I am not unusual in being able to recite almost every episode of Friends by heart. I watched every episode as it aired in my teens, and have rewatched every episode countless times since.
In the mid-late 90s, ‘who is your favourite Friends character?’ was a conversational staple.
And while I would have given me right arm to be as cool, funny and beautiful as any of the girls, Chandler was always number one for me.
As the seasons went on, there were rumours about Perry’s darker side: addiction, rehab, his obvious weight loss and weight gain. But we never took it seriously. Rehab was the trendy thing for celebs those days, and there’s no way you can be that funny and successful for 10 seasons if anything is seriously wrong.
Except, you can…
Such is the main thrust of Perry’s autobiography, Friends, Lovers and The Big Terrible Thing.
It is a brutally honest and hard-hitting account of his life. From his feelings of abandonment in early childhood, the revelations that came with his first taste of alcohol at 14, his desperation for fame, and the desperate realisation it fixed nothing when it came, Perry leaves nothing off limits.
He talks openly about his many near death experiences, his scheming to get around the rehab rules and how often he has let down and hurt those who care for him. His seemingly inescapable desire to obliterate his inner thoughts and fears overcomes every sensible and loving instinct.
Throughout this book, the true power of the TV show Friends and Perry’s co-workers shines through. He speaks of them and the show with the greatest of affection and gratitude, but it’s hard to admit that those bonds we saw on TV have not extended so far into his life as to stay with him, and the image we’re left with is of a very wealthy and successful, but very lonely man.
Some reviews have highlighted that Perry comes across as not very likeable, but if that is true, it’s only because he is telling the story, and clearly doesn’t like himself.
This is by no means an easy read. On a practical level, there is a lot of unnecessary repetition which editors could easily have made more succinct. On an emotional level, it is brutal and relentless in its portrayal of addiction, and at times I felt I just didn’t want to read any more.
Yet overall, it’s a fascinating insight and a stark reminder that the things we think we want in life aren’t always the things which will bring us happiness. Perry’s writing in no way brought me the joy his portrayal of Chandler did, but I have to respect his courage in laying out so honestly the truth behind those laughs.
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