Richard Pryor: 1940-2005
by Taylor Carik

Richard Pryor is dead, muthaf*cka!

Although the comedy legend died at only 65 years old from multiple sclerosis, Richard Franklin Lennox Thomas Pryor III lived an extremely rich life full of solecism and success that found expression in his groundbreaking comedy.

Born in 1940 in Peoria, IL, he had an unimaginably difficult childhood. On top of the intense racial inequality typical of black life at the time, Pryor's family ran a brothel that catered to both entertainers and transients, providing Pryor contact with the winos, addicts and blunt sexuality that would eventually become the fodder for his act.

Pryor was also sexually abused by two different men — including a priest — by the time he was six, and kicked out of school in the eighth grade. In his late teens he joined the army and was discharged for stabbing another soldier. He then moved back to Peoria where, inspired by the performances of iconic black comedians Redd Foxx and Dick Gregory, he took up comedy, eventually making it onto the regional "chitlin" circuit of black clubs.

By the mid-'60s, Pryor had risen to national prominence as an admitted Bill Cosby clone, clean-cut and wearing a suit in a look uncharacteristic of how many visualize him today and performing an uncharacteristically conservative set that garnered appearances on "The Ed Sullivan Show" and "The Tonight Show."

Then came a pivotal moment in 1967, when Pryor walked off stage at the Aladdin Hotel in Las Vegas, unable to complete his sanitized act. Instead, he connected with the late '60s counter-culture and set free his new comedic persona in an act much more authentic to his life experience. His new style moved away from the confined recitation of comedy into an exuberant performance that increasingly included his trademark profanity. His animated orations brought to life the stories of social and sexual relations that were out of bounds for public consumption. And they were as filthy as they were funny:

Your woman gets ready to leave, and you have an argument about the pussy, right. Sayin', oh baby, please don't leave. Take the TV, but leave the pussy, please.

You're like, I'ma find me some new pussy. Your woman come right back at ya: grow two new inches of dick, you find some new pussy right here!

Liberated, Pryor began a prolific and widely recognized body of work. Despite the poor sales of his early comedy albums, he found financial success in 1974 with "That Nigger's Crazy," primarily because it found favor with white audiences who were now ready for his comedy. He also wrote for television, including "Sanford and Son" and "The Flip Wilson Show," co-wrote Blazing Saddles with Mel Brooks and became a popular host on "Saturday Night Live" in the show's prime. In 1979 he put out "Richard Pryor, Live in Concert," regarded by many to be the standard-setting live comedy album.

Pryor's mainstream appeal and financial success continued to grow, and in 1983 he was paid $4 million dollars for his role in the forgettable Superman III, one of his many schlocky movies, which went on to include Brewster's Millions and See No Evil, Hear No Evil, both now inescapable on Saturday afternoon cable. Pryor's work continued until his MS became too overwhelming, its obvious debilitation seen in his last film appearance, wheelchair-bound in David Lynch's Lost Highway.

It's not at all difficult to see Pryor's legacy in comedy today, especially since contemporary comedians — and various types of entertainers, regardless of race — continually cite Pryor's stand-up as an important influence. Bob Newhart (of all people) sings Pryor's praises and Paul Provenza, co-director of The Aristocrats, even tried to get the ailing Pryor for the film because, "Every comedian in America wishes they were Richard Pryor."

Much of today's comedy follows in Pryor's challenging rhetoric, which blew open the social fissures identified by those race-conscious comedians who preceded him. But almost all of it fails to have the same impact. Without Pryor, for example, it's impossible to imagine the success of a show about black childhood like "Everybody Hates Chris" (Rock himself often stresses the importance of Pryor's influence), or one that caricatures America's ignorance of black life and crackheads like "The Dave Chappelle Show." Sarah Silverman's performance, "Jesus is Magic", contains all of the blue humor that made Pryor famous, but as the Times points out, Silverman "is not smashing taboos so much as she is desperately searching for them," something that Pryor never needed to do.

For Pryor, it was more a question of challenging society and even surviving it. His life was rife with missteps of which he frequently made light, most notably when he burned himself during a freebasing cocaine accident in 1980. He was also in trouble with the law and drug abuse on more than a few occasions.

But it was the trouble of his life's experience that informed Pryor's complex comedy that, especially in a country still at odds with itself about race, can still challenge our thinking:

When I was in Africa, this voice came to me and said, "Richard, what do you see?" I said, "I see all types of people." The voice said, "But do you see any niggers?" I said, "No." It said, "Do you know why? 'Cause there aren't any."

E-mail Taylor Carik at cari0021 at umn dot edu.