Hopeless, awkward and desperate for love
Chandler of Friends, like Matthew Perry, turned vulnerability into virtue. Emotional detachment, we learned from him, is an impoverished state of being.
It may seem a little tasteless to mourn the death of an actor when one of the longest-standing conflicts in West Asia is claiming countless innocent lives. But, here is the thing about mourning, we mourn not just the ostensible departed but everything we are losing bit by bit.
We mourn Matthew Perry, best known as the computer programmer Chandler Bing from everyone’s beloved TV sitcom Friends. But we also mourn the world that he was hard at creating — where friends are family, children are cared for, men are not ashamed of being “in touch with their feelings” even though they make fun of it, and where violence is not even there on the table.
Chandler, perhaps, had some of the most memorable moments in the series. Whether it is accidentally walking in on Rachel when she is naked, thus acknowledging sexual dynamics in the group, rechristening one of Monica’s boyfriends “Fun Bobby” as “Ridiculously Dull Bobby”, suggesting his lack of conviviality that will later pave the way for Monica and Chandler to become romantic partners, or to babysit Ross’s son with Joey on a bus only for both to be mistaken as a gay couple. What do these moments suggest, now that we have the luxury of a retrospective gaze?
For most Indian viewers, still finding their feet in the post-liberalisation world of possibilities, Chandler represented aspirational effortlessness.
As post-Friends interviews of Perry and his co-actors suggest, he brought himself to fill Chandler’s shoes. Be available, be kind, be funny, but, most importantly, be a facilitator.
Perry recognised others’ demons because he had so many of them. Instead of being in denial — for long — Perry chose to combat them. And he was available to anyone doing the same. His philanthropic work involving men battling alcoholism, which meant turning his Malibu house into a rehab, was recognised by the White House. Perry offered a relatable role model, flawed but furthering.
Perry’s masculinity — just like Chandler’s — existed in the twilight zone of faith and doubt. A product of patriarchy, he sought activity in the polis and emotionality in the oikos. And he was constantly at work — in his imperfect manner — for aligning the public and the private together. Chandler hugged, as opposed to back-slap, Ross and Joey very often.
He overcame emotional barriers to carry out meaningful conversations with other men, even though he was uncomfortable with homosexuality. Perry, similarly, wasn’t late in acknowledging that patriarchal tropes weren’t doing him any good. Broken relationships due to insecurity, failure of fame to empower, and addiction issues to numb it all out — Perry recognised it all even though he wasn’t able to purge it. Exorcism is a luxury that even the wealthiest and the most loved can ill afford.
Chandler of Friends, like Perry, turned vulnerability into virtue. Emotional detachment, we learned from him, is an impoverished state of being. It suits nobody. Even a casual glance at newspaper headlines today proves this. When the series ended with a promise — not a presentation — of the “happily-ever-after” scenario, viewers were essentially nudged towards the idea that everlasting ideal happiness remains a mirage at best.
But you can never bid farewell to this Holy Grail or its pursuit. Like it’s impossible to bid farewell to Friends. The sitcom’s afterlife hinges on what it still has to offer at a metaphysical level. In the series finale, Chandler reminisces about the friends’ lives in Monica’s apartment as one that was filled with love, kindness, vulnerability and laughter. He’s also quick to bring cultural materialism in by remarking on the real estate situation.
Perry was acutely aware that the individual pursuit of happiness was always impacted by society. Through the characters he played and his philanthropic work, he tried to build a society that valued vulnerability. In a world where babies are getting murdered — decapitated or bombed — Matthew Perry’s war cry was, “I’m hopeless and awkward and desperate for love!”
Nishtha Gautam is an author, academic and journalist. She’s the co-editor of In Hard Times, a Bloomsbury book on national security. The views expressed are personal
