BELIEVE: THE EDDIE IZZARD STORY
By all rights, you should have never heard of Eddie Izzard.
Six years ago when I left my product development job at a behemoth retailer to take a chance on a tiny illustration business with a friend, I made the fatal error of reading a long article about the meteoric rise of “Family Guy” creator Seth MacFarlane. As someone who thinks the idea of fame (especially in its modern reality-show form) is just the slightest bit creepy, I avoid celebrity gossip and fluffy star profiles like the plague. Plus, I’ve often felt it best to keep the art separate from the artist, as there are now at last two bands that I can no longer enjoy after interviewing them and discovering what ignorant jerkwads they are. That said, MacFarlane was my age and was in the class at RISD that I might’ve been had my life gone the route I’d hoped, so I was curious to know what beaten path he’d wandered to his perch atop Mount FOX.
I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake. From knowing as a toddler precisely what he wanted to do and everyone around encouraging him – his supportive parents handing him over to his professors who helped him into his first job with a boss who then got him into FOX and his own show at age 24 – MacFarlane’s had a lifetime of being patted on the butt right up the ladder of success. That’s not to say he hasn’t worked that butt off once he got up there, but still … it was the most depressing bio I’d ever read, and pretty much screamed, “Hey, if you haven’t had this great head start, you’ll never make it now!”
That article festered in the back of my mind for the better part of a year, and in time, I second-guessed my career expectations so much, that I ended up retreating to the security of another large established brand. (To be fair, my illustration partner caved into a corporate gig first.) And although I wouldn’t trade my opportunities at that job for anything, I never felt like I was in the right place. I still ached to be paving my own road, but it proved too exhausting to do both full-time things at once, not to mention the double-shift in front of the computer was hell on the eyes.
So this past spring, while struggling with that nagging feeling of displacement, a friend recommended I rent this documentary about Eddie Izzard – perhaps the most iconic comedian of our time (and if you doubt that, walk into a crowded room and ask “Cake or Death?”), not to mention successful actor, activist, etc. – I felt the last thing I needed was a shining example of how if you do everything brilliantly you’ll end up on top. But after a particularly rough day at the salt mines, I found myself watching “Believe: the Eddie Izzard Story”, thinking if nothing else, a few clever bits about badgers, jam and Hitler might make me feel temporarily better. What I didn’t expect was to cry. And then quit my job.
I received my introduction to the fantastical world of British funnyman Eddie Izzard via my flatmate’s stash of videos while living in London in the late ‘90s. His Fractured-Fairytale-esque take on history, religion and old movies reminded me of some sort of blendered concoction of Monty Python (“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”) and my dad’s old Cosby albums (“Noah…” “What??!”) from the early ‘60s. Having a storytelling style similar to the ridiculous way I write (with too many side-thought brackets), and a pantomime-infused delivery that reads like a stage performance of a Gary Larson page-a-day calendar, Izzard’s menagerie of gun-toting, makeup-wearing animals rang familiar (and hilarious) to this person once almost murdered by a squirrel with a propane tank (true story). And with Izzard being a (straight) transvestite campaigning for Total Clothing Rights For All (think a male Marlene Dietrich), he blurs gender lines, which immediately appealed to me. (Although I quite enjoy having girly features, my tastes lean more towards action boy stuff.)
Twelve years later and Izzard’s now a double-Emmy winner (for his HBO special “Dress to Kill”). John Cleese has called him the “Lost Python”. He’s starred in an FX drama series, played Chaplin on film, Lenny Bruce on stage, and held his own opposite superstars Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Uma Thurman and Tom Cruise. But despite the impressive CV, Izzard didn’t actually do everything brilliantly to get up there on top, nor was his ascent meteoric. In fact, his career has resembled a rather elaborate and funny-looking Rube Goldberg contraption with unicycles, handcuffs, monkeys, skirts, and makeup all knocking over nonsensically in just the right order to in the end just flick on a little light switch. In the Emmy-nominated “Believe”, that complicated machine is carefully disassembled and dissected by first-time feature-length documentary director Sarah Townsend, via lots of old (embarrassing!) footage, touching interviews and cute little Terry Gilliam-style animated segueways.
What kicks over the first lever to set that machine in motion, is the death of Izzard’s beloved mother when he was only six. Immediately after, he and his brother are sent away by their overwhelmed father to a cold, strict boarding school, like Cool Hand Luke cruelly confined to the work farm “Box” to keep him in line after his mama’s death. As if waking up one day and discovering that the concept of home has been abolished, Izzard’s life no longer resembles the one he had before, and he suffers not just the loss of a mother, but of an entire childhood. (Which perhaps explains his preoccupation with WWII when millions of people minding their own business, found themselves one day suddenly herded away from the lives they loved.) Scared, lonely and dyslexic, young Eddie struggles at school, but soon finds something to set his heart on – acting – when he witnesses another boy getting applause on stage. Eyeing this as a means to fill the emotional vacuum created when his previous life was ripped away, he sets about to claim a bit of happiness.
