Glen Hansard died in a motorcycle crash in Dublin in the early hours of Wednesday, 29 July 2026.
I saw the news almost as soon as it appeared. I happened to be awake during the night, and somehow the internet knew this would matter to me.
For me, Glen Hansard will always be the busker from Once, one of my favourite films.
It is the kind of love story that could only have been made in Ireland. There is no kiss. There is no sex scene. In the conventional sense, there is no romance at all.
Yet the whole film is a romance.
Two people meet, recognise something in one another and develop a profound admiration. They make beautiful music together, quite literally. Then they separate and return to the lives already waiting for them.
They never become a couple. The music is what happens instead.
Once struck a chord with me long before I came to Ireland. Since moving here, the film has acquired a geography.
I have stood on Grafton Street and looked towards the place where Hansard busked in the film—and where he had busked in real life long before it. I have been to Dalkey and Killiney Hill, where Guy and Girl look out across the coast and she tells him in Czech that she loves him, knowing he cannot understand.
It is the nearest the film comes to a declaration.
I have often wondered why some enterprising Dublin busker does not claim that stretch of Grafton Street and play the songs from Once on rotation. A man with the right voice and guitar could probably make a small fortune. I cannot be the only person who has walked down that street partly because of this film.
Glen Hansard is gone.
Once remains.
I think I will watch it again.