When I heard back in February (2014) that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died of a heroin overdose, all I could think about was a scene from HBO’s Empire Falls. From the house, the viewer watches as the dark, far away shape of C.B. Whiting puts a pistol to his temple, standing under the gazebo by the river, and pulls the trigger.
It was of minor note in the flood of articles that eulogized Hoffman, but his performance in Empire Falls was and now always will be my favorite; it was as beautiful and tragic a performance as one could ever be in such remarkably little screen time. In many ways it was as critics described his multitude of other supporting roles, but for me, no other supporting role he played was as memorable.
Hoffman’s character in Empire Falls is primarily called Charlie Mayne, a figure who appears in Martha’s Vineyard when the lead character, Miles Roby, is vacationing there as a boy with his mother. Charlie Mayne wears seersucker, drives a yellow sports car, and in the series’ flashbacks, is vignetted by an aura only heightened by his mysterious solitude and economy of words. He wins Miles over with multiple orders of clams casino, after joining Miles and his mother Grace from an adjacent restaurant table, in what seems to the boy a random gathering.
While in Martha’s Vineyard Charlie wears a controlled expression that conveys both melancholy and what little happiness he allows himself. His light-reddish hair, fair complexion and airy wardrobe all mask a bulk of secrets and an unknowable guilt over the decisions that would hasten his demise. He is a married man meeting his mistress and her son for an away-from-home tryst.
For me, the most powerful scene in the series is when Charlie Mayne, after it’s revealed in the present day that he is the long-dead C.B. Whiting, leaves the earth by his own hand, no longer able to endure the joyless physical and psychological circumstances of his existence.
Rolling Stone‘s eulogy of Philip Seymour Hoffman quoted him from 2005: “Life is only as good as the day you do your work well. You’re working and you do good work. But how you feel after that moment is the satisfaction you carry with you. And it’s as satisfied as you’ll get, you know what I mean?”
I’ve been putting this post together for over two years with that line in mind, because all I’ve thought is, yes, I get that. I get it on a level I find difficult to articulate.
Hoffman’s quote is a simple one, an obvious one maybe, but its profundity for me is in that it comes from a man who had known and fought off the glorious, readily-available satisfaction that comes with feeding an addiction, and who was then able to redirect that energy into creating an inimitable body of cinematic performances.
The satisfaction derived at the end of a day of good work being “as satisfied as you’ll get” is one of the truest things I’ve ever read as someone whose craft exists as both a redirection of energy, and as catharsis in place of a former self-destructive habit. Currently that energy is being funneled into my chewing the ends of interview pens and plugging away at keyboards.
There was a period of many years when I derived a deep psychological satisfaction from being a heavy smoker. During the process of quitting I felt like the addiction had created a duplicate personality that was not only unable to control the body that housed it, but one which practiced denial and self-destruction beyond what justified the nicotine dependence.
I was fortunate to not have become addicted to something as immediately dangerous and lethal as heroin. Regardless, once I became a dedicated addict, felt the rapping on the back door of my brain, and answered it over and over, a doppelgänger was created that wasn’t going to die when I took away its object; the doppelgänger, the sinner, the Charlie Mayne lives inside of me still, biding its time and existing very much like a seasoned actor banished to the role of understudy who hopes, waits and never forgets his lines, lest the star can’t make it on stage.
Once I was completely free of nicotine, as I’m sure it happens to many, the smell of tobacco smoke made me wonder how I could have ever been such a willing prisoner, languishing in a cell constructed of behaviors that kept reason, consideration and healthfulness out, and for so long. But then came the bigger question: Cigarettes were gone, but what of the psychology I’d operated under for so long?
I’m returning to this question now more than two years after first taking up this essay and I know the answer is that the psychology is still there. That’s why Hoffman’s quote resonated with me. As there was no real, lasting satisfaction in a life as a smoker, so is the same with writing.
My life is only as good as the day I write well. And it’s as satisfied as I’ll get. You know what I mean?
**
HBO’s 2-disc Empire Falls is $7 on Amazon. In addition to the performance that earned Hoffman an Emmy nod, it also stars Paul Newman in his final screen performance. The series is based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Richard Russo.
Jennifer Westfield 