But although now desperate to act, he can’t get any parts in school, and constantly schemes against a system that insists on limiting his potential. One of the funniest bits of early Machiavellian planning comes in a school play where Izzard works out that if – as a member of the background performers who share a line – he says it quick enough before the other kids ever start, it will become his solo line. It’s a move that perhaps channels the spirit of John Hancock signing for independence in large letters and right up under the last line, dead-center and with a flourish as if to say, “Right, I OWN this Declaration, baby!” Incidentally, it’s because of this inventive spirit, that Izzard, in fact, might even be the modern incarnation of not Hancock, but cosigner Ben Franklin. From their shared youthful scheming (teenaged Franklin famously invented secret alter-ego Mrs. Silence Dogood in order to write letters in his brother’s newspaper after being denied doing so himself), their redrafting of history, and their maddeningly meandering and multi-tasking spirits (as a child, Franklin once couldn’t decide between swimming and flying his kite … so he combined the two in some sort of early version of parasailing), to their voracious thirsts for knowledge, and status as beloved statesmen, Franklin and Izzard are obvious soulmates. (Plus … Franklin wore tights!) And just as Franklin has been dubbed “The First American” due to (among other things) his tireless pursuit of the unified colonies … Izzard, who very vocally (and obsessively) supports a melting-pot unified Europe, might be called “The First European”.
But back at the heartbreak machine, “Believe” continues through all the twists and turns, levers and pulleys of an artist trying (and failing) to find his niche. And although I don’t want to give away the plot, let’s just say as time marches on, Izzard’s attempts to “make it” fail so regularly (and so miserably), you start to think, “How have I ever heard of this guy … he should have given up ages ago.” But like his Cool Hand comrade, Izzard just wouldn’t be kept down, and you see it all right there in embarrassments the rest of us would’ve hidden. Shamelessly hamming for applause during his street-performing days. The horrific clothes (including his first on-stage dress). And then there’s that raw final interview. Initiated by a family twist, it’s a moment that will break your heart. It’s then that you realize his hasn’t been just a story of determination or stubbornness to accept defeat, but really an entire career carefully executed as a love-letter to a mother lost a lifetime too early. It seems ironic that bullies have probably chased him down the street in his dresses and makeup calling him “Mama’s Boy”, not knowing just how close to the truth they were. I mean that in a good way. (And before you try to connect some dots there, he knew before his mum died, that he was a transvestite.)
We all want to believe in the “American Dream”, but no one really admits anymore that they want to EARN the “American Dream”. Hancock and Franklin didn’t defiantly draft their flourishes to paper so everyone could get famous just for dancing up a wedding aisle on YouTube or sliding down an airplane emergency exit. The story of “Believe” is what real hard work and determination looks like, kids. It’s by hard work and belief in yourself that you can truly appreciate where you end up in life. And in a world dominated by thoughts no longer than 140 characters, going the distance like this might seem completely foreign. The main events in the documentary culminate at Izzards sold-out appearance at Wembley all the way back in 2003, but it’s perfect timing that the film didn’t come out until recently since the current state of the world gives it more punch. Izzard lost massive amounts of money over the years investing in the talent only he seemed to know he had, but there’s one thing you won’t hear in “Believe”, and that’s regret. As a fellow creative, I have to salute that. The life of an artist is one racked with self-doubt, since a great deal of what you do is so much effort with little-to-no payoff. It’s a wonder he won that battle, as it’s one of the few careers you can’t even have without the constant acceptance of the public. (Perhaps that’s why he’s well suited for public office, something he – of course! – plans to do in a dozen or so years’ time.) But even when the public rejected him, he kept on believing.
Thanks to my own newfound belief, I’m doing some things I never thought I could, and although I may not have the desire to be loved by an audience that Izzard has, I share his drive to put a stamp on something that’s uniquely mine, and I no longer feel handicapped by any past failures to do so. Now, I wouldn’t suggest everyone quit their jobs (especially in this economy), but sometimes when you’re between a rock and a hard place, the only way to get out is to climb up on top and leap for it. The day after I left my job, I wrote on the wall above my home computer a phrase I’ve always loved: “Leap and a net will appear.” Although one is starting to do so, I am prepared for the possibility that at any second, it could disappear.
