10 wild clips to help you understand Andy Kaufman's greatness

Andy Kaufman has become one of the most influential comedians in just a decade, from his first national television appearance at the age of 35 in 1984 to his death from lung cancer. What's even more noteworthy about this is that he hardly did it through his regular roles in films and famous television, except for the sitcom “Taxi.”

Still, Kaufman and many of his characters were always present in popular culture, clubs, wrestling matches, and talk and variety shows. These bits live on the internet, divorced from the context in which they appeared. On YouTube, Andy Kaufman's rabbit hole is deep and packed with joy. A new documentary about his life, “Thank you,” was clearly made by an artist who spent a long time exploring it. Below are ten best examples of how Kaufman broke from the past and predicted the future.

foreigner

The first Kaufman character was a tentative, thickly accented immigrant from the Caspian Sea known as foreigners, preceded by Borat, but sweeter, more sensitive and paranoid. He mangled the jokes on Borsch's belt and made a sparkly joke like this one-liner. “My wife's cooking is so bad, awful,” before he became Latka Gravas in “Tax”, foreigners appeared on short sets on shows like “Van Dyke and the Company.” In one of the first people, the foreigner loses a contest like Fonzie and gets mad at Dick Van Dyke. To get things right, the host offers him the opportunity to tell him some jokes. With an unsteady grasp of English, a more loose grasp of American humor, playing overly enthusiastic and innocent people, Kaufman runs through some bits and the terrible impression of Ed McMahon. For some reason, his errors love him to the audience. Kaufman's big anime-like eyes do a lot of work.

Celebrity interviewer

silence. Kaufmann builds not only comedians, but suspense, tension and more than anything else, clumsy. Aired two years later on ABC Special Tape in 1977, he used the technique brilliantly in a spoofing of a disastrous talk show interview that had anticipated everything from “Eric Andre Show” to “Between the Two Ferns.” As a host looking down at the guests, “Laverne & Shirley” star Cindy Williams, from the desk towering above her (he becomes the disparity that he takes to more extreme heights after his career), he stops talking completely, and the joke ends. The camera then moves from him to her and goes back to open the building. It's almost a minute of dead air, but it looks much longer. He then asks: “Do you have any hobbies? Do you have any illness?”

Bongo Player

Kaufman was the first (and possibly the last) comedian to kill in the HBO special through the use of bongos. He often pounded instruments with his actions, but never as effective as this fiercely busy 1976 performance at “Monty Hall Variety Hour.” He invents not only characters, but also languages ​​that no one can understand. Still, through the power of will and charisma, he laughs ununderstandably and convinces the audience to speak this false language. Some of his physicality resembles Steve Martin from the same era. However, we can also see traces of the future avant-garde styles of Reggie Watts, Rory Scobel and Kate Berland.

Stand-up flop

Kaufman's comedy was obsessed with failure – or, as he said, “a bombing and crying routine.” With the HBO special celebrating the rising star of club catch, he found a new way to “flop”. This was his artistic partner, Bob Zumda. He calls his favourite of all the bits he cooked this with Kaufman. Zmuda humiliated his partner's lack of new material, his 1981 film Heartbeeps (his one starring role, bomb), and even hair removal. Zmuda upsets Kaufman, throwing him out of rhythm, leading to more troublesome silence and melancholy. Since then, Tim Heidecker and Neil Hamburger have turned bad stand-ups into their own art, but this was unusual at the time.

Despite being the highlight of the first episode of “Saturday Night Live,” Kaufmann was by no means a cast member. But he tapes one of those weird auditions.

Hypnotic singer

Going back late on a Friday night, it was a bit lively with blurry eyes, turning on the TV, finding Kaufman at an otherwise traditional music variety show, flying around the stage in a jumpsuit, “I trusted you. I trusted you. I trusted you. I trusted you.” The lyrics repeat for three minutes, with boundary performances of record skipping and hypnotism that evoked the inner voice of a betrayed man. The next day, you'll think it was a dream.

Ice cream eater

Kaufman is a rare comedian and was pleased to receive laughs based on his unjoking . On a set that questioned the limits of comedy, he walked the stage in an improvised comedy club, sat down and ate ice cream. That's it – almost. And judging from the reaction, the equal parts are confused and pleased. That was enough.

In Kaufman's most famous appearance in “Late Night with David Letterman,” he staged his battle with wrestler Jerry Lawler. However, his biggest interaction with Letterman was at the host's short-lived morning show weeks after news that it had been cancelled a few weeks ago. In fact, one way to see Kaufman's Maudlin 1980 guest appearance was not too stoic, as a manifestation of how Letterman felt. Kaufman stops his hair, sheds tears, sucks up petrolats under his eyes, telling him that his career was a hellish scene, his wife divorces him and he has fallen apart. When the crowd laughed, he begged them not to laugh. It's a very convincing performance that will make you question the reality of the situation. Was it a spoofing of a sunny daytime chat or was it asking for actual help? Kaufman panhandled the audience and finished. Even this was precedent. Marilu Henner, a new documentary who co-stars in “Taxi,” explains how he came across Kaufman on New York Street, where he was seeking money from strangers. Kaufman's original plan was to end the Letterman segment by putting his gun in his mouth and pretending to commit suicide. It was Knicks.

The destroyer

Kaufman has incorporated many forms into comedies like lip sync. But what made him the most modern person was that he was Master Roll. He rose from the people through insults, surprises, and sometimes stubborn refusal. On a slightly confusing 1981 TV with Nathan Fielder's prank feel, he was in the middle of a glitter sketch opposite Michael Richards (Kramer from Seinfeld) and two other actors like Saturday Night Live. He refused to say his line and muttered that he didn't want to play the role. Richards then walks backstage and takes his cue card back and dumps it in front of Kaufman, causing confusion. It looked like a hostage situation, then a brawl. Richards seemed upset, but he said he was the only person in the stunt. He recalls that Kaufman had committed to the bit to the point that he continued crying behind the scenes in front of the angry crew, even after the camera stopped.

king

If there was one entertainer who Kaufman was taken seriously, it would have been Elvis Presley. He has been a fan for life and wrote a book (unpublished) about rock stars. Kaufman's impression of Elvis often closed his early acts. However, my favorite of his Elvis impressions was the soft ballad, and it was less of a comic contrast than a real love letter. In Johnny Cash's 1979 Christmas special, Kaufman brought unexpected emotions and melancholy to “where your heartache begins.”

One story I've heard about Kaufman is that the foreign-like characters are innocent and healthy, with his heels condensed into darkness, like the shady Vegas singer Tony Clifton and the wrestling woman. However, his final one, “Late Night,” a 1983 appearance disproves that tidy arc. It tapped a childlike Kaufman, just like his early work. He took his parents to a sarcastic late-night show (a cozy sofa replaced a regular chair) and did something completely shocking. She said he loves him too. Kaufman and his parents then sang “The Boats of the Row, the Row, the Row Ship.” You kept waiting for a twist and it never came. Kaufmann fooled us again.