The death of a living legend

Last Friday, a living legend died. It was a sad moment when his star twinkled no longer and went out in the sky.

Paul Newman was a class act. He was a totally supercool human being, both on and off the screen.

I never met the man. And yet through his films, I feel I did. This signifies that he was a movie star not an 'Act-or'. He was a brand - irrespective of the part he played, we were absorbed by the magical, charismatic soul that radiated out from those piecing blue Paul Newman eyes. He often played roles that had a laconic, minimalist style - a character style that I particularly like. As a teenager I was attracted to the archetypal shrewd, good-guy outlaw roles he played. He played tough guys who were tough without being violent. He played reluctant, mysterious leaders brimming with charisma. He wasn't a trier - he simply did. He didn't do hard, he did smart.

He had a selfless humility, being the last to acknowledge that he was anything special (this coming from, in my opinion, the best looking man to have ever walked the planet, who was also endowed with a searing intelligence and rapier wit). He was also a motivated philanthropist via Newman's Own sauces (even those are great). He used his fame and fortune to do good. And he kept himself to himself, shunning the limelight.

Above all he was a bloody good bloke.

The world is a lesser place with him not in it.