September 22, 2010
Marcel Marceau died three years ago today. He was 83 years old.
Marceau was the world’s most famous mime. While his face may not have been familiar, everyone knew his trademark striped shirt, bowler hat, and large flower. Frankly, he has not been missed.
He was a mime. And mimes are totally annoying. First of all, they don’t talk. Punch them in the nuts, they won’t groan. They are like the guards at Buckingham Palace, but less funny. Mimes walk around on nice summer days and pretend that they are struggling in the wind. Mimes laugh and cry at little flowers. Mimes get in your face and don’t get out until you give them money. Only pretentious PBS people like mimes, trust me on this- I speak from experience. Supposedly they are practitioners of an art that goes back to ancient Greece. Big deal. The ancient Greeks had some funny ideas about young boys too.
Marcel Marceau’s funeral was a sight to see. A line of a dozen mimes, side by side, all pretending to be carrying an invisible coffin. The last in line pretended to drop it on his foot and pantomimed a limp the rest of the way. One of them pretended to pull the coffin with an imaginary rope. The eulogy was equally moving. Marcel was remembered by many of the mime community with these touching words: “ .”
Before he was laid to rest, the assembled mimes first struggled to get out of an invisible phone booth, then laid their oversized flowers on the grave.
So Rest In Peace, funny man, let’s hope the art of mime ends here.
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