Philip Seymour Hoffman, as you’ve no doubt heard by now, died of an apparent drug overdose last weekend at the age of 46. He had struggled with addiction for years, been sober for decades, and only relatively recently relapsed. To say he was a talented actor seems a ridiculous understatement, but at the same time, to lament the loss of his talent seems insensitive and trite at the moment.

(The title of this post is a line from Along Came Polly, which I just watched for the first time the other day. While it is far from a great movie, it is classic Hoffman.)

The news of his death hit me pretty hard, certainly harder than any other celebrity death in recent years. Maybe it’s because we’re close to the same age, or maybe it’s because I identify with the tubby, socially awkward archetype he often portrayed. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost people to addiction and other demons, some quite recently.

Maybe I feel a profound impact from this, not because his death seems so senseless (even though it does), but because I can envision a scenario in which it would seem to make perfect sense. I have been fortunate in that my issues with addiction have not threatened me in such a critical way, but I am still a recovering addict who knows how quickly the real world can slip away.

I started collecting articles written about him, and about the issues he has brought to light, since last weekend. They represent some of the best ways to respond to such a tragedy, and a few of the worst. Continue reading →