Then, all those years ago, there was no one more beautiful. You stayed beautiful, even when you were older and you moved away to that island, away from the world.
One of my favorite films is Last Tango In Paris. Your hair had gone grey, but you were still sexy as anything. I loved that film and I always loved you. Perhaps because you were such a heathen, an outlaw, a true revolutionary, a consummate artist, dangerous and lawless. You were a wild one when we didn’t know how to be wild.
I never knew you. I never saw you anywhere. You were not anywhere, but you were inescapable. But you could not escape. The camera sought you out when you didn’t want it to, and then it tore up your life as you tore life up in front of it. It wasn’t fair, but then privacy and security are those things you give up when you show the world what makes you extraordinary. We couldn’t get enough of you. What a crude and dumb excuse, but the most real. You were such a magnificent beast, untamed, unpredictable, honest and cruel, armed with the truth that is rare and unbelievable, because it is so true.
What made you alarmingly strong, was your infinite tenderness. When you were soft, you were the fiercest kind of soldier. When you were crazy, you were as sane as any could hope to be.
Actors will forever aspire to be you. The enigma, the mystique, the legend of you are irresistible and impossible to forget or ignore. The movies you made are the way of the warrior and will show generations to come how battles are won, and lost. You fought many wars, in the world, with the world. It doesn’t matter now how many you defeated, how many times you were wounded, who won in the end. As far as I can see, you won them all. Because ultimately, you got to be yourself, and that is the best victory anyone could hope for.