Happy 36th birthday, baby.
You don't look a day over 45.
(I guess all that tough-guy, tortured-guy, occasionally dancing and singing guy, shrinking and growing guy, sexually conflicted guy, guy full of anger and angst really takes its toll. Not to mention any smoking you may have done.)
Whatever. We love those angular, interesting surfaces on your one-time pretty face and around your intensely-staring eyes.
With John Connor you proved you could bring a cultural icon to adulthood.
No surprise. You had already given us Bruce Wayne/The Batman.
With Patrick Bateman you proved you could unabashadly and unself-consciously display unsung brilliance in your madness.
With Jack Kelly you proved you could exhibit joy, hope, pain and anger on a young, shining face. (Not to mention the dancing.)
Of coure you had already proven it with Jim Graham. (Without the dancing.)
With Walter Wade Jr. you proved you could make the bad guy more fun.
With Jim Davis you proved you could make it fun to watch you implode . . . or explode. (Like you did later with that fuck-filled rant.)
With Alfred and Freddy Borden you proved you could make the less flashy role the more fascinating.
With Dan Evans, you proved it again.
With Melvin Purvis, then again.
(Not a comment, the character, strong and tender all at once.)
Thank you, for all this and much, much more. (Sam and Quinn and Arthur and Laurie, to name a few.) Keep grimacing, keep staring, keep dancing, keep ranting. We'll keep watching.