"That’s a bit morbid, isn’t it?" said my wife earlier this afternoon as she laid eyes upon my newest piece of expert DIY I'd put together for the walls of our family home. For context — the DIY was a frame from B&M Bargains and a pack of those sticky-back picture hangers. At first, I thought she was just being ignorant, but by the time I was sticking it to the wall, a new thought dawned on me. She might be right. Is this a bit weird? Do I have an unhealthy obsession with a dead celebrity?
The framed item in question was the front page of The Metro newspaper from June 10th, 2014. It was a eulogy issue following the sudden passing, at age 56, of British comic actor and writer Rik Mayall.
I hadn’t heard the term parasocial until a few years ago. The explosion of streamer and YouTuber culture, along with Twitter, seems to have only amplified its use, with modern online celebs, influencers, and even brands having a direct line of communication with their audience more than ever before. This often results in unhealthy obsessions, questionable manipulation of fanbases, and vulnerable individuals being taken advantage of. Now I'm asking myself - am I in a parasocial relationship? How could I let this happen?!
Like many people, I had a few celebrity crushes growing up — Gillian Anderson, since you asked — and there are various people I’d call myself a big fan of to this day, both from my youth and more recent years. Musicians, actors, writers, athletes — all kinds of people who, at some point or another, I felt connected with via their craft. Though my admiration for these folks never crossed a line. Despite how much I adored them then, or do now, I’ve always been perfectly cognisant of the reality that these people have no idea who I am, and they were never speaking to me directly. This self-awareness is what separates me from those who might be harbouring a more unhealthy infatuation, right?
You hear songs sometimes and think, "This is about my life!". It's normal to relate to other human beings like this. We all go through similar emotions in life — but I’ve never gone so far as to think these people were actually writing music for me personally or inviting me to knock on their door for a chat like I was their mate.
Then there’s Rik Mayall.
My first introduction to the "pan-global phenomenon" would’ve been when I was about six years old, mesmerised by two blokes on TV hitting each other with frying pans, spouting double entendres, and pulling funny faces. Not long after that, my older brother showed me the first-ever Bottom Live stage show on VHS in 1993, and there was no going back. I’m not going to turn this into a timeline of my exposure to the works of Mayall, but it’s important to know that ever since those first moments, I’ve sought out pretty much everything he’s ever done — whether it's TV, film, books, stand-up, or just interviews. If it’s accessible today, I’ve probably seen it, including many things that aren’t available online or in any format today — clips or words lost to history, only viewed in the moment.
Rik Mayall is a hero of mine, and when I think of it, probably my only hero. I don’t even know if calling him a hero is appropriate; it just feels like the easiest way to contextualise what he means to me. A comedy genius, talented actor, and anarchic philosopher. Mayall taught me what funny is and delivered advice through his art and speeches that I genuinely think about most days of my life.
His performative mannerisms are things I’ve adopted and emulate both consciously and subconsciously — the voices I’ll put on for my son, the innuendos I’ll share with my wife. It’s all stolen from Rik. I’m not funny. I never have been. Rik is, though, so if I ever find myself in a situation where I might be able to be witty or yank a laugh from someone, I’ll just dive into my bag of Rik and pull something out. You get the gist.
I never met Rik. Never had any direct communication with him, online or off (he wasn’t a user of social media). Yet he is without question the one celebrity who has affected my life more than any other. He is also the only celebrity death I’ve cried about. I cried a few times in the couple of weeks after his death and have been brought to tears watching him many times since. Not getting to meet Rik while he was still alive is something I continue to be sad about, but maybe that’s for the best? Perhaps meeting him would’ve shattered my respect or shifted my opinion of him. The only problem is, I know a few people who did meet him, and they all say the same thing: he was more giving, kind, and funny in real life than they could have ever imagined. And I believe them. Nobody can tell me a bad word about Rik.
So is it morbid that I’m hanging a framed newspaper page announcing his death? Maybe. But I’m confident it’s not unhealthy. I know I wasn’t a friend of Rik's, but there’s no denying how much he meant, and still means, to me. This new addition to my wall is a daily reminder of those five mantras he swore by — equality, opportunity, wisdom, freedom, and love. They're with me all the time, but it can't hurt to have it — or him — staring down at you while you go for a pee. Yes, I forgot to mention, I’ve hung it in the downstairs loo, which I genuinely believe is something the man himself might get a kick out of — at least before berating me for not putting it on some kind of gold shrine or hanging it over my wife’s side of the bed where he’d get a regular good look at her knockers.
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