When Carrie Fisher died, it seemed momentous, just because she had played such an iconic role in an iconic movie. But given her long history of addiction, to cocaine, alcohol, and pills, it really shouldn't have been all that surprising.
I vaguely recall having read part of one of her books once; she was undeniably clever. But when I first saw her as Princess Leia, my reaction was, why couldn't they have gotten someone good-looking for the role? (The answer, as it often is in Hollywood, was that she was a beneficiary of nepotism.)
She basically dined out on that one role for the rest of her life, a life characterized by extreme self-indulgence. And when she died, I can't say I was affected.
Debbie Reynolds had been someone I'd always been vaguely aware of as one of the old time movie stars. But she had been before my time, and although she was much prettier than her daughter, was not really my type, and so had never registered prominently on my radar screen.
But when she had a stroke and died the day after her daughter, that drove home her humanity. She was 84, a vulnerable age, nonetheless it was still hard to escape the conclusion that she had essentially died of a broken heart.
And that actually was sort of affecting.