The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne
A contemplation on the cinematic brilliance of Maggie Smith
It’s a curious thing, the emotional weight we feel when an actor we admire passes away. The grief feels strange and quiet, almost disproportionate. We’ve never met them, and there was never any real possibility of a personal connection. Yet their absence feels profoundly real, as though someone who had unknowingly become a part of our lives is suddenly gone. It’s far from the raw, visceral pain of losing someone close, but very close to a slow, simmering sadness, more like the loss of a distant but cherished companion. I’ve asked myself this question each time I’ve felt this quiet sense of loss from the passing away of a favourite artiste—why does it feel like losing a personal connection? Why does it resonate so deeply? And I find myself asking it again today, with the passing of the...
A contemplation on the cinematic brilliance of Maggie Smith
It’s a curious thing, the emotional weight we feel when an actor we admire passes away. The grief feels strange and quiet, almost disproportionate. We’ve never met them, and there was never any real possibility of a personal connection. Yet their absence feels profoundly real, as though someone who had unknowingly become a part of our lives is suddenly gone. It’s far from the raw, visceral pain of losing someone close, but very close to a slow, simmering sadness, more like the loss of a distant but cherished companion. I’ve asked myself this question each time I’ve felt this quiet sense of loss from the passing away of a favourite artiste—why does it feel like losing a personal connection? Why does it resonate so deeply? And I find myself asking it again today, with the passing of the...