theweekmagazine:

The chaotic brilliance of Gene Wilder

At the height of his comedic prowess, Wilder had unparalleled control of timing and delivery. His best characterizations comprised conflicts, mimed anxieties for laughs. Staid and chaotic, pensive and pathological, an heir to Buster Keaton (and Bugs Bunny) whose neurotic articulation offered a foil to Woody Allen’s stammering. He could intone a single syllable or come uncoiled like a firehose in a silent comedy. He was not a modest performer. A smarmy sonuvabitch, he embellished and stole scenes and enunciated as if dictating a message to a stupid child, which lent his best performances an air of agitation. His articulation cut like the scalpel he jabs into his thigh in the beginning of Young Frankenstein. (“Fronk-en-steen!”)

Compare Wilder yelling and raving like a mad men to any of today’s boorish bro-comedians, bellowing and braying; whereas they beg for attention, Wilder commands it. He had a natural charisma that only comes from someone with an ego, and when he let loose, it sounded as if his screams, percolating for so long, were erupting from somewhere deep down. Wilder clearly relishes yawping, “You lose! Good day, sir!” at the end of Willy Wonka. Even the saccharine revelation that follows has a jarring edge to it. “You won, you did it!” You’d hate to see what he’d do if Charlie had lost.

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