The Soft Glow of Jim Henson: Idea Man
Ron Howard’s new documentary avoids any of The Muppet Man’s darker moments. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine.
In recent years, I’ve found myself wondering, “Where does one’s particular sense of humor come from?” Some of it is, of course, genetic–all that funny science stuff. Some of it is learned through shared experience–all that funny (insert your specific religious/cultural background) stuff. And the rest comes from whatever funny shit made the biggest impact on you as a child. For me, that means three* comedic forces that each reached the peak of their powers in the 1970s:
1. Mel Brooks
My parents absolutely love Mel Brooks and, as a result, I have endless memories of watching Young Frankenstein, Space Balls, and Blazing Saddles way too often at way too young of an age. But what the gospel of Mel taught me is that you can make fun of anyone for anything as long as you make fun of everyone for everything. When the maestro is willing to roast himself as much as any of his co-stars you learn that comedy really is the ultimate democracy in some weird way.
2. Monty Python
If I had my entire life’s movie data, I would have to assume Monty Python and the Holy Grail would rank #1 as the movie I’m rewatched the most times. Every scene is imprinted on my brain, every beat is predictable from a mile away. The iconic troup’s sense of timing and writhing parody were my first introductions to British humor and showed me that the best way to attack an institution beyond your reach is making a good joke (my mom still sings “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life” in opportune moments to this day, however, she tries to resist mimicking Eric Idle’s iconic… pose).
Honorable Mention*
Shh, it’s my list. While writing this, I realized that Gene Wilder’s extremely dry sense of humor, which was particularly on display in his depiction of Willy Wonka, really hit on something for me at a young age too. Could’ve explained my general disdain for my fellow kids, but maybe not my disdain for most non-chocolate candy. Anyway, moving on.
3. The Muppets
I owe 75% of my sense of humor to a bunch of puppetted animals, humanoids, and whatever the hell Gonzo is. It’s undeniable. It’s pure and profound and hilariously dumb. This scene still makes me laugh every single time I see it. But as time goes on and I meet more and more people who look at me like I need further psychiatric help when admitting how much I love the Muppets, it makes me wonder if maybe the tone of their antics really has lost a step. Well, I was wondering, at least, until I recently watched this:
That is a clip of the test footage shot by Jim Henson and Frank Oz (the man behind, or maybe inside of, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, and Yoda to name a few) when they were considering making a Muppet film after the insane success of the eponymous show. As they’d never shot with the Muppets outside the studio, the two decided they should try some things out before committing to a full film that would see them taking the whole Muppet crew out into the world. And so, they went for a drive in the English countryside and interviewed/told jokes to a bunch of cows. It’s still funny as shit.
It was at this moment in the not-so-distant past, cackling to myself on a gloomy Saturday afternoon, that I realized it wasn’t necessarily the Muppets who I should be thanking for serving as one of the pillars of my own sense of humor, and really my personality, but the man who brought them into the world. The “idea man” himself, Jim Henson. And with a new documentary out that attempts to capture his entire life in an hour and 51 minutes, I’ve been thinking about Jim Henson a lot.
Jim Henson: Idea Man, directed by Hollywood’s nice dad figure Ron Howard, goes into a fair amount of detail around Henson’s origins, how he got into puppetry, where Kermit came from, how Sesame Street happened, and even has Jennifer Connelly speaking extensively about acting with David Bowie in Labyrinth. These are all good things.
It shows how charming Henson was as he tries to ground himself during an appearance on The Orson Welles Show. We see how Rolf the dog was constructed out of a halved basketball. We learn that, while shopping The Muppet Show after the success of Sesame Street and getting repeatedly turned away by all the major networks because of the conglomerates’ fear of it being perceived as another kids show with puppets, Henson renamed what would become the single most watched show on TV at the time to Sex & Violence. These are all great things.
But much like any of the recent string of musician biopics that have risen to prominence, this Henson-family approved documentary leaves out some of the aspects of Henson’s life that not only made him more three-dimensional, but also more relatable.
There’s an incredible Jim Henson biography from 2016 written by the modern famous filmmaker dude biographer Brian Jay Jones (he preceded it with an excellent book covering the life of George Lucas) that goes much deeper into Henson’s personal life, his absolutely titanic work ethic, and the strains he put on his family because of his desire to constantly create. There are details of his many infidelities, his heartbreak over the general disinterest in Dark Crystal and failure of Labyrinth, and his interest in the future of filmmaking technology (Henson was at the forefront of motion capture, for example).
While he was still nothing short of a titan, sometimes seeing both sides of a genius at work can make them not just interesting, but captivating, and Henson is no exception. As a result, there have been a plethora of attempts to turn his life story into a proper biopic, most recently in 2021 when screenwriter Michael Mitnick (The Current War and The Giver) signed on to write the script with Henson’s daughter Lisa producing. This one was going to cover Henson’s attempt to sell the networks on The Muppet Show after the success of Sesame Street and was set to feature a lot of fantastical puppet elements, but like multiple scripts before it, The Muppet Man never really got off the ground.
Henson died at 53 of pneumonia in 1990 (his funeral is one of the most joyous celebrations of a person’s life ever caught on film, with the exception of Big Bird’s crushing rendition of “It’s Not Easy Being Green”), leaving behind one of the biggest “what ifs” of recent movie history. Would Jim Henson have approved of The Muppet Christmas Carol? Would he have sold to Disney in 2004? Would he have signed off on The Kermit Channel (yes, that was a thing)? We’ll never know, but at least we’ll always have the Muppets at the peak of their powers, and if Ron Howard’s new documentary convinces a few more people to laugh at a frog and a bear taking a left at a giant fork in the road, then I’m all for it.
