I’m Not The One
When it first came out in 1991, I watched “The Fisher King,” a modern version of the Arthurian legend. Jack Lucas (Jeff Bridges) is a raunchy talk show host who inadvertently provokes a caller into a mass shooting at a Manhattan bar. He’s fired from his top job, turns to booze, and just about hits bottom when he meets a homeless man named Parry who miraculously saves him in an alley from a band of thugs (this is 90s New York, after all).
Parry, played with all the kinetic wizardry of Robin Williams, is deeply disturbed. And Jack soon finds out why: he witnessed the murder of his beloved wife in a bar shooting—the one Jack provoked. Parry spends his days searching for the Holy Grail, which he calls “God’s symbol of divine grace.” He believes the grail can heal him, but he needs “the One” to join him in his quest. Jack can hardly believe he’s implicated in all this, but feeling culpable, he agrees to help this poor man.
At first, Jack’s idea of helping is giving Parry some money, telling him he’s batshit crazy and needs to get help. He’s not interested in any deluded “quest,” he doesn’t believe in grails. He just wants to get rid of his guilt. But Parry keeps insisting on this quest, telling Jack he’s “the One.”
Near the movie’s end, there’s a wrenching, haunting line. Jack finally yells, “I’m not going to do this! I’m not the One! There’s nothing special about me!”
I know I must have heard Jack’s anguished cry 33 years ago, but I don’t remember it. Now, as I’m re-watching this ancient story of calling, that cry is all I can hear. Please don’t tell me I’m the One. Please don’t tell me I’m chosen. No, no, there is no power source hidden within me. Don’t tell me I have a divine calling.
I don’t know why, 33 years later, that line impaled me. Maybe it’s because vocation or calling is something that keeps knocking on our doors. We may think we’ve settled that issue years ago, but it returns in all the seasons of our lives. Ignoring or refusing the call is our way of protecting our present lives, happy or miserable—it’s all we can cling to. And it’s our way of protecting the future against any “crazy” deviations from the “normal” trajectory we insist on.
In the end, Jack’s heartbroken words remind me that the great truths usually seem batshit crazy to our little minds. And if everything I believe, everything I seek is “normal,” maybe I’m refusing my calling. Maybe I’m like Jack. Where’s my Parry?
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“And if everything I believe, everything I seek is “normal,” maybe I’m refusing my calling.”
For me, as long as others thought I was batshit crazy for doing what I was doing, I knew I was on the right path. I was following my calling. Currently, from all accounts, I continue to be following my calling.
Ha! I love that—keep on the “crazy” path.
Everytime I see Robin Williams name I forget what I’m reading and think of that heartbreaking picture taken at a Dairy Queen near Hazelden Recovery Center in MN – the last known picture of him before he killed himself. The funniest guy on earth reduced to this fragile man that can barely muster a smile. I was two years sober (it was summer of ‘14) when he took his life and the Dairy Queen picture still haunts me to this day – so I guess in a lot of ways Robin Williams is my Parry.
Oh man—I didn’t know that pic, but I googled it. It does break your heart. To see what an insidious mental illness can do to a beautiful man. Watching the movie I couldn’t see him on screen and not feel sadness for his end. Like so many brilliant, brilliant artists, Robin Williams metabolized his pain through his work, and it’s awful to realize, but the depth and power of his art would not have been possible without his suffering.
You do well to allow Robin Williams to be Parry for you.
Thanks, Matt. I hadn’t seen the picture either. Just now found it. And you’re right, barely a smile. She’s smiling. The Dairy Queen worker is smiling. He’s not. Nobody knows how much pain hides behind that face.
Unintended consequences of careless words spoken without thought of what they might incite. Not just plot points in a movie – sadly. Thanks for reminding me of this movie.
If you haven’t seen it, it’s great. And if it’s been anything like how long since I first saw it (33 years!) , you’ll see it with new eyes.