One of my childhood heroes passed away last week.
I grew up watching the Television classic ‘Kung Fu’ during its original airing, and the subsequent syndicated re-run mill.
What a treat it was, week after week, watching this mystical monk from a magical land, performing supernatural feats of the body and mind. Every episode, we were transported to the Wild West of America to delight in a superhero from the exotic Orient dispatching violent un-enlightened thugs whose guns and gritty hauteur were soundly rendered impotent. He never broke a sweat, and he never got pissed-off. (Plus Master Po had those creepy cool looking eyes).
Of course, later on, most of us learned the truths of Kung Fu The Series and David Carridine the actor: Shaolin Monastery (少林寺) was just a Buddhist Temple in China that happened to specialize in Martial Arts; and David Carridine’s extremely serene demeanor was simply a classic case of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide “experimentation.”
We also learned much later that the role was conceived by, and stolen from, the real Martial Arts Master of the time, the great Bruce Lee.
Later in his career, David Carradine proved that he was, if not a great actor, an extremely peculiar one. Whatever role he played, he always seemed to keep it interesting, if not for anything except his bizarre persona. His presence alone was compelling enough to endure even the worst of scripts. When his career was re-ignited by the brilliant Tarrintino classics, Kill Bill Volumes 1 and 2, we were once again reminded that Carridine was a enduring staple of American pop culture.
When I heard that he died, I felt a little sadness. A sadness that lingered. Although, when I learned of the circumstances surrounding his demise, I have to admit that I was, one, not surprised, and two, kind of in awe that he would go in such a bizarre, fairly uncommon way.
David Carradine died how he lived: alone in a Bangkok Hotel room with a rope around his neck attached to his genitals… okay, he didn’t really die the way he lived exactly, but it was bizarre just the same, just like he was.
He didn’t stop entertaining us to the very end.
You will be missed Grasshopper. You will be missed.
I grew up watching the Television classic ‘Kung Fu’ during its original airing, and the subsequent syndicated re-run mill.
What a treat it was, week after week, watching this mystical monk from a magical land, performing supernatural feats of the body and mind. Every episode, we were transported to the Wild West of America to delight in a superhero from the exotic Orient dispatching violent un-enlightened thugs whose guns and gritty hauteur were soundly rendered impotent. He never broke a sweat, and he never got pissed-off. (Plus Master Po had those creepy cool looking eyes).
Of course, later on, most of us learned the truths of Kung Fu The Series and David Carridine the actor: Shaolin Monastery (少林寺) was just a Buddhist Temple in China that happened to specialize in Martial Arts; and David Carridine’s extremely serene demeanor was simply a classic case of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide “experimentation.”
We also learned much later that the role was conceived by, and stolen from, the real Martial Arts Master of the time, the great Bruce Lee.
Later in his career, David Carradine proved that he was, if not a great actor, an extremely peculiar one. Whatever role he played, he always seemed to keep it interesting, if not for anything except his bizarre persona. His presence alone was compelling enough to endure even the worst of scripts. When his career was re-ignited by the brilliant Tarrintino classics, Kill Bill Volumes 1 and 2, we were once again reminded that Carridine was a enduring staple of American pop culture.
When I heard that he died, I felt a little sadness. A sadness that lingered. Although, when I learned of the circumstances surrounding his demise, I have to admit that I was, one, not surprised, and two, kind of in awe that he would go in such a bizarre, fairly uncommon way.
David Carradine died how he lived: alone in a Bangkok Hotel room with a rope around his neck attached to his genitals… okay, he didn’t really die the way he lived exactly, but it was bizarre just the same, just like he was.
He didn’t stop entertaining us to the very end.
You will be missed Grasshopper. You will be missed.
