Digital Joe #40

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Death is a funny thing. Well, maybe not in a "ha ha...that's the most hilarious thing I've ever seen" sense, but funny in our reactions to death. The world loses well-known names all the time. It's a bit of a running joke that when a famous person dies, they usually go in groups of three. We saw Bob Clark, the director of "A Christmas Story," died a week or so ago. And today we're greeted with the sobering news Kurt Vonnegut has left us, as has Roscoe Lee Browne.

I could fill page after page with names, both famous and not so famous, of those who have passed. Each of them touched a life outside of their friends and family in some way. Will the annual "A Christmas Story" marathon be different this year, now that at least two of the people who made that piece of classic cinema are gone? (Darren McGavin passed away in 2006.)

I doubt it. Sure, I'm still going to laugh at the pronunciation of "fragile" and I'm going to smile as Mrs. Parker drops a bowling ball into her husband's lap. But the primary purpose of film and TV is to entertain, to get us away from our daily troubles. Seeing names and faces on the screen reminds us the images we laugh and cry over aren't real. It's a hard pill to swallow.

Some deaths move us more than others. It all depends on the attachment we felt to the person. I'm sure few people will remember the name Jonathan Brandis in ten or twenty years. I will. Brandis, who committed suicide in 2003, was one of my first crushes, thanks to his role on "seaQuest." For 2 1/2 years, we grew up together, him the outsider in a world of adults, me an outsider in a straight world. When Lucas (Brandis in the show) felt lonely or isolated, I could relate to that. And when he yearned for something to do, I understand what he meant.

That December morning when I read the news he died was hard. I couldn't believe it. This person who graced my TV screen was gone. Not just the character, but the living and breathing human being. He didn't walk this planet anymore. No more dates or holidays, birthdays or anniversaries. No more hugs, tears, pain, joy. Nothing. It was simply gone. When someone we "know" dies, it makes us feel vulnerable--human.

It is one of my fears, actually, that one day I'm going to wake up and every actor or actress, every director or writer I respect will be gone. We've already started to loose the ones I grew up with. I absolutely dread hearing another "Star Trek" actor is gone, whether they be a regular or Crewman Number 39 in Episode 52. Those people, all of them, are a part of me in the same way my family is a part of me. Knowing that Bones and Scotty and Sarek would never be on the screen again didn't seem right, in my eyes.

When Anna Nicole Smith died earlier this year, there was an incredible outpouring of bile and hate toward her. Because of what she did with her life and what her public image was, she was called a slut, whore and a whole host of names I can't print here. Why? As far as I can tell, because she used what she had. Never mind she had lost her son recently and she had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was still no good.

Frankly, I was appalled. Did people have no common courtesy anymore? Have we gone so low that it is acceptable to disparage someone minutes after they died? I'm not a fan of Smith, but she was a human being, again with family, friends and people who adored her. So what if she was a former Playboy bunny? So what if she made a questionable decision now and again? She brought joy to innumerable people. Isn't that enough? She didn't kill; she didn't start a war. She showed off what she had and made money from it. Big deal.

I would like to think that when I die, people will remember the good things I did in this world. The times we laughed together, the meals we shared, the lessons we learned, the love...instead of remembering the times I might have messed up or not lived up to expectations. Isn't that common decency?

We all like to see the villain get what's coming to him. Freddy had to be vanquished, each Bond villain blown up, Jaws stopped. It's fun to root for the good guy (and ostensibly against the bad) on screen. There was no greater proponent of a "guilty" verdict for Gaius Baltar in the season finale of "Battlestar Galactica" a couple weeks ago. He committed horrible crimes and deserved, in my eyes, to die.

I never questioned my feelings or resolve; he was wrong, because people died. An eye for an eye dictates he had to die. But it's not so easy to declare death is unwaveringly the answer in all cases. Yes, there are situations death is the only reasonable course of action. And it is okay to want the bad guy to go away...by whatever means necessary. Death, on the screen and in real life, can make us feel vindicated, triumphant, on the side of the angels.

Let's make sure we respect the dead as people. We shouldn't want it any other way.

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