If you're anywhere near my age (and a girl who liked her Tiger Beat), then River's untimely death on Halloween 1993 was at least a little upsetting. For me it was more than that. I felt like I'd grown up with the guy--well, at least adjacent to him. And his talents were only touched upon before one bad choice stopped him cold (it frustrates me to no end seeing the Britneys and Lindsays of the world making even more destructive choices over and over again, and surviving to make the cover of yet another US Weekly).
I was in college when he died. Actually on a rare weekend away at a friend's beach house. When I realized I was the only one of my friends significantly upset by the news, I packed my bags, took the LIRR back to my dorm, and sat in my room to wallow.
I still think about him from time to time. When I'm near the Tijuana border crossing, I remember his performance in the 1988 Spy Thriller "Little Nikita," set in San Diego. When I see Leonardo DiCaprio in yet another Scorsese movie, I grow more convinced that River would've been his actor of choice if he were still here (sorry Leo, but you are a mere shadow in comparison).
But tonight, as I watched his younger brother Joaquin disintegrate into a (real or feigned) manic, paranoid mess, I wondered just how much River's death shaped his brother's life. He was with him the night he collapsed in front of the Viper Room and refuses to speak about his brother publicly. But it's impossible for me to consider Joaquin and his state of mind without thinking of River's place in it.
"I'm Still Here"opens with old Phoenix family home movies, including one scene of the Phoenix kids bouncing about, performing some silly musical number. While the circular spotlight picked Joaquin out of the group, I desperately searched for signs of River. And there he was, in the back row, with an oversized guitar strapped to his small frame. It was hard for me to shake the image of that blurry boy and the grief that his brother probably still feels.
Having tragically lost a sibling myself this year, I'm willing to admit that I could be just projecting much of my grief onto the wild-eyed actor. But something tells me there's more to it than that.
My sympathies for your loss, Alison, and kudos for finding the one redeeming aspect of the documentary. River's death is something I'll always remember as well, his talent shone brightest of the Phoenix clan and had Affleck and Joaquin decided to do a real doc, there's plenty that audiences could have connected with. It's a shame what we were left with was essentially a frustrating nod to Andy Kaufman.
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