Everyone You Love Is Going To Die

Taken in March 2019 in La Habra, CA.

Today I went to the indie movie theater in Irvine, despite still recovering from an annoying stomach bug, to see Love, Antosha, the documentary about Anton Yelchin’s short but very interesting life. Afterward, I spent time driving around Orange County, blaring Amanda' Palmer’s There Will Be No Intermission, unpacking what I had just seen and coming to terms with my own mortality.

I have been a huge fan of Yelchin’s work for many years now. Seeing him in films felt like such a breath of fresh air—He was described by friends, family, and cast mates as a selfless, intelligent, funny, introspective guy who never put on any airs on set despite his young age. In short, he was an old soul who had a passion for the cinema and just wanted to be a great actor, making great films.

He also took pictures. And made music. Hung around sets on days he was not needed just to learn the entire process on how a film is made, so he, himself, could make his own film one day. In his very short career, he managed to make 69 (sorry, but nice!) films. His filmography was impressive, and I believe that partially had to do with the fact that he suffered from Cystic Fibrosis, a disease he kept secret from the public eye because he wasn’t sure if it would affect him from getting work. He knew his life was a ticking clock so he desperately tried to beat it by absorbing everything he could, doing everything he could possibly do, to ensure that his life would mean something, leaving behind a lush legacy.

When I found out he died in a freak accident in 2016 (he was crushed by his Jeep, the model that had been recalled for a faulty gearshift), I was devastated. He was an actor I adored and loved watching on the Big Screen. He was also only five months younger than me, bringing to the front of my mind that death is sudden, unexpected, and most importantly, non discriminatory.

Sitting through this documentary, I felt like this was a guy I’d be friends with. I could talk to him about music and film for hours, analyze our neuroses together, quite possibly fall in love with him if given the opportunity. I’m almost positive if I did, he would have broken my heart. That was the type of guy he was, which made watching Love, Antosha a harder watch.

Watching the documentary made me wonder “Why him?” Why did he die before me? He had more talent in his pinky finger than I did in my whole entire body. He was more dedicated. He was smarter, He was good at his job. He knew what he wanted. He lived life. He pursued his dreams. He was younger. He was…just a better human being. He didn’t deserve to die so young. He didn’t deserve to die before someone like me.

I always think about the person’s last moments before they die.

The last day.

He had breakfast, put on some clothes, left the house, probably preparing to visit his father the next day to celebrate Father’s Day, maybe get him a last minute gift or look for a card. It was stated he didn’t suffer much when he died, which I hope is a small comfort for the people who loved him but it doesn’t fix the fact he’s no longer here, making movies, fucking around in the Valley like any normal dude in his late 20’s.

Anyway, you should see Love, Antosha whether or not you’re familiar with his filmography. If anything, you’ll get the lovely present of diving into his life work, being amazed by the talent he provided the world in such a small span of time.