I'm at a disadvantage trying to write about Richard Pryor. Though he appeared on a couple of shows I wrote and though I talked with him a half-dozen times, I never felt I knew the guy. You had the sense that those who did were a very small, elite group. There was always something of the "hurt animal" about him, keeping all at distance, forever looking like he was about to make a break for the door. He seemed especially troubled when someone would tell him, as many did, that he was the funniest man who ever lived. It was like a challenge for him to live up to, and he didn't seem to like being challenged. Or talked to by a lot of the people who wanted to get close to him.
I thought he was funny, though not as funny as many people did. Then again, I only got to see him perform stand-up once in person and it was a bad set. One night at the Comedy Store in the seventies, the next scheduled comic was someone loathsome and my party was moving to leave before he took the stage. A friend who had been on the bill earlier saw us gathering up garments, ran up to me and whispered, "Trust me…you don't want to leave now." He didn't say why but we had to stay and find out why we didn't want to leave now. A few moments later, the emcee said, "We have a surprise for you…" and before he could even say the name, Richard Pryor was squeezing between the tables, making his way to the front. The place exploded.
Sad to say, the entrance was the best part. Richard Pryor was not Richard Pryor that evening. He mumbled, he rambled, he started one story then changed his mind and launched into another. Finally, he realized what we all knew by then — that he was in no shape to perform just then. He did a quick old bit, got a big laugh and fled for the rear. If you'd paid to see Richard Pryor that night, you'd have been bitterly disappointed but as a surprise bonus, I guess it was okay.
At least you could tell people you'd seen Pryor perform live…though I wish I could add that I saw him at his best. I caught the stand-up films and played the albums and went to most of the movies and I laughed…but always from a distance. Some comedians transcend their pains and use them as material. Pryor did not always manage that for me and when I think of the man, I think more of the troubles than the comedy…and I felt that way even before he contracted multiple sclerosis and we all had to watch his sad, unrelenting deterioration.
So tonight, I'm thinking about that evening at the Comedy Store and of another time I met him in an office up on Sunset and then we walked down the boulevard together to Tower Records and talked a bit. I'm also thinking about being on the set of The Tonight Show when he made his first public appearance after his 1980 accident (I wrote about it here). And I'm thinking about Pryor's Place, a 1984 kids' show that he did for CBS Saturday morning. I was one of the writers and it was an odd experience: We could get anyone in show business to appear on the show except Richard Pryor. Guest stars fought to appear with him but about halfway through the production of the 13 episodes, Richard became more interested in a film project called Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling. He had wanted to do a childrens' show because he felt he had some wisdom and experience to impart to kids…but after a couple of tapings, the movie was suddenly his important statement, and our producer had to press him hard to finish out the commitment. The first script done when he was persuaded to come back and do the last few episodes was one of mine and there was a joke in it Pryor didn't want to do.
Now, it's not at all unusual for a performer to refuse to do a line because he thinks it isn't funny, especially in my scripts. In this case though, Pryor didn't want to do the line because he thought it was funny. I stood in his dressing room, feeling just as awkward as I always did around him, as he told the director, "I'm doing this show because I want to speak to kids. I don't care if I make them laugh. That just takes away from what I have to say to them." The director made all the arguments you'd expect him to make and then Pryor cut the conversation short.
"I don't have to prove to anyone I can be funny," he said. No, he sure didn't. If ever anyone didn't have to prove that, it was Richard Pryor, perhaps the most acclaimed comedian ever by folks in the same line of work. I can't think of anyone who ever endured as much pain and still managed to laugh at it and to make audiences laugh along with him. I just wish there had been less pain to laugh about.