He was 46. Well shit. Deadline reports:
Oscar-winning actor Philip Seymour Hoffman has died… According to NYPD, Hoffman was discovered Sunday morning in his Manhattan home after suffering an apparent drug overdose. Police were called to the scene around 11:30 AM by Hoffman’s friend who found the actor non-responsive in the bathroom of the apartment this morning, according to NYPD, which said that a hypodermic needle and two glassine envelopes containing what appeared to be heroin were found in the fourth-floor apartment. Police would not confirm the name of the friend who found Hoffman. An autopsy will be performed and results could take some time for toxicology reports to become available.
I'm not going to sit here and canonize this guy, because in reality, Hoffman was just a heroin addict who got paid to read words that a screenwriter wrote. It's not a particularly new or unique story. But I'm not going to marginalize or deal in sweeping generalities here either. In 20 years, Hoffman starred in over 60 movies, and in those, you would be hard pressed to find a single bad performance. Even if the movie was terrible (Along Came Polly, Twister, Red Dragon, Mission Impossible III) He read the words, but he also transcended them. Though he was a fat, balding white dude, there wasn't a role he couldn't play. If you watch Boogie Nights and can't feel every last bit of pain and heartache at Scottie J's unrequited crush on Dirk Diggler, or if you watch The Master and aren't creeped out by the overwhelming sense of dread whenever Lancaster Dodd is on screen, you might want to go to the ER. You might be dead yourself.