I'm a little sad about it - not completely devastated, but sad in that he seemed like a nice, normal bloke and I liked a lot of his film work. Also, as one of the few major stars who supported the short, stocky end of the spectrum, there's a certain kinship.
Stan Lee, the comics guru who invented basically every major superhero you can name (all of the Avengers in the movie, Spider-Man, all the original X-Men, etc etc) was asked about superhero casting in the early 90s. This was when nobody ever dreamed that making a superhero movie would be a money-spinner. He said that Bob Hoskins would be good for Wolverine.
That's ridiculous for a number of reasons, but Wolverine in the comics is short and square, and Hugh Jackman is tall and lean, and short Wolverine fans are always annoyed about it. I can see where Stan Lee was coming from, even if he was (and still is) crazy.
I'm totally going off on a tangent, but in an ideal world, Wolverine would have been played by Jack Nicholson circa 1990:
Fantasy nerd casting aside, it made me think that what made Hoskins so good was that he was only ever going to play Bob Hoskins, but he did it well. Compare his character in "Mona Lisa" - a down-on-his-luck ex criminal who can't possibly win in life, or in love - against his character in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" - a burned out, borderline alcoholic detective who is baffled and exhausted by the world.
Both characters are similar - they're beleaguered but ultimately decent losers who have to rise to the occasion and try just once to do something right - but appearing in polar opposite films; one a dark story of prostitution and unrequited love, the other a Raymond Chandler pastiche featuring appearances from Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny.
And ultimately, maybe this is the problem with life. No matter which version of Bob Hoskins he was, he was still Bob Hoskins to everyone. He was a versatile and talented guy, but he was still "Bob Hoskins." You're still "you" to people. I'm still "me" to people. In the eyes of others, we'll always be what we are, regardless of ability or talent or deviation.
The whole thing made me think about Peter Dinklage, the dwarf actor from "Game of Thrones." He's probably one of the best actors of the last 20 years, and one of the many things that make "Game of Thrones" great is that it doesn't conform to standard fantasy tropes. He's a dwarf in a fantasy series, sure, but he's not playing "a dwarf"; his character in the series is seen as exactly as weird and deformed as most people would perceive him in real life.
It doesn't matter that Dinklage (and the character) are charming and intelligent and funny. He's a dwarf actor, and he happened to get lucky playing a role that doesn't involve singing "Hi-ho, hi-ho" to anyone*, but ultimately, even in the best of all possible dwarf roles, he can't escape the fact that he's still playing a dwarf.
I guess my overall point here is that you can't escape that you will always be what other people think you are. For better or for worse.
And that's either depressing or uplifting, depending on what the consensus on you, personally, is.
The only hope you'll ever have for improvement is to work very hard and change that consensus for the better.
When I was sixeen I got my heart broken, and I became such an asshole as a result.
I was like a wounded animal; I just wanted to crawl into a hole, psychologically, and lick my wounds, and God help anyone who disturbed the dark corner of my mind I was hiding in.
Anyone who was even vaguely close to me I actively pushed away. I think, subconsciously, because I'd loved her and she'd hurt me more than anything, and I didn't want any additional hurt from anything I loved at all. So I tried to get rid of it all.
I was so angry and hurt and unpleasant, I pushed a good many people away. And once I'd succeeded in pushing everyone away, I repeated the cycle. The part of me that was hurt needed to be loved and supported, and the part that was angry and scared needed to push away anyone that cared about me in paranoid self defense. It led to several occasions where I befriended people and then immediately started fights with them.
After a few years of this - I dropped out of college, I retreated from everything - I was forced by age and circumstance to get a job. I was healed enough that I felt ready to be around people again and I made a conscious effort to be nice to the people I met. Through sheer coincidence of age and timing, they were almost all wide-eyed and optimistic students who were trusting and caring, just as I was ready to trust and care again, and it worked out for the best for me in every way possible. I met my best friend, and sure, he was older and a little more cynical, but that just gave me a healthy place to show my mental scars, and to a wonderful person at that.
Even if not for this, I met a lot of people I still love.
Ask anyone who last knew me at sixteen, they'll (rightly) tell you I'm an asshole.
Ask anyone from my first job at 18 and they'll (rightly) tell you I'm sweet and lovely.
Everyone should try to generate more of the latter opinions of themselves in life, by making the best possible version of themselves the real one. Let positive people into your life, even though it's scary, and let them see the best of who you are.
Even if you're Bob Hoskins, be the best version of Bob Hoskins.
Which happened to be the actual one.
Bob Hoskins died.
I'm a little sad about it.
*Smart-arses will now point out that Bob Hoskins featured in "Snow White and the Huntsman," recently.
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