EDDIE IZZARD: MARATHON MAN
The perfect epilogue to “Believe”, is BBC’s 3-part special “Eddie Izzard: Marathon Man”, which chronicles his recent unbelievable athletic feat for charity Sport Relief, when a 47 year-old comedian who had never run a single marathon, ran 43 of them (with the cunning use of flags!) in 51 days with only five weeks’ training. In actuality, the much more amazing achievement is that he ran around the UK – 1166 miles (that’s like running from New York to Topeka, Kansas) through all kinds of treacherous weather and rough terrain – in a mere 51 days. The marathon-a-day qualification seems to portion that distance into understandable terms … as understandable as a marathon a day can be. The concept is so ridiculous, that as Izzard himself has said he might as well have told people he’s just eaten a car. It was hearing that he was doing this that made me lift my no-celebrities embargo on Twitter, as I just had to see this for myself.
Gorgeously photographed like a travelogue of the United Kingdom, and narrated by Dr. Who’s David Tennant, “Marathon Man” is an incredible journey to follow even if you’ve never heard of Izzard or his infamous Deathstar Canteen. Starting from Trafalgar Square on a rainy summer morning, Izzard launches his mammoth undertaking with a small support staff – including a sports therapist to monitor his health – and an ice cream van that will hand out treats, collect donations for Sport Relief, and generally drive Izzard nuts with nonstop jinging of “Greensleeves”.
At first it appears the novice runner has bitten off more than he can chew. His first marathon crawls along haphazardly as he stops to talk to ducks, pick roadside berries, and indulge in ice cream and beer. But as he completes marathon after marathon, you can see a true runner emerging from the pavement. And by the end of the whole adventure, he will completely own the road, surviving blinding downpours, near hits by passing motorists, steep climbs up the Scottish hills and all manner of gruesome blisters, pulled muscles and mangy toenails. (Ugh … and they show ‘em!)
His route takes him from London up to Wales, Northern Ireland, across to Edinburgh, Scotland, then back down again to London. In each country he carries the appropriate flag, and makes pit stops to visit programs aided by Sport Relief. He also returns to sites from his own childhood including the house where he was the happiest (before mum passed) and a camp he attended as a kid. As people hear of his quest (via Twitter, etc.), Izzard is joined on the road by kids, pro runners, and even an injured ex-soldier in a hand-peddled cart. And like the landscape’s histories he imagines he’s crossing, Izzard is always aware of his surroundings. When running through Northern Ireland – a country still struggling to find its unified identity – he elects to carry a non-partisan flag he has designed that’s green for the country’s football team with a white dove for peace in the corner.
There’s one moment that perfectly illustrates the juxtaposition of the various sides of Eddie Izzard. While crossing the Mersey to Liverpool by ferry, he spots an arena that he’s booked at. As if lost on a wild boys’ adventure, it’s a reminder of his day job. And what a day job that is. Earning loads of money to entertain arenas full of adoring fans – about the aforementioned badgers, jam, and Hitler – it must sometimes be difficult to decipher where the adventure ends and the job begins. Still, Izzard manages all of it with a military mindset.
Friend and presenter Frank Skinner joins Izzard for a few miles and sums up his career drive and need to have projects going in every direction. For Izzard, he says, “Every day another marathon.” As with the meandering topics of his stage show, Izzard appears to possess the only road map to where those marathons are destined to go. This manifests in a physical way, when he suddenly veers down a muddy towpath for 10 miles that the film crew can’t follow, leaving him to film it himself with his iPhone. He just will not be put in a box, again. Although his positivity and determination inspire those around him (at one point when the batteries in the camera cart run out, the crew gets out with the heavy equipment and runs with him), the relentless drill sergeant at the core must be complicated to live with. Having now seen “Marathon Man” it does not surprise me that “Believe” did not focus too much on personal relationships. (There is, in fact, only one love interest mentioned – his ex, the film’s director Townsend – quietly referred to presumably to retain the separation of church and state.) An internal drive like that must isolate … the cursed loneliness of the long-distance runner. And it’s hard to imagine who might even fit the bill. To impress a chronic overachiever that can do his own makeup, you’d need more than just a pretty face. You’d have to be nothing less than catsuited Emma Peel scaling Everest, piloting space shuttles, karate-chopping Nazis and curing cancer.
