I'm actually still trying to come to terms with what happened.

It was all so sudden. When a friend told me yesterday, I simply could not believe her. I should have known, because, thinking back, she looked like s had bad news to pass on. Maybe I knew but did not want to believe.
And since yesterday I'm grieving, and I suppose I'll be for a at least a few days. I am not sure how to grieve, though.
I've decided on stopping watching anything which is not Alan related for a few days, but I've a feeling that won't be enough.

One thing is for certain, I will miss him.
 

Vhanja wrote:

Patrick Swayze also died of pancreatic cancer, which for him took 1,5 years.

I have to say, I've never been particularly fond of the media writing about "he/she lost the battle...". As if there was a battle - as if the victim has anything they can do themselves to fight it, and as if they "lose" because they are too weak to win.

It doesn't sit right with me. You can't fight a disease. You can get treatment, and either you survive or you don't. It says nothing about the qualities of a person if he survives or dies form cancer, it has nothing to do with "winning" or "losing" a battle. 

I suppose there is not a ton you can do.
I think it's a phrase that's used because the body is fighting against it along with the medical treatments, but not everyone is successful.
I can understand why you might find it tiresome though.  It's kind of like how I don't always like it when people use euphemisms for death like "passed away." Sometimes it really rubs up on the wrong way, just say the person died, that's what happened.  I know some people are sensitive to that, though, so I understand why some people might want to rephrase it.

I know how you feel, Lily, I am still in the same fog.. *hugs*

-Edited for unneccessarily feeling attacked-

Last edited by Zatoichi (January 16, 2016 9:43 am)

I hope I'm not sticking my nose in here, and I'm not a moderator, but I am noticing a mood change that needs a bit of smoothing over. I think people are understandably feeling extra sensitive at the moment and are trying to deal with their grief and loss, I don't think anyone is intending to hurt anyone else... I'm just sort of hanging back but I have noticed a few comments that are perhaps being misinterpreted by people.

Someone said they didn't like the phrase "I didn't even know he was ill" and someone else said they don't like "passed away". I think Zatoichi is feeling particularly attacked because she used both phrases in an earlier post. Another phrase that was disliked by someone was "lost their battle wth cancer". I doubt anyone meant to target anyone else with these comments or make anyone feel bad, and nor do I by pointing this out, I'm just giving a bystander's point of view...


Edited to fix something that didn't make sense

Last edited by ukaunz (January 16, 2016 9:14 am)

Well if I offend I am sorry.
But wait, what, really?
People are upset by those words.
I am almost at a loss.
Okay, I won't attempt to speak for others(though I would like to defend them).
But in my case...so speaking the truth of a situation is deemed unacceptable?
How does that work?
Who gets to decide how we are supposed to react to a death and a sense of grief?
Re: Bowie.
Regardless of anything else, he was undoubtedly ones of the most influential people in modern culture.
I happened to love his work and he personally meant something to me, as he connects me to my mother. She's a huge fan.
Now I know we nearly lost him years ago, because of heart trouble. But recently I simply did not know he he was ill at all, let alone with cancer.
It's a vile disease, which can be quite indiscriminate.
I have no idea what Bowie thought about his becoming ill, but I know others in the same situation have been both gracious and painfully honest.
With Rickman: I remain painfully ignorant of both him and his work. But I did recognise his talent as an actor and enjoyed the work I saw. Once again, I honestly didn't know he was ill and really am at a total loss as to why it could ever be deemed unacceptable to say so.

Okay, so looks like I was a tad premature!

Last edited by besleybean (January 16, 2016 9:18 am)

I have no idea what else to call it.
My sister suffered from breast-cancer and it was a battle. You not only "get a treatment", you have to fight. Some feel really bad, some, which are lucky, don't. My sister had to fight. Thank god she made it.
I just don't see it like "if you lose, you are too weak." That's nonsense.

Anyway, I hope you don't bother if I go on posting things about Alan here (I'm still in a fog, too) - someone in another forum found this and I'd like to share it:



In case you haven't read it yet, this is from Sean Biggerstaff. Really beautiful.

