You either die James Dean, or live long enough to see yourself becoming Ethan Hawke
Don’t get me wrong, I love Ethan Hawke. I will watch and read anything that he has even the slightest role in, mainly because he starred in my favourite movies of all time, the Before Trilogy. But at the same time, his recent endeavours have the appearance of vanity projects, his paparazzi coverage just that of another old man, and his kid another Hollywood nepo baby. It is only with some reflection that I have come to terms with his seeming corniness.
In the earlier half of this year, I found myself among a group of people who were discussing Timothee Chalamet, and the women were finding analogs for him. One suggested Leo, and another suggested Depp. I said, that he was our modern day Ethan Hawke, and everyone gave me a weird look; I later chalked it up to them not knowing who Ethan Hawke was in his youth, his sellability as a young, sensitive heartthrob. They knew him only from his popular later films: Valerian, The Purge, The Black Phone. None had seen Boyhood, Training Day, or Gattaca, and Dead Poets Society was all but forgotten. Yet Timothee Chalamet’s limited theatrical range is the exact same as that of a young Ethan Hawke, his self-deprecating charm just disarming enough to make one forget that they take themselves and their career extremely seriously.
Because I liked the Before Trilogy so much, and because of its mumblecore nature, I’m going to use it as an analogy to describe the phases of Ethan Hawke’s life. There is the Before Sunrise phase, where he is still bright-eyed and bushy tailed, a newcomer in the industry just coming to terms with himself and his fame. Dead Poets Society was a home run and he’s finally crossing the bridge from becoming child actor to real actor. He’s still unsure of himself, but has to fake it until he makes it. He stars in White Fang, Reality Bites, and cumulating in Before Sunrise itself. Then, there’s the Before Sunset phase, when Ethan Hawke starts pumping out hit after hit: Gattaca, Great Expectations, Hamlet, Training Day, including Before Sunset, and his real-life split with Uma Thurman, mirroring his divorce onscreen in Before Sumset. He dabbles in theatre and writing. He’s gotten it all figured out, and everything seems as though it’ll be happily ever after from here on out.
Except it isn’t, or not really. Instead, it’s a slow, weary decline characterized by movies like Lord of War, Daybreakers, and The Purge. He starts taking himself very seriously, no longer an eternal student, but someone whose opinions have value now, a self-important artist who still takes on action movie roles. His theatrical and literary productions garner nowhere near as much success as his films, and when he resigns himself to that fate, he reminds the world that he is still Ethan Hawke: Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Boyhood, After Midnight, and most recently, First Reformed. Gone is the boyish whimsical charm that served him so well earlier, and when paparazzi catch him flirting with Rhianna, it’s presented as a funny picture instead of a sensational news item. He’s a hilariously old man embarrassing his son.
Granted, a large part of it is the industry’s obsession with heroes. The media loves to build something up to a god-like status, only to tear it back down. But I would argue that Ethan Hawke has never done that. He has never been a media darling, nor a target. Rather, his rise and decline are indicative of our obsession with that specific narrative arc: rags to riches to tragedy to redemption and all over again. And despite being the writer, the thespian, the lover of stories that he is, Ethan Hawke lives this arc because it is inevitable. Both he and I are hoping that he can reinvent himself, find a second wind and begin the redemption arc again.
The Before Trilogy tracks Celine and Jesse’s relationship from young romantics knowing love is possible to embittered cynics hoping that love is still possible, to an understanding of the reality of love, which is neither this nor that. Similarly, my fascination with Ethan Hawke has gone through a similar processes: from “he’s so unbelievably cool, he writes”, to “he’s a total phony, he wants to write”, to “He’s a great actor, he’s also interested in writing”. Ultimately, that’s what happens to stars when you put them on a pedestal: the old adage about never meeting your heroes is about the lack of true good in the world, but is moreso about elevating people to the status of a hero, because no one can live up to that sort of ideal.
In that regard, Ethan Hawke has already overcome the hurdle of expectation so to speak. He’s done great things, and has also done some mediocre things. It’s rare that people will hold him to a standard of perfection anymore, myself included. He’s humbled now, and while he still takes his projects seriously when he comes out with a song, book, or movie, he no longer takes himself as seriously. He seems to have come to terms with his age, and his creviced skin seems not to have been addressed by any injections or surgeries. He speaks with less passion on issues and promotion, and more interest on opinions and art itself. Recently, at the Toronto International Film Festival, he was asked what his favourite part of Toronto was, and he gave a cute little response about Toronto Island City Airport. I guess he flies Porter Airlines.
So, I don’t know whether it’s the public perception of Ethan Hawke, my perception of him, or his self-perception that has caused this development of my understanding towards him over the last ten years; it’s most likely a combination of all three. But I like his final evolution, the grizzled industry veteran who survived the fame, has inspired a generation, and still manages to stay within their good graces. There still remains room for movement in either direction: he could become universally beloved à la Keanu Reeves, or leave his partner and become universally reviled, à la Leo DiCaprio. He could do a turn worse too, but I expect an actor with such a nuanced understanding of narrative in his career to be fully in control of his to the last.
