Billy Whizz

Lizzie Pook celebrates the cult legend behind some of the best movies of the last 25 years. All hail Bill Murray...

When it comes to cult icons, there are none quite so effortless as Bill Murray. In fact, he almost has us convinced that he’d rather be anywhere than in front of a camera. He is just so wonderfully average and understated that one could be forgiven for overlooking the balding, middle-aged guy shifting uncomfortably on their screen.

Murray’s career kick-started with a spot on NBC’s hugely popular Saturday Night Live as part of their ensemble cast alongside Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi, who would themselves go on to enjoy success as the infamous Blues Brothers. His character sketches earned him serious comedic credit, the film scripts ensued and early projects such as Caddyshack (1980), Stripes (1981) and Ghostbusters (1984) cemented him as one of Hollywood’s most quotable comedic actors. After all, who could forget Murray’s John Winger (Stripes) asserting “chicks dig me, because I rarely wear underwear and when I do it’s usually something unusual” or his Peter Venkmen (Ghostbusters) hollering “let’s show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown!”

More recently, Murray has become the melancholic antithesis to other mainstream actors. His portrayal of hapless husband and dejected movie star, Bob Harris, opposite Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation (2003), won Murray immense critical acclaim, not to mention a BAFTA, a Golden Globe AND a nomination for Best Actor at the Academy Awards. His dry humour and irreverent cynicism seem so innate that we revel in his misfortune on screen. In fact, many of his more recent films portray him as some sort of failure and Murray has come to be the ideal representation of male imperfection. Such roles as the aging Don Juan (ingeniously named Don Johnston) in Broken Flowers (2005), Steve Zissou, failed documentary-film maker in search of the elusive ‘Jaguar Shark’ in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) and the uptight and static Freudian, Raleigh St. Clair, in Wes Andersen’s The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) have substantiated Murray’s cult appeal and reinforced his status as a successful failure.

To further corroborate his seeming idleness, Murray infamously has no agent or manager and sporadically fields offers for scripts and roles via a personal answer phone. This fact has, allegedly, cost him many parts that he showed interest in, including the eccentric Willy Wonka in the 2005 remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which was frustratingly snapped up by a certain Captain Sparrow. Murray’s complacency has, however, also worked in his favour. He is never overzealous with his comedy; his subtle asides and deadpan quips massage the comedy muscle, rather than attack it, all guns blazing. As a result Murray doesn’t dominate films, he merely improves them immeasurably with his presence.

Bill Murray is thus undoubtedly a cult classic. He has the ability to exude comedy with only the discreet raising of the eyebrow or furrowing of the brow. And the fact that he does this whilst looking like he doesn’t give a monkey’s makes him, in my book, all the more irresistible.