1928 — 2019

Varda by Agnès was a confirmation of what I’ve known deep down all along: the key to being a great artist is to first and foremost be a good person. Everything, from Agnès Varda’s relationships with her documentary subjects to her recounting her inspirations reeked of warmth and compassion. She saw the beauty in the most mundane of objects, was a rebel who has “got her transmission and [her] live wire” (to quote the David Bowie song), and embraced the passage of time rather than fearing death looming over her shoulder, like the tarot card in Cléo from 5 to 7. RIP Agnès. —Darcy

1968 — 2019

What is there to say? Director, screenwriter and South Los Angeles native John Singleton died way too young. Youth—particularly the pleasures and joys of being a young black man, its dangers and burdens—was among Singleton’s signal creative concerns in life and it now dominates his memorials. These remembrances rightfully open with his industry-altering debut in 1991, Boyz N the Hood, and we are duly shocked by the visceral reminder of how young he was at the time—just a USC senior when he wrote Boyz’ script, 22 when he began shooting it. In production stills we see a trim, focused, young man, barely grown into his artistic legs yet daring to test them in the most public way imaginable. Singleton reportedly turned down $100,000 not to direct the film he had written, this despite never having directed a picture before. His assuredness in those stills belies that they record a tightrope walk, Singleton making his way over any number of pitfalls. —Gary Dauphin

1944 — 2019

Filmmaking is a collaborative effort, and many deserve credit for Chewbacca. George Lucas, of course, for conceiving and writing the character. Ben Burtt for that distinctive and emotive voice. ILM costume designers. But Mayhew was the actor. And goddamn if Chewbacca doesn’t feel real. You know he’s a man in a suit but he feels like a real Wookiee. There were aliens in movies before Star Wars, but Chewbacca was the first I can think of who didn’t just look and feel like a real alien but who also felt like a full-fledged character—a character with an interesting personality and real relationships with the humans around him. More than anything else, it was Chewbacca’s realness as a character—along with C-3PO and R2-D2—that made Star Wars so immersive. He wasn’t a gimmick or a prop. He was Chewie. And he should have gotten a goddamn medal. —John Gruber

1941 — 2019

Today the world is left with one less gentleman. One less square shooter. One less good man. One less wonderful father. One less marvelous actor. I remember all the breakfasts we had at Silver Spoon. All the stories. All the kind words. All the support. Casting Robert Forster in Jackie Brown was one of the best choices I’ve ever made in my life. I will miss you dearly my old friend. Bye bye Max. Bye bye Miles. Bye bye Bob. —Quentin Tarantino

1944 — 2019

Hauer brought that apparent heft, literal and metaphoric, to every movie he made. When they were silly, he’d deliver lines with a twinkling eye. When he was supposed to be serious, you could tell he knew why he was there—to make his boat payments, sure, but also to calm the faithful. Hey, we’d say, if Hauer’s up there, maybe someone’s gonna remember Tannhauser Gates later. And you could tell he knew we thought so. He always seemed like he understood the joke. If anyone could appreciate the irony of a journeyman actor’s off-the-cuff monologue about fleeting memory making a larger-than-life character unforgettable, it was Rutger Hauer. —Adam Rogers