Monday Mourning: Thoughts on Life, Death, and Tony Scott

by Jim Kopetz

 

Tony Scott, director of such seminal films as Top Gun, The Last Boy Scout, Man on Fire, as well as one half of the Scott Brothers' (the other being older brother Ridley) production company Scott Free, committed suicide yesterday by jumping off Vincent Thomas Bridge in San Pedro, California. He was 68 years old.
 

It's hard to admire or condemn the act of suicide, as the act itself reveals an iceberg of the mind. When Kurt Cobain killed himself in the early nineties, many glorified the act as a rebellion against the image cultivated by the masses. But he left behind a baby girl. A girl who had to grow up without her father, and not only that but with a mother that seems to be either highly medicated or schizophrenic, depending on the day. Many seem to forget that. I'd say that's fairly condemnable but suicide is not black and white, no matter how hard we try to make it. There are many shades of grey (many more than Fifty*). 

While Kurt was a mere 27 when he took his own life, Tony Scott was 68 and a source close to the director related to ABC News that Mr. Scott had "inoperable brain cancer". Does age matter? Mr. Scott also left behind a wife and children, but he was dying. I won't get into the philosophical territory of "well, we're ALL dying" as it is silly, but does being older in the years incite admiration? He took his own life instead of going through the horrible pain that cancer becomes. Does that make a difference? He also left multiple suicide notes to loved ones and co-workers. Did they know? Did they accept his decision or did he drive off in a trail of tears?

These questions aren't meant to be answered. I don't wish to know the private matters of a public person. To me they are questions to the human condition. To talk about and make it easier for people to talk about suicide, or depression. To encourage thoughts and epiphanies.

I'll end this with a suicide note that is very personal to me. Hunter S. Thompson was almost like a second father to me as I grew up. I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and the pain I felt when I read of his death. I still have newspaper articles inside old journals, every one I could find when I had heard the news. A few days later his note was released. It reads like a poem, much like his life:

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt." 

* Pardon the pun. That is the only reference to that terrible series I ever care to make.