Unlike the rest of the world, however -- and I'm only guessing here -- I still find myself affected by it, welling up whenever I try to watch his E! True Hollywood Story or see him being granted yet another award for his final full performance as The Dark Knight's Joker. (How sad the cosmic timing of his Academy Award nomination announced today, bumped from the usual Tuesday unveiling because of the inauguration.)

Mostly, though, I think of him when I can't sleep. While Ledger was filming The Dark Knight, he sat for an interview in which he seemed tweaked, exhausted, and uncomfortable. He talked about how sleepless nights plague him, how a couple of Ambien were only good for a couple hours' rest: "I couldn't stop thinking," he told the New York Times. "My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going."

And I know such nights too well -- 2 a.m. becomes 4; 4 a.m. becomes dawn. (I started this essay one long, sleepless night last week at 5:30 a.m., in fact, my frustration drifting to thoughts of this anniversary and why his death hit me so hard.)

So I'll take a little of one drug and wait. Then a little more. Shit, I guess I'll try something else. FUCK -- now the sun's up, and my neighbors are heading to work, and I really, really, REALLY need to sleep. So one more hit, this time of something heavier. Ahhh....finally. Sure I'll sleep until the afternoon on those occasions, but really, I can do that without drugs anyway.

So that's the thought process I imagine was running through Ledger's head that night/day. He'd just flown back from London; surely he was jet-lagged. He just wanted some rest. I look at the list of drugs found in his body, and they're not all that dissimilar to the pharmacy I have scattered around the house, good-faith prescriptions to quell my migraines, my depression, my insomnia.

Granted, I don't know how much he used or why he had them in the first place; the medical examiner emphasized that it was not the quantity but the combination of drugs that killed him. Reports on his rehab stint are conflicting -- was it just research for his role as a junkie in Candy, or was he the compulsive partyer that Michelle Williams had to separate herself and their daughter from?

If Ledger's passing were just another sad story of an addict who had one hit too many, I wouldn't have cried so fiercely the day of his death, wandering my neighborhood that night in need of air and to calm myself down after my husband accused me of being "too sensitive," his concern not adequately sugarcoating what I interpreted as callousness.

My reaction certainly was and continues to be oddly raw; I've never been a star-fucker, though my lifelong sense of morbidity (anyone else weep while playing "American Pie" or "Que Sera, Sera" 45s as a kid?) pretty much guarantees that even the latest car-crash story will leave me a little misty-eyed.

And I've since realized that it's not fear for my own life that I'm crying over, but an empathetic ache knowing (assuming?) that someone, anyone, has experienced those dark nights of the soul (pardon the pun, and the plagiarism), to the extreme that trying to quell the demons killed him.

I also mourn the talent lost, though I'm not going to say I saw it in Ledger his entire career. I scoffed at A Knight's Tale and dismissed him as another pretty boy who'd never do anything interesting. (I did warm to him slightly, though, when I read an interview in which he talked about that blasted the film's poster and tagline -- He Will Rock You -- which led his friends to taunt him with, Hey Heath, are you going to ROCK us?)

The first time I spotted brilliance in Ledger was when I reviewed Lords of Dogtown. I saw his name during the opening credits and promptly forgot it -- surely it was going to be a terrible movie, it was about skateboarding, for God's sake.

But the film ended up impressing me, and I looked up its production notes when I went home to write the review. Holy shit -- THAT was Heath Ledger? The surfboard store owner, the organizer of the team, the adult among kids who had bad hair and worse teeth and spoke like a West Coast waste case with a tube sock in his mouth?

Unrecognizable, and not only because of the magic of makeup. Ledger was not much older than his co-stars, yet his character was years beyond them. He disappeared in the role. And that totally rocked me.

Then came Brokeback Mountain. The Australian, who proved a deft Californian, was now a Midwestern ranch hand. His prettiness hardened; Ledger was now a mumbling, nearly uncommunicative man's man. (You know what I mean, but go ahead and make your jokes anyway.)

His performance broke your heart; his Academy Award nomination was well-deserved, and never a more gorgeous, promising young couple did you see than he and Williams on Oscar night. Beaming, gorgeous, the future high talents of film.

The poster for The Dark Knight had come out just before his death; I kept forgetting to mention them to my husband, to tell him how creepy and totally awesome the Joker looked like he was going to be.

Then, on Jan. 22, the email with a link to the news landed in my inbox, and suddenly the character's scarred, horrific persona twisted my gut. How could I ever watch this ghastly merchant of death, knowing the actor died just after filming?

Months passed, and The Dark Knight opened, and I did, of course, watch it -- several times, both in the theater and at home. I'll probably go again now that it's being rereleased tomorrow, because I never did see it in IMAX.

Ledger's Joker, unquestionably the triumph of the film, will again be larger than life. And maybe once he gets the Oscar -- as if another outcome is even possible -- I'll finally be able to make peace with his death.

I was wearily zipping through the DVR'd show last night, stopping to catch only the movie-related awards or whenever something particularly ridiculous seemed to be going on.

(Most amusing were the "shout-outs" that appeared in the corner of the screen while anointed ones were walking to the stage, such as this comment about Reese Witherspoon from one Eve from Philadelphia: "She's an amazing actor and she's really smart!")

But then, at the very end, flaming batwings appeared behind Queen Latifah and The Dark Knight lovefest began.

Because the Christopher Nolan blockbuster won every category it was nominated for -- five of them, including Favorite Movie, Favorite Action Movie, Favorite Cast, Favorite Superhero, and Favorite On-Screen Matchup -- the PC overlords decided to just give the film its own segment to cap the ceremony, labeling the honor The Most Ludicrously Incredible Movie the People's Choice Voters and Producers Have Ever Seen, or something akin.

Considering the bulk of the show was devoted to lauding huh? movies such as 21, Eagle Eye, and The Secret Life of Bees (all rather odd noms for Favorite Drama), the celebration was a refreshing moment of...well, taste.

But what really got to me is when a smattering of TDK's cast and crew, including Christian Bale and Nolan, took the stage. They, as well as everyone watching, had to be thinking the same thing; the group seemed more somber than pleased.

And I realized that instead of feeling thrilled that the person who truly elevated the film will continue to get his due over the coming months, the reminder that Heath Ledger isn't around to accept the praise himself just made me sad all over again.

Damn you, People's Choice Awards! Next year, stick to honoring stuff like Paul Blart: Mall Cop so I don't have to pretend I got popcorn salt in my eye.

The Washington, D.C. Area Film Critics Association today announced its pick of Fox Searchlight's Slumdog Millionaire as Best Film of 2008, additionally awarding it Best Director (Danny Boyle), Best Breakthrough Performance (Dev Patel), and Best Adapted Screenplay (Simon Beaufoy).

Other notable nods include a posthumous Best Supporting Actor win for Heath Ledger, whose creepy, mesmerizing Joker in The Dark Knight more than compensated for Two-Face's limp storyline and Batman's phlegmy growl, and Best Actor going to Mickey Rourke as The Wrestler's charming titular fuck-up.

The rest:

Best Actress: Meryl Streep (Doubt)
Best Supporting Actress: Rosemarie DeWitt (Rachel Getting Married)
Best Original Screenplay: Jenny Lumet (Rachel Getting Married)
Best Animated: WALL-E
Best Documentary: Man on Wire
Best Foreign Film: Let the Right One In
Best Ensemble: Doubt
Best Art Direction: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button