I had the unbelievable privilege of working with Patrick when I was 11 [in Logan]. He was a man of extraordinary warmth, wit and generosity. He possessed that increasingly rare ability to make everyone around him feel as though they were being let in on something wonderful.
To work alongside him was to be reminded, every day, of what it means to love what you do, and to share that love with others. He imparted lessons in a way that was so wise, you didn’t even realise you were being taught. To describe Patrick simply as a remarkable man would feel an injustice to the sheer breadth of what made him so.
He was a master of his craft, certainly, but also a teacher, a raconteur, a mischief-maker and, above all, a profoundly generous human being. He carried his knowledge lightly, his humour generously, and his affection for the people around him with a warmth that was impossible to miss. He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of jokes that could make the longest, most arduous days on set pass in minutes.
I remember walking around one of the house sets with him and remarking that the only thing missing from the home was a dog. Without missing a beat, Patrick began barking and behaving like one, until I was absolutely roaring with laughter. It was that sort of instinctive silliness, a complete willingness to abandon any notion of grandeur or self-importance, that made being around him such a joy.
He was equally gifted at talking to children and professors alike, shifting his linguistic code to meet whoever happened to be in front of him. I remember the little snippets of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Chekhov and Pinter he would spontaneously grace us with, sharing passages from the works he loved as though letting us in on a private little world. He could move from the most sophisticated literary conversation to the most ridiculous schoolyard mischief without ever seeming to change gear.
Patrick was an incredibly protective scene partner and colleague. He had a way of making you feel included, listened to and respected, even when you were just a clueless 11-year-old finding your feet in the pressure-filled adult world of a film set. I remember him noticing me looking longingly at his Professor X wheelchair, and secretly approaching me to explain that if you pushed the stick hard enough, it went very, very fast.
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