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I just heard on the way home that Pete Postlethwaite has died, at 64, of cancer.
A smoker since he was ten, according to his bio on Wikipedia.
A truly wonderful actor, he played in over fifty movies, countless TV programs, and many stage productions.
But I know that one that many of my friends will remember is one of Postlethwaite's own favourite roles.
All that talent, all that skill, all that sheer glorious humanity, lost to fucking cancer. A god damn crying shame.
A smoker since he was ten, according to his bio on Wikipedia.
A truly wonderful actor, he played in over fifty movies, countless TV programs, and many stage productions.
I know that one of the roles I loved him in was that of the spare, tough, hard-edged dying father and band leader in Brassed Off.
But I know that one that many of my friends will remember is one of Postlethwaite's own favourite roles.
All that talent, all that skill, all that sheer glorious humanity, lost to fucking cancer. A god damn crying shame.
