Groucho Marx cheers up John Cleese

The New York Post carried a news item today that comedian John Cleese is separating from his wife of 19 years. The paper said Cleese is feeling melancholy after the funerals of several of his close friends.

We love John Cleese.

He's the very best.

We once scrambled to get tickets to see him perform live at Pepperdine in Malibu and were pretty melancholy to discover that his shows were sold out, especially when ticket brokers informed us that no one had offered to part with their tickets at any price.

One of the great things about the Internet is that search engines will e-mail people who are moping at their computers that somebody out there has written something about them.

So, Mr. Cleese, if you're reading this, Groucho Marx wrote this about you in his 1959 autobiography, Groucho and Me:

My guess is that there aren't a hundred top-flight professional comedians, male and female, in the whole world. They are a much rarer and far more valuable commodity than all the gold and precious stones in the world. But because we are laughed at, I don't think people really understand how essential we are to their sanity. If it weren't for the brief respite we give the world with our foolishness, the world would see mass suicide in numbers that compare favorably with the death rate of the lemmings.

I'm sure most of you have heard the story of the man who, desperately ill, goes to an analyst and tells the doctor that he has lost his desire to live and that he is seriously considering suicide. The doctor listens to this tale of melancholia and then tells the patient that what he needs is a good belly laugh. He advises the unhappy man to go to the circus that night and spend the evening laughing at Grock, the world's funniest clown. The doctor sums it up, "After you have seen Grock, I am sure you will be much happier." The patient rises to his feet, looks sadly at the doctor, turns and ambles toward the door. As he start to leave the doctor says, "By the way, what is your name?" The man turns and regards the analyst with sorrowful eyes. "I am Grock."

Well, that was a depressing story.

Sorry. I forgot that Groucho was so melancholy.

Great talent isn't free, I guess.

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