Gene Wilder is hot soup on a cold night.
Gene Wilder is the best pair of shoes you will ever own.
Gene Wilder is a big bucket full of somersaults.
Gene Wilder is the thing you can’t stop laughing at in the middle of class that your teacher would never understand.
Gene Wilder is a whole heap of puppies and they’re rolling around licking your head and one of them pretends to bite you only maybe he’s not pretending and he goes absolutely still and looks you right in the eye and you look him right in the eye and you think maybe he’s really going to bite you this time but instead he rolls on your face and runs in circles and flops on his back so you can pet him.
Gene Wilder is the sound of bumblebees sneezing.
Gene Wilder is what happens when your imagination is allowed out of its pen to run free over the mountaintops chasing wild antelope and eating bugs and drawing eyebrows on unsuspecting milkmen.
Gene Wilder is the most charming date you’ve ever been on.
Gene Wilder is the sheep you should have married.
Gene Wilder is your weird uncle with the Davy Crockett hat who does magic tricks with nickels and playing cards at the family Christmas party you wish would leave you alone until the one day when no one else is listening he tells you a joke so funny you never forget it and no one ever tells you a funnier one.
Gene Wilder is a vertiginous stack of mustaches stretching from the Earth to the Moon.
Gene Wilder is David Bowie and Prince.
Gene Wilder is the ‘40s dance craze your grandparents danced at your wedding before your grandfather slipped and landed in the cake.
Gene Wilder is both of the Get Out Of Jail Free cards.
Gene Wilder is a short stack of pancakes that never gets shorter no matter how many you eat.
Gene Wilder is the man behind the mask.
Gene Wilder is the birthday present you always wanted most of all that no one ever bought you.
Gene Wilder is the kid on a pogo stick bouncing outside your window just high enough for you to see his eyes until the one bounce giving you a view of his crooked grin sends you to the window because wait a minute you’re on the third floor but when you look out and down he’s gone.
Gene Wilder is the balloon animal you’d make if you knew how to make balloon animals and if you know how to make balloon animals Gene Wilder is the only balloon animal you’ve ever made.
Gene Wilder is a giant blueberry.
Gene Wilder is the MacGuffin.
Gene Wilder is your memories of childhood when everything was new and exiting and suprising and fantastical and kind of wonderfully scary all at the same time.
Gene Wilder is a secret cache of knowledge you will never find anywhere but in the eyes of Gene Wilder.
Gene Wilder is the fish in the fish slapping dance.
Gene Wilder is the way of the samurai.
Gene Wilder is the tallest mountain in the universe and no one has ever climbed it but after spending your whole life struggling up its rocky face you finally make it to the top and sitting there with a nice cup of hot cocoa is Gene Wilder and he gives it to you because you need it more than he does.
Gene Wilder is a vermicious knid’s worst nightmare.
Gene Wilder is the secret joke you’re smiling at whenever someone asks you what you’re smiling at and you tell them it’s nothing.
Gene Wilder is a small cup of vanilla pudding your sweetheart saved for you.
Gene Wilder is the voice inside your head telling you you’re awesome.
Gene Wilder is the maker of music and the dreamer of dreams.
Gene Wilder is and always will be Gene Wilder.
To me, Gene Wilder has always been that one curl of hair that wouldn’t stay down, making you look just a little like a 2-year old girl, no matter how dapper the rest of your attire, even after you shaved your head.
Yes. He’s that too.
(And he will forever smile at me in my head when I’m being arrogant, because he always has–the smile that is laughing at me, but at him too, because he’s laughing at all of us, at the whole world, mad enough to see that all the rest of us have run mad too, the tender amusement of a ringmaster in a circus of manic toddlers in technicolor tutus, who might at any time transfix us into still, staring fascination with a mighty shriek of ‘Must you?!’ when the noise rises to unbearable levels…
That same amusement, wrapped in a tenderness that lurks even while neuroses run rampant, does indeed many a time make me laugh while mired and surrounded by the ‘real, adult world’, and in honor of him I leave others wondering why.)
That smile and those eyes. They’re transfixing.