Paul Newman, Revisited.

A couple weeks ago, I was tossing and turning in my bed, per usual, thinking about something inevitably inane. I was probably trying to think about the efficiency of euphemisms. Or something. All the sudden, something struck me. No, not "struck me" -- came hammering down on me like a ton of Anna Karenina-sized bricks.

What I remembered was that it was mid-September and: Yesterday was the third anniversary of Paul Newman's death.

If I'm honest with myself, and you, my lone reader, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about Paul Newman. Maybe I'll watch a movie of his (my first born will be named Lucas); someone will joke about my love for PN, thereby reminding me; I'll glance at my a/c and see his handsome face smiling at me from an autographed still from Cool Hand Luke -- doesn't matter. Each and every day, something comes up where I'll stupidly reference a phrase from his movies or dote on him, just because.

I'll just re-post my first, initial reaction:

Now. I’m wiping the sleep away from my beady eyes and jolt upright in shock. My lips start to quiver, my jaw starts trembling – and it happened. I cried thankless, shameless tears as I sat there on my little air mattress in my new room (which is finally coming together, by the way).

I’ve joked a thousand times about how I’d cry when PN died. I wrote about it on this silly bloggle (and jinxed it? Believe you me, that was the first reaction I had … Hell hath a place for me now, I’m sure) but I didn’t think I actually would workout the old tear ducts, like some love-stricken fan who wanted to impale themselves after the loss of a Beatle.

It takes some pretty heavy things to make me cry; and it just made me realize how much I really did, and do, admire PN – everything from his early career and movie choices, to his lifestyle, and – perhaps most selfishly – how handsome and righteous his roles most often were. He will be an everlasting love.

Then, there was last year's post:

Today is the second anniversary of Paul Newman's death. Crestfallen.

I'd been thinking about this day all month, ever since I visited a friend in Westport, CT for a few days, where Paul Newman lived until his death. As we drove from the train station to my friend's home, he pointed out the window through the trees to the Westport Country Playhouse, where Newman's wife Joanne Woodward was artistic director and where Newman himself was part-owner of the restaurant next door.

It took a dozen swallows to loosen the knot in my throat.

And, now it's year 3 of no more Paul Newman. "Just passin' time, Boss."

David Letterman's Paul Newman Tribute

I really wasn't going to write more on Paul Newman, but I just had to highlight this David Letterman tribute. I've been trying to figure out Twitter and I ran into this link after starting to "follow" a fellow Newman mourner.

Letterman has a surprisingly sincere and thoughtful opening where he shares his personal stories about PN and explains just how generous he was. He says that he was a saint. I agree :'-(

The actual tribute starts at about 07:30, which is really worth watching.

Okay, it's time to get myself moving on and out of this grieving process!

`I can't swim!'

“Decline and fall can’t ever be easy, but for a star it’s torment. Because, when they are on top, they are so adored. Movie stars, as has been stated elsewhere ad nauseam, are perhaps as close as we come to royalty. So the distance of the drop is much greater than the rest of us may (or will) experience.”

I mentioned before that my friend sent me a bunch of books all about the film industry, either compendiums of film reviews by a particularly persuasive reviewer, or commentary books taking a look at said reviewer’s life, or narratives about their personal dealings with the screen trade. Phew. A lot of beautiful pages of text to untangle. I’ve been reading one that sits in that last category.

It’s William Goldman. He wrote “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” which ranks right behind “Cool Hand Luke,” as one of the all-time best films of cinema, for me.

I’m just hitting the 60-page mark, and I have so much in front of me –but it’s wonderful. He speaks so clearly, resonates so universally and really makes you understand why we go to the movies.

The above quote is in his opening about “Stars” and it’s brilliant in its simplicity (the chapter, not necessarily the quote).

He explains from a financial perspective why we have stars, who decides who they are, and all the hapless ways that they stumble onto success; he also delves into the more personal ramifications that go along with their ebbing with the volatile tides of public opinion. I know no one’s going to go out and pick up “Adventures in the Screen Trade,” (though it WAS a national bestseller in the 80s), but at least you can watch a teeny, tiny bit of Butch Cassidy.
It’s such a great movie.