Kindness. That’s what I always saw when I watched Gene Wilder, who died on Monday at 83. No matter what he was doing onscreen: raving like a lunatic, reanimating a cobbled together corpse or breaking out of prison, Wilder’s warmth was undeniable and inescapable.
I never saw Wilder play a heavy or serious role (I think he did, but I never saw those portrayals). The first time I saw Wilder on-screen was in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. My parents actually took me to the movies to see that gem in 1971. Yes, there was an odd, demented edge to the character and, in less deft hands, Wonka would have turned into a child-torturing freak (see Johnny Depp’s depiction). But even as he seemingly ignored the plights of Mike Teavee and Veruca Salt, Wilder’s eyes telegraphed the truth, seemingly saying “don’t worry, those dolts will be alright.”
Without that ever-present hint of humanity, there’s no way I would’ve bought the ending: that moment where Wonka, seemingly half a man (remember that half a bust, half lamp, half desk, etc.?), wraps his fingers around the everlasting gobstopper that Charlie Bucket purposely left behind, turns around and transforms before our eyes. Wilder did this without special effects. It was just his body language, his face and, especially, his eyes.
There haven’t been many actors, in comedies and other genres, who can so instantly put viewers at ease. Whatever the subject matter, a rabbi thrown together with a no-nonsense cowboy (The Frisco Kid), an every-man dealing with a murder and intrigue (Silver Streak) or an insecure schlub partnered with a scheming and slightly insane co-producer (The Producers), Wilder guided us through the tale, always with a glint in his eye that said, “trust me, this will all be OK.”
The standout
Take a few hours to rewatch Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, Stir Crazy and The Producers. Wilder is the one you watch. He’s like a touchstone that you return to again and again, letting his warm presence reassure you that whatever is happening on screen, no one you care about is truly hurt, physically or in spirit.
In real life, Wilder came across as a gentle soul. When asked in 2013 by film historian Robert Osborn about why he hadn’t made a movie in more than 20 years he said, “I didn’t want to do the kind of junk I was seeing. I didn’t want to do 3D, for instance.” That drew a laugh, but Wilder added that he was turned off by all the swearing and explosions, much of which didn’t seem to have a purpose.
“Can't they just stop and talk?”
Wilder, though, was wickedly funny. I don’t laugh out loud much when I watch movies any more. Wilder’s movies were the kind that produced fits of laughter. Young Frankenstein, which was Wilder’s idea and written, in part, by him, is clever, fast-moving and comedic in a way few movies have been since. Wilder said he wrote the Transylvania Station scene. (“Maybe I can help you with that hump. What hump?”) The entire movie, though, was ridiculous, bawdy and sentimental. Wilder wasn’t going for politically correct. He was after the laugh and, I think, the humanity.
The joy in his work
I’m pretty certain none of Wilder’s roles would have worked as well if you didn’t see the man underneath always trying to succeed, connect or fit in. His pairings with the late comedian Richard Pryor were — at least in the beginning — perfect. Silver Streak showed off Wilder’s abilities as a leading man, a comic partner and a slapstick comedian.
Wilder could elicit empathy from a stone. His plight became our plight.
Watching Wilder do all of this in film after film was a joy because there was joy in Wilder’s work. At his funniest — as he was in The Producers — Wilder is raw and exposed, but not in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable. Wilder could elicit empathy from a stone. His plight became our plight and, as in most every other film I saw him in, we were always rooting for him.
Yes, even when he was digging up corpses and trading witticisms with Marty Feldman (who played Igor), we wanted him to succeed and bring the monster to life.
Not everything turns to gold
Not every film Wilder made was a gem. The later collaborations with Pryor were awful. I’ve often wondered if Wilder made them to help Pryor who was often struggling with drug dependency and, in later years, Parkinson’s disease. Wilder literally tried to carry those films (see Another You).
I remember reading Wilder’s reaction to the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory remake. He sounded less kind than usual, but I also wondered why a greater effort hadn’t been made to involve him. Of course, Wilder’s distaste for Tim Burton’s work might have precluded that anyway (see his 92nd Street Y interview, above).
It is a shame, though, that we were denied, for the better part of two decades, that warm and comforting connection that came with a Wilder film (He said he wanted to work with Judy Dench. why didn't that ever happen?!). He had the kind of gentle spirit, spark of humanity and brilliant comedic timing that doesn’t come along that often.
We should, though, be thankful, as I am, for all that Wilder did give us. I plan on enjoying a Wilder movie marathon this weekend. How about you?
