There was an enigmatic ridiculousness to Chandler\u2019s persona. He worked in the indecipherable field of statistical analysis and data reconfiguration. His father Charles transitioned into the cabaret star Helena Handbasket. His parents divorced over Thanksgiving dinner, leaving him haunted by the holiday season. He met every moment with wide-eyed, darkly comical horror.<\/p>\n
But what gave Chandler Bing real life was Perry\u2019s extraordinary presence. And a smile that beamed from cheek to cheek, which came with an added twinkle in his eyes. When Perry looked at you, he really saw you. His gaze was intense but almost unguarded. Unlike many stars, who meet the spotlight head on, Perry, like Chandler, was always a little ill at ease.<\/p>\n
It is a truism in comedy \u2013 television sitcom, in particular \u2013 that the line between actor and character is often blurred. It is not a great mystery, it is a byproduct of the brutality of high-turnover cultural commerce. There is little time for nuance in the business of weekly TV, so in many ways the writers\u2019 room depends on the show casting actors who, more or less, are the characters they are going to play.<\/p>\n
Which is not to say that Perry and Chandler Bing were one and the same. Rather, in Chandler\u2019s most vulnerable moments, and in the moments when television comedy strays into dark emotion, Perry\u2019s own sensitivities were never far from the surface. The pace of the show depended on that. And Perry, with a greater dramatic range than a sitcom ever really tapped, always hit his mark.<\/p>\n
I met Perry several times: on the set of Friends<\/em> in the mid-1990s, at the height of its popularity, and years later, when he was promoting the reboot of The Odd Couple<\/em> in 2015. In some respects, the two Matthew Perrys were wholly different. On the set of Friends<\/em>, he was playful and charming, barely an adult. Being interviewed for The Odd Couple<\/em> two decades later, he was guarded, bruised by the bumpy road of fame that had followed.<\/p>\n Matthew Perry.<\/span>Credit: <\/span>Gino Domenico for AP<\/cite><\/p>\n At the same time, the two men were not so different. Both were candid. And even as an older man, Perry did not seem to lose the qualities of his younger self, the smile, the twinkle in the eye; uncertain about what the spotlight expected of him, but willing to have an honest conversation. And he was no less funny at 45 than he was at 25.<\/p>\n Even in the last few years of his life \u2013 when his addiction and health issues were more widely known, and tackled with great candour in his autobiography Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing: A Memoir<\/em> \u2013 his humour was always on display. An unwillingness to take himself too seriously, and an unwillingness to take the burden of fame too seriously, either.<\/p>\n On the cultural landscape, there sit few great generational comedies. I Love Lucy<\/em> is one. For the generation that came after that, The Mary Tyler Moore Show<\/em> is another. For an audience of a certain age, Friends<\/em> is a third. A culturally definitive comedy that gave every group of schoolmates, roommates or work colleagues who watched familiar roles to play, and punchlines and moments to hang onto.<\/p>\n The cast of Friends.<\/span>Credit: <\/span>Kevork Djansezian for AP<\/cite><\/p>\n In that sense, Chandler Bing was everyone\u2019s roommate or co-worker, a big brother to some, and an imaginary boyfriend to others. It is a reflection of both the power of popular culture in a media-saturated world, and also the uniquely intimate properties of television, which brings fictional universes into our homes and hearts every day.<\/p>\n For that reason, Perry\u2019s death cuts deep. It momentarily silences the laughter. And it momentarily takes us into feelings of grief and loss. It seems almost absurd to feel so deeply the loss of a fictional character as much as the man who played him. But that is the oddness of television too; it creates inexplicable connections between the real and the imaginary.<\/p>\n The world of Friends<\/em> endures as a byproduct of another one of television\u2019s quirks: the rerun. A total of 236 half-hour episodes, across 10 seasons. Wherever you go, whenever you switch on a TV, a local channel will be playing an episode. Streaming platforms will offer it on demand. The more fastidious will keep the DVDs on their shelves.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n