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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.


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Wednesday, March 19, 2008

entry arrow1:53 AM | Anthony Minghella, 54

Always, one of the saddest things about carrying on in life is the unexpected passing of the gifted, the genius, the truly talented. When they happen to be people you look up to, it becomes doubly astonishing. At least, with the death of Susan Sontag only a few years ago, we knew she had a terminal disease, and before she left, she made us ponder hard (and beautifully) about the metaphors we carry of illness. And I'm still mourning the death of Heath Ledger, Robert Altman, Michaelangelo Antonioni, and Ingmar Bergman. What to make of sudden passing? I was just refreshing the page I was browsing over at The New York Times when the newest headline caught my eye: film director Anthony Minghella is dead. What a shock. Because at 54, he is still much too young really, and he had only given us this much about his cinematic genius: the gripping Truly, Madly, Deeply from 1990, the luminous The English Patient from 1996, the scalding The Talented Mr. Ripley from 1999, the ambitious Cold Mountain from 2003, and the interesting failure of Breaking and Entering from 2007. Now, there's only The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency to look forward to. He made beautiful adaptations of some of our most-beloved books, and it had seemed there would be few more years for us to get a full taste of what he was capable of. (Good thing there's his son Max, who was lovely and incandescent in Bee Season, to carry on the seed.) But still. Sad, sad, sad.

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