As with “Believe”, there are definitely two parts to the marathon journey … on Izzard’s first couple dozen marathons (when he’s conditioning his body, and opening old emotional wounds through the tour of his past), at the conclusion of each day you can’t imagine how this guy will make it through the next one. And although he has some difficult moments later (mostly initiated by physical injuries), by the middle of the mission, the whole thing becomes a given … well, of course he’s running again tomorrow! On the last marathon on his return to London, Izzard’s final sprint to the finish is punctuated by driving rain and the meticulously-chosen “Welcome Home” by Radical Face (“Peel the scars from off my back/I don't need them anymore … I've come home”), as Big Ben indicates that he has only 12 minutes to hit his target time of 5 hours. With a large crowd of friends, fans and press gathered, he crosses the finish line a man much leaner … not just physically but mentally. Izzard appears less tortured with a burden from a truncated childhood off his shoulders. Ironic, considering he seems to have carried back a 6 year-old version of himself who’s having the time of his life. This now expert runner is disappointed to have missed his 5-hour goal by 30 seconds, although he sacrificed 20 minutes waiting for the film crew caught in traffic by a broken axle. Later, they swing the ice cream van past Number 10 for a photo op with the Prime Minister (and where Foreign Secretary David Miliband treats himself to an ice cream). Again, more juxtaposition. Eddie the freewheeling boy scout, meet Eddie Izzard the charismatic public figure.
Having seen Izzard’s military planning (in early stand-up days he used a map with color-coded pins to mark where he’d played and how well he’d done), it’s hard to suppress the thought that all of this – the revealing backstory, the intense physical achievement – might just be more pins marking his world-domination plan. A few months after my initial teary-eyed viewing of “Believe”, I watched it again to see if I still felt the same connection to the message. I’ll admit to being easily moved by heart-wrenching Olympian profiles or Extreme Home Makeover that’s engineered to make you feel guilty for your own easy path, so I wondered if, in a moment of vulnerability, I hadn’t just been taken in by a sob story. But for me, at least, it held up. Whereas shows like “Primetime” manipulate the facts to make you feel a certain way about the subject (usually the first half hour you’re for them, then the second half hour you’re repulsed), Townsend’s documentary of this multi-sided character doesn’t. It’s just a story of a “bloke in a dress” … where he came from, how he got this far, what he wore. “Believe” is, incidentally, divided in half … split in time and narrative by Izzard’s personal epiphany that I won’t reveal, but it’s not manipulated that way. Sometimes life just reboots that clearly and knocks the levers in the right direction. And if, by the way, you think an ex-love can’t tell an objective story, at the very least … another (disconnected) director wouldn’t have gotten that powerful last interview. Izzard simply wouldn’t have relaxed his guard for them.
So if in time, it seems that the marathons were a bigger-picture bid to cast himself as leads in action films (if a middle-aged Michael Chiklis can reinvent the frumpy Commish into a total badass, why not?), he still did the work. He still raised the money – something like $2 million dollars now. And although he will proudly mention his marathons, Izzard needs to own his achievement more adamantly and really stick a flag in it. Before elaborating on his exploits, he’ll quickly footnote it with reference to a guy who ran more in less time. But that guy was a lifelong endurance runner! Whether it’s modesty or disappointment, Izzard needs to just sign his name – in bold letters with a flourish - right up under that impossible finish line.
The message of both specials is a multi-layered thing … you can log on at different levels. If you’re a struggling performer, who lost a parent and are trying to come out as transgender, “Believe” would obviously be your inspiration trifecta. But there’s something that anyone can take away from it. If you can’t get out of bed due to a heartbreaking loss, this story’s for you. If you’ve lost your job and feel like you’ll never get another one since no one even replies to your applications, this story’s for you. If you’ve ever had a boss who imposed a ceiling on your potential, this is for you. And if you think … I can’t do this … I don’t have that kind of stamina or drive, Izzard himself admits to struggling with laziness. One of the most appealing elements of “Marathon Man” is that even though it’s a test of ultra-endurance, the motivation doesn’t derive from barked orders (and insults) from overly-fit trainers on a weight-loss game show. It’s just a guy who got up one morning and decided to run. And then kept that promise to himself. Because the mind always wins over the body. If you settle on a goal in your head – even if no one around you thinks its attainable – your feet will eventually follow – blisters and all – to where you’re destined to go. So get out there already and claim your road … with a flag and a flourish. And please don’t let the über-lucky MacFarlanes of the world ever make you feel like it’s too late.
“Believe: the Eddie Izzard Story” is available on cable channel Epix, DVD, iTunes and on EpixHD.com. (Click “Get an invite code” to watch it for free. You can also watch his Wembley stand-up special mentioned in the film.) It was nominated for a 2010 Emmy for Best Nonfiction Special.
“Eddie Izzard: Marathon Man” has not yet been released in the States, but please write to BBC America via their website to request its broadcast.