Rumors about celebrities faking their deaths and disappearing to live normal, mundane lives is nothing new. From Amelia Earhart’s disappearance over the Pacific in 1937 to Adolf Hitler sightings in South America, these kinds of beliefs persist regardless of evidence or logic. After all, who’s to say Elvis, Tupac, and Michael Jackson aren’t living on a submarine with Jim Morrison off the coast of Cuba? And isn’t it at least possible that Kurt Cobain and Princess Diana are relaxing on a private island somewhere?
As ridiculous as these harebrained theories are, there is one celebrity death conspiracy – one that’s been circulating since May 16, 1984 – that actually seems plausible. That date, of course, is the day Andy Kaufman died, and if you’re at all familiar with the late comedian’s work, you’d understand why even his closest friends have their doubts about his demise.
Andy Kaufman is hands down my favorite comedian of all time and that will never change. His approach to comedy was equal parts genius and psychotic, and, as they say in the wrestling business, he lived the gimmick. Watching Kaufman, with his goofy slicked-back hair and turtleneck lip-syncing the Mighty Mouse theme, or delivering one of the most rousing Elvis impressions of all time (only to be followed by a meek “Thank you very much”) is something I will never tire of. And those aren’t even his funniest bits.
In Alex Braverman’s new documentary (aptly titled Thank You Very Much), Kaufman’s life and career is dissected like never before. All the expected beats are there – his childhood, his discovery, his material, his disillusionment, and his eventual “fall” – but Braverman not only goes deep into the “what” of Kaufman, but the “why.” I can’t say that Braverman truly answers this million-dollar question – why Kaufman did what he did and how he truly felt about his own life – but he certainly comes closer than anyone else ever has.
Culled from countless hours of the best stand-up comedy and performance art you’re ever likely to see, Thank You Very Much plumbs the depths of Kaufman’s career and state of mind by reframing much of his work in such a way that forces one to reexamine the motives behind it. By elaborating on his adherence to Transcendental Meditation, for example, along with linking his heartfelt adult interactions with a Howdy Doody puppet to his early childhood, Kaufman’s life begins to take on a tragic bent.
Sprinkled throughout are contemporary interviews with friends and co-stars, such as Steve Martin, Danny DeVito, and Marilu Henner, showcasing the lasting effect (and lasting annoyance) Kaufman had on the world, along with decades-old ones with Robin Williams, Michael Richards, Gary Shandling, Lorne Michaels, and NBC’s Dick Ebersol which provide insight into the late comedian’s antics and death with more urgency. Many of these interviews, both old and new, are haunting (Williams and Shandling) and not without a hint of resentment (Richards and Ebersol), but all are resolute in one thing: There had never been anything like Andy Kaufman before, and there likely never will be again.
The real meat of the story, however, comes from two of Kaufman’s biggest confidants: longtime collaborator Bob Zmuda and girlfriend Lynne Margulies. As well as anyone was capable of knowing the real Kaufman, these two came the closest, but what’s remarkable about their words is that they can’t help but hint, even after all these years, that they’re in on a joke whose punchline has yet to be revealed. Is Andy Kaufman out there working in a Wal-Mart or as a dishwasher, just biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to finish a 40-year-old joke? Probably not, but the fact that people are still asking that question four decades after his tragic death from lung cancer at 35 proves his impact, and that even in death, he can still spark imagination and outrage. Bless you Andy Kaufman.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.