Daniel Conderman 
We Kilmer-ly knew ye.
From the moment you Top Gunned your way into our hearts as Iceman, we knew you were the Real Genius. You didn’t just play roles—you Heat-ed up the screen with every stare, smirk, and sultry line delivery. You were the Batman who Forever held our gaze (and looked damn good in a Batsuit, too).
You kissed kisses and banged bangs, sang like a Morrison, and made us believe in Doc Holliday’s drawl like he was still riding the wild west. You weren’t just Tombstone, you were the whole damn graveyard—sexy, sinister, and soulful.
You could out-charm the devil and outwit a saint. You Willowed your way through fantasy, Thunderhearted through drama, and even made Shakespeare sound like pillow talk. You gave us poetry in gunfights, philosophy in sunglasses, and romance in a crooked smile.
Now the curtain closes, and we’re left in the shadow of your light. It’s Kil-mer-cury rising, brother—your star still burns bright in our sky.
We’ll miss your voice, your presence, your brave heart and beautiful chaos.
We’ll miss the Val-idity you brought to every character.
We’ll miss you, in every scene we replay.
Fly high, Iceman. You’re cleared for final takeoff.
We’ll meet you in the danger zone someday.
