Until They're Gone

Until They’re Gone

By: Nicole Reis

I have to admit to something of which I’m not too proud. You know the saying that‘you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone’? Well, for me, in regards to the late Heath Ledger, the statement could not ring truer. And I feel ashamed because, in many ways, my new found appreciation for the man is a cliché, having not grasped the actual value of his artistry until it was lost to me and this world, having not shown my gratitude for him until it was too late. Isn’t that classic? What good does my awe and admiration do, now that he is gone? The realization makes me sad. I’ve witnessed the first loss of one of my generation’s only true artists. And I didn’t understand or acknowledge him while he was here.

You see, I just returned from my second viewing of the “The Dark Knight”, and as I had been the first time around, I was utterly taken with the performance Mr. Ledger gave in portraying the film’s main villain. He was spectacular.

Essentially, what Heath was able to do was take a character who, by all logical argument, should have been totally unsympathetic and freighting, and turn him in to a character for whom you genuinely felt, someone who you actually found yourself not only liking, but loving, someone you rooted for, from beginning to end. Who in the audience actually cared about Batman or his crusade to rid Gotham city of its crime when you had in his antagonist a most charismatic and likable figure? Heath brought to the character a charm and a sweetness which caused you, as a viewer, to dismiss with ease his violent and inexcusable acts and to actually smile at the sight of him, to cheer for him, and to desire his ultimate victory.

It didn’t matter that the Joker was murdering innocent civilians and public service officials with apparent satisfaction, or that his philosophies were so drastically cynical and displaced with civilized society. All that mattered was, in doing all of this, in being all of this, Mr. Ledger made the Joker seem the most sincere and real of all the films players, almost disarmingly honest, despite the dialog having him tell many a lie throughout. Somehow, with as unattractive and as against all principle and morals as the Joker’s perspective was, Heath made him seem right, he made him seem logical and sane, as insane as his actions were, he made him seem more deeply perceptive and intelligent then the rest, more genuine, like you could absolutely trust him, above anyone else.

Mr. Ledger’s timing of it all was flawless, down to his delivery of the dialog. His expressions were phenomenal. The way he would react, with his face, to another character, the way his eyes would go, and his brow, or the angle at which he looked at you. His mannerisms, how he would constantly lick his lips, or run his fingers through his hair, or how he would ring his hands forward in trying to make a point. The way he held himself, with an almost child-like floppiness, as though he were uncoordinated as a child is. He in many instances exuded a cuteness, even whilst exploding buildings and holding knives to people’s throats. What Heath accomplished was a perfect balance between spine-tingling sociopathic behavior and innocent charm. And no one quality seemed less real then the other. That innocence, despite actions which belied it, didn’t at all seem contrived. It seemed as true a part of the Joker’s personality as was his volatility and meanness. And that was what made him so appealing.

I sincerely hope that Heath wins an Oscar for his role in this film. Not because he passed away, but because he absolutely deserves it. I cannot recall a finer acting performance in recent times then the one he rendered here.

Looking at Heath on screen now, one becomes so acutely aware of just what a tragic and monumental loss his death is. Knowing we won’t again be blessed to receive his gifts, it pains the heart. He was a brilliant talent. What happened to him was so completely unfair.

As is often the case in our world, the ones who are special, the ones who stand out as something larger then life, the ones who show us truth, they suffer. Perhaps it is because they don’t fit in, that they feel out of place and lost, a suffocating loneliness taking them over. Their lives are filled with a struggle which only they can ever know or understand, and sometimes, that struggle is too great a burden to bear. They succumb to it, finding it easier to simply let go, and to drift away. Away from a world which could never fully accept them, away from a world which could never understand them. A world which was able to show its gratitude only after they were gone; when we, at last, finally realized just how much they really meant to us all.