In 1994 I, an 11-year-old idiot, walked into a rehearsal room in the Old Athenaeum in Glasgow and was welcomed by the fucking Sheriff of Nottingham in a voice which made the room tremble. We sat down and my audition started, reading straight off the page dialogue so unavoidably brilliant that all you needed to do was read it straight off the page.

I did not get the part.

I was too young.

I did, however, receive a long, hand-written letter from Joyce Nettles, the casting director, thanking me for auditioning and expressing regret that it hadn’t worked out. The only time this has ever happened. I think Alan may have had something to do with that.

Two years later he was back, looking to cast the same parts in the film version of the same play. Now I was not too young and in the Winter of 1996 I spent two months (off school!) in the beautiful East Neuk of Fife, making a goddamn movie directed by Alan Rickman, written by Sharman MacDonald starring Emma Thompson, shot by Seamus McGarvey etc etc etc, working with all manner of brilliant people, some of whom are close friends and occasionally colleagues to this day. Just sickeningly lucky.

When I left school and wanted to try and do this sort of thing for a living, Alan arranged a meeting with his agent.

The first audition that agent got me was for Harry Potter.

When I arrived at Leavesden Studios for the first time and met David Heyman for the first time, he told me he’d just had a call from Alan telling him how wonderful I was and that he’d be mad not to hire me. He hired me.

When we got on set, (That set. That fucking glorious world of Jo Rowling’s mind brought to life so that we could walk around in it and touch it and be part of showing it to the entire world.) Alan introduced me to practically every great British actor I’d ever heard of. Telling them, “this is my boy.”

When I told him how much I’d enjoyed the production of Private Lives he was in, he invited me and my best mate to New York to stay with him for a weekend and see it again. He booked shows for us to see every night, he took us on boat rides, he showed us the Big Apple.

When my friend Donny wrote a play that he wanted me to be in, I sent it to Alan, hoping for some advice on where we might get it put on. He received it when he was stepping on a plane. When he landed he emailed me back, having read the whole thing and loved it. Two days later we received a printed copy of the play with mountains of suggested edits, cuts and thoughts scrawled across it in his handwriting, and a two page letter with praise for Donny and advice on who to take it to.

He did the same for the next four drafts. This. Never. Stopped. In twenty years, all my experience of Alan was like this. He’d be on a mad press trip round the world, having just finished a broadway show and be about to start shooting a film - with several other projects as an actor, director, writer, board member, mentor bubbling away in the background - and if I needed anything he would immediately spend hours of his time helping me. AND, amazingly, I know of at least a dozen other people who had this same relationship with him. He was our fairy Godfather. He was the whisper in the right ear at the right time. He was the reassuring message when he sensed, always correctly, that we needed it most. He was new head shots or carpets or travel money when times were tough. How he found the time, let alone the will for all this is a mystery to me. He was the most generous, wise, supportive, talented, charismatic, empathetic person I think I’ve ever known.

The last time I saw Alan he had, unbeknownst to me, been in hospital for the previous ten days. He got out that morning…and kept our theatre date. In a strange way I’m glad of that frightening episode, as it made me realise that even he was a mortal of flesh and blood and a certain age and he might not always be there. That evening when we parted, I hugged him and told him I loved him and I’m very glad of that now.

On monday morning I will start rehearsals for a new play. It will be the first time since I was thirteen years old that I have engaged in such a project without being able to call on Alan for advice and support and I am utterly terrified. I can only hope that enough has rubbed off that I’ll be able to take it from here. I’m honestly not so sure…

Goodnight, Alan. I will miss you every day.


Last edited by Mattlocked (January 16, 2016 1:11 pm)

besleybean wrote:

I did mean to say.
I found it very odd that not one person mentioned Alan and work.
Then again, neither did I.
I shall correct this wrong on Monday.

 
Oh, I did it.
Not in here, though. But on facebook, in a very simple way:

I see.
No, I won't. At least not how sad I am. They won't understand anyway.

"Bob Roberts" twice...? English and German version? And where is "Die Hard"...? We actually watched "Died Hard" and "Galaxy Quest" yesterday and it was a real nice way to remember Alan.

Yes! And the film is such a wonderful Star Trek parody... I mean, it's so clear to see what's going on there. And I love this: