French mime artist Marcel Marceau on stage in Cologne. Photograph: David Hecker/AFP
I don't want to write this tribute to Marcel Marceau. I wanted to put on white gloves and mime it. Eyes closed, arms folded across chest. Then trapped in a coffin, noiselessly struggling to get out. Then tears blurting from eyes. If I did so, of course, somebody would probably come along, a la Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie, and shove me to the ground. People who don't know any better think mime is deeply irritating. When my flatmate heard Marceau was dead yesterday, he issued a (rather uncharitable) one-word response: "Good".
So why (apart from the mean spirit) is he wrong? I suppose I can understand why white-faced, white-gloved mime gets people's goat. Marceau allowed his most celebrated routines (the walking-against-the-wind, the glass cage) to ossify into clichés. The Bip persona could be seen as faux-naïve ("his look," said Marceau, "is turned not only to heaven, but into the hearts of men") or, like so many clowns before him, as creepy. It got to the point where mime had to dissociate itself from its presiding genius. I've lost count of the number of articles I've read about the great London International Mime Festival, for example, that start: "A far cry from Marcel Marceau..."
But there may be no such festivals without Marceau. He popularised an art form that had hitherto been a minority concern, and by doing so, challenged theatre's tyranny of blah blah. All of us who work in the fabulous multi-faceted perform-o-sphere of so-called "physical theatre" should doff our battered top-hats to the great man. He won much ground in the (still ongoing) battle to show that theatre needn't just be about chat, needn't be all erudite banter between static starched-suits. And he reminded us that theatre can do away with not only words, but props, set - everything, indeed, but craft and the imagination.
At his best, like a live-action Chaplin, Marceau reminded us that stories can be told visually as well as aurally, jokes can be silent, poetry doesn't need words - and that (as he discovered by touring to over 80 countries) we can share experiences in the theatre regardless of the language we speak. Mime is a great democrat, which may be why snobs hate it. That's why I'm currently screwing out the cork on this non-existent bottle, and filling up this absent glass with invisible wine. Here's to you, Marcel - the drink may not actually be here, but it tastes great.
· Read more about Marcel Marceau here.
