The years have fleered away my big dreams and plans, so that today I am content to live in a modest apartment, on a modest pension, with nothing but modest expectations until “The Fellow in the Bright Nightgown,” as W.C. Fields called him, beckons.
But once, long ago in the golden haze of youth, I dreamt that I would dwell in marble halls -- that renown and fortune would favor me as a circus clown, and all the world would pay homage to my risible talents as they did with Chaplin and Jerry Lewis. Was it folly to yearn for that universal respect and affection that the truly great buffoons garner? No, I don’t think so. For I believe that every true clown, deep down inside, wants to consort not with tawdry things but with nobility and light. And that is why great clowns are so immensely, and tragically, funny. They yearn for beauty, yet leave nothing but confusion and destruction in their wake.
That is why there are so many circus posters and photographs of clown and showgirl -- of booby and the blessed. The contrast between grotesquerie and elegance is amusing, to the unthinking masses -- and heartbreaking to the few who care to look deeper into the matter.
There is a poignant moment in Laurel & Hardy’s movie The Bohemian Girl where Jacqueline Wells sings the wonderful opera tune “I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls,” while Stan and Ollie look on -- Stan with his usual befuddlement, and Ollie with tears in his eyes; he, too, is dreaming of those unattainable marble halls that a lowly clown can never enter. It is a moment beyond comedy and past pathos. It is that uncomfortable juncture where we realize how alone the clown really is -- and by comparison, how alone we all are from time to time.
You can watch this touching interlude on YouTube, for free, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26tIOTH2u4g
Just have a box of Kleenex close at hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment