Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Will Ferrell, Fairy Dust, and a Shakespearean Performance

I have been in awe of Jimmy Fallon at various times over the past few months, as I've been exposed to more video clips of his Tonight Show antics. Jimmy, I've come to realize, is a funny, funny man. And brilliant. Or at least brilliant at being funny. Whether that's through Jimmy becoming the new Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, instigating his own appearance on Saved By the Bell, or creating Brian Williams rap videos (though I assume those may be in short supply in the coming months), I've had ample opportunity to fawn over the creative genius being produced over at the Tonight Show. Thanks to YouTube, I don't even have to stay up past ten to see it.

But Jimmy doing what Jimmy does didn't prompt this post tonight. For what Fallon does is merely being really, really good at his job. That's not necessarily a rarity. Openly loving your own job in the way he does may be; but I see people committed to excellence in their station in life every day.

No, who impressed me most in a recent Fallon clip is Will Ferrell. Ferrell is a funny guy too, despite the fact that I've struggled to find much humor in most of his film comedies. For me, he's hit and miss in that department, though I'm able to recognize his skill and hard work at his craft.

But coming onto Fallon's show is not Will Ferrell's job. His livelihood and professional reputation are not at stake in that appearance. He didn't have to be great. But there he was, as a guest, challenged by Fallon to a lip syncing contest. Challenge accepted. Will Ferrell doesn't just play along; he doesn't go through the motions, laughing awkwardly at appropriate times, counting the minutes until he's done. No, Will Ferrell goes on the offensive. Will Ferrell pulls out the fairy dust.

(For the ten or so readers who haven't seen this video yet, I've posted it at the end of this post. I'd put it here, where it most appropriately belongs, but I'm quite certain if you watched it, there is no chance you'd return to the rest of my words here.)

It's ridiculous just how good he is in this performance. With no real responsibility and no immediate financial reward, Ferrell worked and practiced and planned and danced and put together a masterpiece. And then another one. He was excellent simply because he had decided to be, for no other reason than that if he was going to do it, he may as well go all the way.

This happened in my classroom this month as well. I assigned my AP students to memorize and recite a 24-line Shakespearean speech to the class. While I encouraged them to have some fun and speak with some gravel in their gut, their only requirement was to know the words. Most chose that route, because that's what was required of them. Some stepped out a bit further, adding emotion and a few hand gestures. But there was one student who decided to make this a gem of her own. While not available to millions over YouTube or Twitter, her performance was worthy of it. There were props, intense pauses, and tears. There was a dead body on a makeshift coffin and the scattered outbursts of a Lady Ann bemoaning the death of her husband in the face of his murderer. There were chills. And why? Because she was doing it. And if you're going to do something, you might as well go all the way.

I offer these two examples, this high school senior and comedy giant, as motivation for all of us. Pick something. Pick something that you do, or are asked to do, something you don't have to do for a paycheck, and just be excellent. Be excellent because you're already spending the time doing it, and your name is on it, so you might as well really dive in and make it brilliant.

There are examples around you, if you look hard enough. And they're worth looking for. It's the care and craftsmanship I see my father put into each oaken creation configured in his wood shop. It's my wife's attention to presentation as much as taste in her culinary artistry. It's why my friend takes meticulous notes for us to discuss over Steinbeck, notes he wasn't assigned by any professor. And it's why I plunk-plunk away at another blog post, a few more words into the 13,000 for the month in a hobby that pays me nothing and demands of me everything.

You don't have to. Of course you don't. And that's the point. Because you don't have to, because you've chosen to, because there's no consequence for not doing it other than knowing that you could have, go be excellent at something. And don't forget the fairy dust.


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