Marcel Marceau, the twentieth century’s most celebrated mime (well, apart from Baptiste Debureau in Marcel Carné’s Children of Paradise), is dead. Marceau was 84.
This mime’s astounding popularity always defeated my comprehension. Whenever I watched Marceau perform on TV I couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was doing, what he meant to be miming. Perhaps Marceau needed to be seen live. Perhaps it would’ve helped if I’d been born French. I always watched Marceau when I was sober; perhaps I should’ve been drunk.
Let’s hope that France contains her grief.
Bulletin: Marcel Marceau has mangled his last mime.
Let’s observe a moment of noise for his passing.