Matthew Perry: a friend
It was a short, long road
Matthew Perry said once he didn’t want to be remembered first and foremost for Friends. And with his recent passing, what did the newspapers all say? “Chandler from Friends is dead.”
Some even said Chandler Bing from Friends is dead. I cannot say I ever watched an entire episode of Friends, so I’d have needed to check before telling you his character’s name was Chandler, let alone Chandler Bing; but, that he played a role in Friends, I certainly could have told you.
News of his death came in on the email feed as I was watching the video for Faith of the Heart, Rod Stewart’s song played over the final credits of the film Patch Adams. Interspersed with Mr Stewart were shots from the film, with its star, Robin Williams, and supporting actor Philip Seymour Hoffman. Sad to see the two of them in that one hilarious, feel-good movie. Both taken from us by a melancholy that none suspected, which extinguished each of their flames for ever. And yet, didn’t.
The circumstances under which Mr Perry went from this world to the next leave one to wonder whether he brought about his own end, be that intentionally or inadvertently. What he truly wanted to be remembered for was helping others. He had fought addiction in his life, and he’d helped others to fight their own addictions.
When it’s in advanced years that an artist dies, there is a joyous review of their achievements in the practice of their craft. But when an artist dies prematurely, the thoughts dwell more on the why, the wherefore, the point of it all, and the achievements are reviewed wistfully, with sadness.
One is left to wonder whether Matthew Perry in fact died by some misadventure, by some unseen hand, or by his own; and then: to what end? To be remembered as one of the Friends? Or to be remembered as one who strove to help those who were not his friends?
Did he fail? Or will he, by failing, succeed? In being remembered other than for his role in a TV series?
Even if he was never mine or yours, if he’d known we needed one, I think he’d have been ours: a friend. That’s how he ought to be remembered; for that’s what he’d want.
His was a short, long road.