Why Bill Paxton?

Bill Paxton (1955-2017)

Like most kids, I grew up chasing R-rated movies — on late-night TV, borrowed VHS tapes, sneaking into cinema back rows. It was a rite of passage.

It was Aliens that first introduced me to Bill Paxton’s energy — frenetic, chaotic, and completely compelling. He felt like the only person in the movie who acted like a real human thrown into an alien warzone. Hudson wasn’t a hero. He was us. Panicked, funny, flawed — ultimately human.

And yet, when the moment came... he stood tall. Hudson’s last stand is still seared into my brain as peak action cinema. (Thanks, JC.)

That arc — from bravado, to meltdown, to defiance — elevated the entire film. We all were Hudson in that moment.

Then came more. Or rather, I went backwards: discovering Chet from Weird Science, the hilariously deranged “Punk #1” in The Terminator (the crime was how little screen time he had), then forward: Jerry Lambert in Predator 2, Simon in True Lies, Bill Harding in Twister, Brock Lovett in Titanic.

He stole every scene he was in. Always the spark, never the spotlight.

As I got older, I didn’t follow his later work as closely. Life moved on. But when he passed in 2017, it hit harder than I expected. Not because of any one role — but because of the way he made me feel as a kid: seen, understood, entertained.

I wrote The Sleeping Man in Orbit as a tribute. Not just to Bill Paxton the actor — but to what he represented. The magnetic, mythic power of a so-called “side character” who somehow becomes the soul of the film.

Brian Lau is my version of that. A man trying to break out of his own self-imposed supporting role — to finally take up space, speak out, and be seen.

The Paxton energy runs all through the film — some nods subtle, some loud — but all in service of honoring the greatest scene-stealer who ever lived. The guy who made losing it on screen look like the most honest thing a person could do.

Rest in peace, Bill Paxton.

— Ben W.