A Friend like no other

Have you ever woken up to the news of a celebrity death and been surprised at how sad it made you feel?

And I don’t mean just the instinctive “oh that’s sad” natural response. I mean a real pang of being hit right in the feels?

I know I sure have!

As many people woke up yesterday to the dreadfully sad news of Matthew Perry’s premature passing, I wonder how many felt like they had lost a true friend. The outpouring of love and grief-stricken sentiment flooded my social media feed and I suspect many of you will have had similar experiences this weekend.

But what is that all about? I don’t have any friends in common with Matthew Perry. I only know a handful of people that even live in the same country as he did, and even fewer that live in the same city.

Yet there was a genuine sense of mourning. The mood was sombre. The tributes and messages of sympathy and grief were from the heart.

People felt a true loss.

A FRIEND INDEED

Celebrity culture is a relatively new phenomenon in the grand scheme of human history.

Television. Film. Music. The artforms behind what propels someone to celebrity are only really a century old, give or take.

Of course music has been around for much, much longer. And there are plenty of examples of famous people from other disciplines too – be it artists, philosophers, politicians and monarchs.

But there’s something in the passing of a pop culture personality that feels much more, well, personal.

It’s not a Millennial or Gen Z thing either! Be sure to ask any Baby Boomer/Gen X who tries to tell you otherwise, whether they were sad when Frank Sinatra died. Or John Wayne. Elizabeth Taylor. Marlon Brando. David Bowie. Michael Jackson.

The list goes on and casts a shadow as long as the cultural impact they made and as deep as the holes they’ve left behind.

Truth be told these sorts of big names are more than just celebrities. It’s almost a smear against their good name to lump them in with the Jenner’s, Kardashian’s and Hilton’s of the world, even if they do share a platform.

These people have been in our lives, our parents’ lives and our grandparents’ lives. They’ve inspired us, excited us, entertained us, persuaded us, distracted us, influenced us and cheered us up.

So when you think of it like that, they’ve been as good as (if not better than) most of the friends we see on a regular basis. And they never let us down.

Unless of course your idol was Jimmy Savile.

TWO PEAS IN A POD

The clear and important difference though is in most cases the qualities we enjoy in our celebrity friends aren’t linked to anything tangibly real in our lives. Most of us don’t become friends with our idols. Most of us don’t even meet them.

The relationship is built and sustained through their career, their media appearances and their image. Not through any physical real life contact.

It’s delusional to think you’re actually friends with someone you’ve never met. And that’s not to take away any feelings of sadness when they pass.

Similarly we can (and do) fall out with a celebrity we’ve never met because of their political persuasions or something they said in an interview, but still none of it is rooted in anything that involves a real, actual human connection.

Psychologically then, it’s a different connection than the one we have with a friend or family member. It has to be.

My experience of grieving the loss of someone I’d never met occurred twice and both times I woke up to messages of sympathy and support. Before I’d even opened both eyeballs my heart raced at the thought that a close family member had died.

But it wasn’t. These messages of support were regarding the passing of people who didn’t know me from Adam.

First was in June 2014. Rik Mayall had died. My teenage hero. My inspiration. He was one of two actors I wanted to emulate. That I wanted to be.

The second person would die just two months later. Robin Williams.

Within eight weeks the two main creative influences in my life had died. I was twenty-seven and I felt like an emotional wreck.

Yet when they were still with us, I had been tremendously lucky. Whilst I never met either of them, I did get to see them both on stage in the flesh.

Rik Mayall I had seen in Bottom Live 2003: The Weapons Grade Y-Fronts Tour at Nottingham’s Royal Concert Hall and then twice more in two productions of The New Statesman: 2006’s The Blair B’Stard Project and 2007’s Alan B’Stard’s Extremely Secret Weapon. He was perfect. Breaking character and ad-libbing relentlessly, he had us all in the palm of his hand.

I saw Robin Williams on a very special occasion – it was his first appearance on a London stage in 25 years. Performing for two nights only in November 2008 at the Gielgud Theatre on his Weapons Of Self Destruction tour, he was absolutely incredible. Performing for over three hours, he had us all laughing so hard that my need to pee by the end had transcended discomfort to the edge of a ruptured bladder. Unforgettable stuff.

I did have a friend in common with Robin Williams. And for my twenty-first birthday, that beautiful friend had him sign this mug for me.

How right he was, I ain’t never had a friend like him.

And that’s because it wasn’t a two-way friendship. I admired him (or them in this case), I loved their work but I could never love the people. How could I? I didn’t know them.

They were able to support and comfort me when I felt sad or anxious. They could cheer me up, bring me out of a funk or inspire me to write and act. But I could never return the favour.

For many, then, Matthew Perry perhaps held a similar place in their heart. A cultural icon who touched so many lives without ever needing to physically do it.

His influence allowed him to share stories about his experiences. To try and help people battle their own addictions. He was a force for good.

Perhaps he was also the last thing you heard on a Friday night before mum would bark: “Right then, bed!” to a nine-year-old you.

Or maybe he was a guide through Covid’s darker moments as you rediscovered Friends and binged it on Netflix.

Maybe he was someone you looked to for help or comfort in his words on addiction.

You might be feeling like you’ve lost a friend, maybe even a friend in need. But the one thing that bonded you to him, and bonded me to them, remains long, long after their time sharing this planet with us.

It’s the meaning which they brought to this world. Their perspective. Their talent. Their legacy.

Their work.

We can cherish that forever.

Besides, it’s the reason we fell in love with them in the first place, right?

DL x.