Funny women

Say what you will, but I didn’t expect to be as affected by the death of Joan Rivers as I was. Maybe it’s because it came so close on the heels of Robin Williams’ passing, as well as about the same time that news of Betty White’s “dyeing” became the latest Internet hoax.

But why are people who have made it their life’s work to make people laugh now making us so sad?

And on the local front, there’s Mark Gil’s recent demise due to cancer, a condition he had kept private although his recent photos, especially his emaciated frame, kind of told us that something was not entirely right with his world.

To return to Joan Rivers. Among my guilty pleasures is watching “Fashion Police” on E! I know, the show can be predictable and we all know by now who the hosts’ favorites are—their favorite fashionistas as well as their favorite targets for mean jabs and sharp barbs. And as my daughter has observed, Rivers had the tendency to get back at her critics and those who’ve earned her disfavor by her sharp and stinging comments on the show.

Still, it was fun while it lasted. Rivers seemed to have the uncanny gift for saying what’s on everyone’s mind but were too polite—or scared—to make it public. Only “Auntie Joanie,” as she liked to call herself when she was fishing for sympathy, had the chutzpah to say exactly what’s what, and however politically incorrect these comments were, we had to admit they were funny and spicy and dead-on.

I can’t imagine “Fashion Police” without Rivers; it would seem so tame and lame without her keen observations. Just as her absence from the Red Carpet coverage lowered the sizzle somewhat, and turned the once-exciting spectacle into a decided snooze fest.

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Yes, we will miss “Auntie Joanie.” She was so ubiquitous on the small screen that it seemed she was in every show, even winning in “The Celebrity Apprentice” where, or so say regular viewers, she left the overbearing Donald Trump at a loss for words.

Rivers was part of that sorority of women comics who astounded with their propensity for breaking the rules.

They were definitely no “ladies.” I can only think as far back as Phyllis Diller with her messy hair and messier laugh, Carol Burnett who was a brilliant mimic and created unforgettable characters on her own long-running show, and the duo of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, unforgettable as Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton on “Saturday Night Live,” but also accomplished awards show hosts.

Talking about Rivers’ passing, some friends and I observed that “to make people laugh, you have to be smart yourself.” On the local front, we all agreed that among the more outstanding funny women are Giselle Sanchez, Ai-Ai de las Alas, Tuesday Vargas, and my favorite, the multifaceted Eugene Domingo.

But long before these women rose to their own comic prominence, I remember evenings spent in front of our black-and-white TV set howling with the likes of Patsy, Dely Atay-atayan, Chichay, Matutina and Lupita. They made us laugh in innocent times, when comedy could get physical and making fun of physical shortcomings was deemed entirely correct. That these women were poking fun mostly at themselves also added to the overall sense of fun.

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Female comics may not have reached the levels of stardom that their more attractive sisters in the trade reached. But I daresay that compared with many stars and starlets who burst into bright, blinding coronas before swiftly fading and sputtering out, the funny women enjoyed longer careers. Looks, after all, fade with time, and the inevitable wages of age, gravity and overweight can take a toll even on the greatest beauties.

In fact, some comics like Diller, and Rivers herself, made capital out of their less-than-perfect looks. Rivers at 81 was not above talking about her cosmetic surgery(ies) and her many wrinkles and folds. But she still had the right to host a show called “Fashion Police” because she looked fit and polished enough in her stylish outfits.

It was easy for her to throw potshots at violators of the fashion police code because seldom did she appear on TV less than thrown-together or chic. And if she made a misdemeanor, she would be the first one to cop to it.

Which is a lesson on life right there. You need to be able to make fun of yourself if you’re going to make a living bursting other people’s balloons. We’ll miss you, Auntie Joanie!

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Mark Gil will always be remembered for his first starring film role, “Batch ’81,” that examined the oppression of martial law enforcers through the rather small and stultifying world of fraternity initiations.

But he would make his mark in the popular imagination through his varied roles in interchangeable soap operas, usually playing the villainous patriarch of a wealthy family, which his mestizo features made possible and believable.

His real-life role as a member and later patriarch of an acting dynasty is what lives on, though. His parents, Eddie Mesa (the “Elvis Presley of the Philippines”) and Rosemarie Gil begat an acting clan consisting of Mark, his brother Michael de Mesa and sister Cherie Gil, but Mark would in due course found his own family of thespians. And what is most remarkable is that his sons and daughters would in their own capacities turn out to be more than competent performers, obviously carrying the acting genes that are their clan’s gift to their Filipino audience.