this is really inspiring for any comic!
Posted: Wed Mar 08, 2006 10:01 am
He was widely considered the greatest stand-up comedian ever, but what made Richard Pryor exceptional, many of his comedic brethren said, was his willingness to be completely, utterly unfunny.
Jerry Seinfeld, for example, who worked the same clubs as Mr. Pryor in the late 1970's and early 80's, said he distinctly recalled nights when Mr. Pryor would "walk the room," comedian lingo for driving patrons out into the streets.
"I remember people talking, saying Richard bombed last night," Mr. Seinfeld said. "Guys with reputations like that, they stay to the tried and true. You risk a little bit, but Richard risked everything all the time. He was the ultimate bullfighter on stage. He never let his instinct for self-preservation get in the way."
Mr. Seinfeld was just one of the many comedians mourning yesterday for Mr. Pryor, who died of a heart attack on Saturday after a long battle with multiple sclerosis. He was 65.
For many comics, Mr. Pryor was considered both a fearless performer and a trailblazer onstage - a black man cracking wise about racism and other social ills in a supposedly integrated America. Sometimes, too, he was seen as an offstage cautionary tale, a man who spent some of his life and talent on hard living (tales of which, almost invariably, made their way into his act).
"Richard Pryor was the Rosa Parks of comedy," said Chris Rock, in a statement. "He took risks and chances that made it possible for a whole generation of comics to exist. No one ever rocked the mike like Richard Pryor."
The actor and comedian Bernie Mac was blunter: "Without Richard, there would be no me."
But the question of what made Mr. Pryor so dynamic onstage is a trickier one, touching on his natural chops as a performer, his unsparing honesty and a moment in history when straight talk was in great demand.
Paul Mooney, a longtime friend and a frequent writing collaborator, said Mr. Pryor's skills "came from God."
"It was innate," said Mr. Mooney, who called himself Mr. Pryor's "black writer" and lent the comic his first car, a 1952 Ford, during his early days. "He could have been born in Japan and it still would have been there. Geniuses just are."
Mr. Mooney agreed that his friend shared a gift (and sometimes a curse) for confession. "If you had any dirt or gossip about Richard, you couldn't talk about it because he'd tell it first," he said. "He would get so personal."
Mr. Mooney said Mr. Pryor was also diligent about writing and rewriting his material, and then performing it in a manner that made it often seem invented on the spot.
"That's the trick, to make you think it's improv," he said. "We'd have a skeleton, and he'd put the clothes on it."
Denis Leary, who says Mr. Pryor's 1979 concert film inspired him to become a comic, said Mr. Pryor had "the full toolbox."
"It's not just innate honesty, that whatever happened in his life was fodder for his act, but he was also verbally quick-witted, profane and profound," Mr. Leary said. "He was also a great mimic and physical comic. People forget but there's a moment in one of those movies where he does an impression of a deer getting surprised in the headlights. And he looks like a deer!"
Mr. Pryor honed his stage presence working clubs with a mild-mannered act during the 1960's, before breaking away from that in 1967, quickly finding his voice inside of the characters (like Mudbone, a philosophical wino) drawn from his childhood growing up amid bordellos and bars in Peoria, Ill. By the early 1970's he was widely considered one of the funniest, and - for television censors - the scariest men in America.
Lorne Michaels, the man behind "Saturday Night Live," says that NBC initially balked at letting Mr. Pryor be host of an episode in the show's first season, but allowed it only after demanding a seven-second tape delay. Mr. Michael said the reaction of the audience to Mr. Pryor - both in the studios and in the ratings - was explosive.
"The truth was an incredibly hot commodity in 1974-75," said Mr. Michaels, who watched as Mr. Pryor did two long monologues that night, exactly 30 years ago today. "The distrust of authority was at its absolute peak, with Watergate and the war, and he caught the wave."
Mr. Michaels said that episode, which also featured John Belushi as a sword-wielding samurai, went on to score even higher ratings when it was rebroadcast the next spring.
"It defined us," Mr. Michaels said. "It put us on the map."
"Saturday Night Live" did a brief salute to Mr. Pryor on Saturday, showing a famous sketch featuring Mr. Pryor and Chevy Chase trading insults. Comedy clubs around the country were also planning tributes - formal and less so - to Mr. Pryor. At the Gotham Comedy Club in Manhattan, crowds gave rousing ovations to Mr. Pryor's memory on Saturday night. At the Comedy Store in Los Angeles, where Mr. Pryor cut his teeth in the early 1970's and performed until his failing health ended his stand-up career in the early 1990's, proprietors put a message - "Rest in Peace, Richard" - on the club's marquee.
Comedians, of course, are always trying to make a connection with their crowds, pumping them for personal details - "Anybody out there from Jersey?" - that they can turn into public fodder. But in the end, Mr. Seinfeld said, he thought that Mr. Pryor's true gift was forcing people to come into his world, rather than pandering to theirs.
