He was an unkown man to me, but there was something in that face, a humanity and grace that informed and illuminated whatever character he placed upon it. His face was honest and genuine, with a hint of painful history yet revealing a clear optimism. John Thaw was something rare among actors. He was real.
Acting, at its best, is about becoming real. One does not achieve authenticity in a role by compressing one's personality down to an invisible speck, and assuming an artificial personality. A good actor finds and magnifies that speck within him that is the character he seeks to portray, giving it such force and prominence that we lose sight of the actor, and even forget he is acting. A great actor does exactly the same thing—but he never disappears; the actor remains himself the whole time, yet the character he plays is absolutely and undeniably real. They are two as one. John Thaw was real when he played the sometimes cranky, sometimes contemplative Chief Inspector Morse. This makes his passing all the more difficult; he was not a stranger to us for his being an actor, he was not an unknown person behind a role. Such is the value of being a great actor; he gave of his substance, of his treasures, he gave of his most deeply held self in his craft—something I find hard to do even for those I love. John Thaw showed us how to give, simply for the love of giving.
I wish, right now, that he had not been quite so real, for I would prefer not to feel the passing of such a one as he. How would I handle it if I were real? I would acknowledge the sad loss, and go to work...