  What makes me so sad is the knowledge that he will never be in another movie (who is going to take his roles?  Josh Hartnett?  Please!).  His resume is so short when I know that he would have kept getting better and better (not to mention hotter and hotter).  It’s my understanding he was even going to venture into directing.  It’s so tragic, it really is.  So let’s just watch one of his movies, weep and say no to drugs.  Well, at least two of those things.