"He started with what he knew and brought you to it," Mr. Seinfeld said. "He made you fall in love with him. And he did it so that you would relate to things you didn't think you could relate to."
Jerry Seinfeld, for example, who worked the same clubs as Mr. Pryor in the late 1970's and early 80's, said he distinctly recalled nights when Mr. Pryor would "walk the room," comedian lingo for driving patrons out into the streets.
"I remember people talking, saying Richard bombed last night," Mr. Seinfeld said. "Guys with reputations like that, they stay to the tried and true. You risk a little bit, but Richard risked everything all the time. He was the ultimate bullfighter on stage. He never let his instinct for self-preservation get in the way."
Mr. Seinfeld was just one of the many comedians mourning yesterday for Mr. Pryor, who died of a heart attack on Saturday after a long battle with multiple sclerosis. He was 65.
For many comics, Mr. Pryor was considered both a fearless performer and a trailblazer onstage - a black man cracking wise about racism and other social ills in a supposedly integrated America. Sometimes, too, he was seen as an offstage cautionary tale, a man who spent some of his life and talent on hard living (tales of which, almost invariably, made their way into his act).
"Richard Pryor was the Rosa Parks of comedy," said Chris Rock, in a statement. "He took risks and chances that made it possible for a whole generation of comics to exist. No one ever rocked the mike like Richard Pryor."
The actor and comedian Bernie Mac was blunter: "Without Richard, there would be no me."
But the question of what made Mr. Pryor so dynamic onstage is a trickier one, touching on his natural chops as a performer, his unsparing honesty and a moment in history when straight talk was in great demand.
Paul Mooney, a longtime friend and a frequent writing collaborator, said Mr. Pryor's skills "came from God."
"It was innate," said Mr. Mooney, who called himself Mr. Pryor's "black writer" and lent the comic his first car, a 1952 Ford, during his early days. "He could have been born in Japan and it still would have been there. Geniuses just are."
Mr. Mooney agreed that his friend shared a gift (and sometimes a curse) for confession. "If you had any dirt or gossip about Richard, you couldn't talk about it because he'd tell it first," he said. "He would get so personal."
Mr. Mooney said Mr. Pryor was also diligent about writing and rewriting his material, and then performing it in a manner that made it often seem invented on the spot.
"That's the trick, to make you think it's improv," he said. "We'd have a skeleton, and he'd put the clothes on it."
Denis Leary, who says Mr. Pryor's 1979 concert film inspired him to become a comic, said Mr. Pryor had "the full toolbox."
"It's not just innate honesty, that whatever happened in his life was fodder for his act, but he was also verbally quick-witted, profane and profound," Mr. Leary said. "He was also a great mimic and physical comic. People forget but there's a moment in one of those movies where he does an impression of a deer getting surprised in the headlights. And he looks like a deer!"
Mr. Pryor honed his stage presence working clubs with a mild-mannered act during the 1960's, before breaking away from that in 1967, quickly finding his voice inside of the characters (like Mudbone, a philosophical wino) drawn from his childhood growing up amid bordellos and bars in Peoria, Ill. By the early 1970's he was widely considered one of the funniest, and - for television censors - the scariest men in America.
Lorne Michaels, the man behind "Saturday Night Live," says that NBC initially balked at letting Mr. Pryor be host of an episode in the show's first season, but allowed it only after demanding a seven-second tape delay. Mr. Michael said the reaction of the audience to Mr. Pryor - both in the studios and in the ratings - was explosive.
"The truth was an incredibly hot commodity in 1974-75," said Mr. Michaels, who watched as Mr. Pryor did two long monologues that night, exactly 30 years ago today. "The distrust of authority was at its absolute peak, with Watergate and the war, and he caught the wave."
Mr. Michaels said that episode, which also featured John Belushi as a sword-wielding samurai, went on to score even higher ratings when it was rebroadcast the next spring.
"It defined us," Mr. Michaels said. "It put us on the map."
"Saturday Night Live" did a brief salute to Mr. Pryor on Saturday, showing a famous sketch featuring Mr. Pryor and Chevy Chase trading insults. Comedy clubs around the country were also planning tributes - formal and less so - to Mr. Pryor. At the Gotham Comedy Club in Manhattan, crowds gave rousing ovations to Mr. Pryor's memory on Saturday night. At the Comedy Store in Los Angeles, where Mr. Pryor cut his teeth in the early 1970's and performed until his failing health ended his stand-up career in the early 1990's, proprietors put a message - "Rest in Peace, Richard" - on the club's marquee.
Comedians, of course, are always trying to make a connection with their crowds, pumping them for personal details - "Anybody out there from Jersey?" - that they can turn into public fodder. But in the end, Mr. Seinfeld said, he thought that Mr. Pryor's true gift was forcing people to come into his world, rather than pandering to theirs.
"He started with what he knew and brought you to it," Mr. Seinfeld said. "He made you fall in love with him. And he did it so that you would relate to things you didn't think you could relate to."